Paul Scarr (Queensland, Liberal Party, Shadow Assistant Minister for Multicultural Engagement) Share this | Hansard source

Before making my contribution, if I can pay my deep compliments to my colleague Senator O'Sullivan for that outstanding contribution on this motion. Last night, on 7 October 2024, I attended a commemoration convened by the Jewish community of Queensland on the first anniversary of the horrific events of 7 October 2023. My thoughts and prayers are with the Jewish community in Queensland. I'd like to acknowledge the contributions made during that commemoration by young members of the Jewish community. It was extremely difficult to make contributions in the context of such grief while dealing with such confronting issues, but I say to those young members of the Jewish community who had contributions last night: you should be extremely proud of yourselves, because you, as young members of the community, showed so much courage. In making your contributions, you bring great honour upon the Jewish community of Queensland and you give hope for the future.

At the commemoration a poem was read by a member of the community. It was a poem written by Shimon Elkabets, who lost his daughter on 7 October 2023. I want to read this poem into the record. It was called 'Never Again':

Most terrifying is the longing

That lands on you without warning

It makes you cry at the most ill-timed moment

Right when you have a bag of items at the checkout

What stings the most is the feeling of guilt

Why weren't you with her in the moments of terror

In the hours she was under fire and blood

All she wanted is for you

To say that everything will be OK.

Never again our parents told us

Never again our leaders promised

Never again we told our children

Only the world is no longer there for us

Most terrifying is the longing

Why weren't you with her

All she wanted is for you

To say that everything will be okay

Never again our parents told us

Never again our leaders promised

Never again we told our children

Only the world is no longer there for us

We're left on our own

Most terrifying is the longing

Is the longing

That's a poem that was read at the commemoration in Brisbane last night—a poem by Shimon Elkabets, who lost his daughter on 7 October.

After hearing that poem last night, I decided to see what I could find about the Elkabets family and the experience of a father that led him to write such a heart-wrenching poem. There is an article in the Jerusalem Post from 13 August 2024 which provides the context in which Mr Elkabets wrote that poem. I want to quote from this article. The article relates to the experience of the Elkabets family.

… one family in four houses scattered across Kfar Aza, a kibbutz near the Gaza border where terrorists murdered more than 50 and took about 20 hostages on October 7.

It describes:

… the Elkabets family, who had been celebrating the 36th wedding anniversary of the parents, Shimon and Anati Elkabets, the night before. They lived in one house, while their daughter Noa lived in the young people's neighborhood of the kibbutz, and their daughter Sivan and her boyfriend, Naor Hasidim, were in a third house, and their son, Guy, and his wife and children, in another.

So four houses in the kibbutz the family was spread across. I quote from the article:

On the morning of the massacre, they might as well have been separated by thousands of miles, although the actual distance among their homes was just a few hundred meters. Following the firing of missiles from Gaza, they soon heard gunshots and communicated with each other by phone. Each house faced a different ordeal, as terrorists entered each one, killing some and giving up on others when they could not easily open doors to the safe rooms.

Another son Nadav … was in touch with them from afar and asked his army commanders to send him there right away, but was told he would be given orders soon. Meanwhile, reports of the massacre began to surface, through text messages and news reports. Guided by the texts from his family, he began directing the army to different houses under attack.

THE FAMILY MEMBERS' concern for each other is touching as they all worry about the others. When they stopped hearing from Sivan at about 11 that morning, she became the focus of their concern. Shimon speaks movingly, more with his eyes than with his words, about wanting to help his daughter, who was so close, yet so far. Anati hoped against hope that her daughter had survived.

They all wondered where the army was, and it took days for the kibbutz to be cleared of terrorists, although some of the survivors were evacuated after about 12 hours.

Shimon, a prominent print and radio journalist, was eventually able to find out some of the details about his daughter's last moments, as the family learned that she was found dead in a different house.

A documentary film about their experiences shows:

… a visit by the survivors to Sivan's home months later, where they discovered a bloodstained apartment that had been trashed, which featured a sign that even in their worst nightmares they never imagined they would see, "Human Remains on the Sofa." The first responders used such signs to mark the homes where bodies had been found.

That is the story of the Elkabets family, the father of whom, Shimon, wrote the poem Never Again, which was read in Brisbane last night at the commemoration of the events of 7 October.

Within a few kilometres of the events occurring at the kibbutz was an amazing act of bravery. I would like to place on the record this act of bravery which I think should give us all hope. I'll quote again from an article, this time by reporter Deborah Danan, entitled, 'Bedouin bus driver credited with saving 30 Israelis from Hamas's outdoor party massacre'. This article was written on 21 October 2023, so a few weeks after the event. It says:

Youssef Ziadna recalls driving into the line of fire …

Every day at 4 p.m., Youssef Ziadna receives a phone call from a psychologist. Every evening, he sits on his balcony drinking coffee, smoking and replaying in his mind the worst things he has ever seen.

The daily routine would have been unimaginable for Ziadna, a 47-year-old Bedouin Israeli resident of Rahat, just two weeks ago. A minibus driver, he filled his days ferrying passengers around Israel's southern region.

But on October 7, he was called to pick up one of his regular customers and raced headlong into Hamas's brutal terror assault on Israel. He is credited with having rescued 30 people, all Jewish Israelis, from the massacre at the outdoor Supernova party near Israel's southern border, dodging bullets and veering off-road to bring them to safety.

"I would never wish on anyone to see what I saw," Ziadna told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. "This is trauma for my whole life. When I sit alone and recollect, I can't help the tears."

…   …   …

Ziadna is "a larger-than-life man to whom we will forever be indebted," Amit Hadar wrote in Hebrew in a post that was shared widely starting on October 7. "When, with God's help, we reach better days, save the number for the next time you need a ride—if anyone deserves it, this person does."

Yet at the same time, Ziadna is grieving a cousin who was murdered during the attack and worrying about four other family members who remain missing. He also received a threat from someone who claimed to be affiliated with Hamas, vowing retaliation for Ziadna's efforts to save Jews after they were recounted in a local newspaper.

…   …   …

The stress of it all has already sent him to the emergency room with chest pains—but he is determined to press on.

I quote again from this amazing human being:

"When I think about it, I ask how did we get out of there," Ziadna recalled on October 17, 10 days after the massacre. "I guess it's fate that we're meant to live longer in this world."

Ziadna started October 7 early, driving Hadar and eight of his friends from the town of Omer to the rave at Kibbutz Re'im at 1 a.m. He left with the instruction to pick them up the following day at 3 p.m.

But at 6 a.m. he received a call for help from Hadar. Believing that the call for help was due to a code red for incoming rockets fired from Gaza, Ziadna raced to his bus.

"I didn't wash my face, I didn't even get dressed," Ziadna said. "This is standard over here in the south."

But as soon as he reached the Sa'ad junction, a mile away from Kfar Aza, one of the Gaza border communities that experienced some of the worst horrors of the Oct. 7 massacre, a new picture began to emerge.

A man who had escaped from the party ran towards him, furiously signaling to Ziadna to make a U-turn. Ziadna, not comprehending, exited the minibus to speak to him. Moments later, Ziadna, the man and a woman who accompanied him were caught in gunfire.

"Bullets were flying everywhere," Ziadna said, adding that the three dived into a ditch on the side of the road. He said, "I raised my head and the guy told me, 'Why are you doing that? You'll get a bullet in your brain!'"

Ziadna told the disbelieving couple that he would continue on to the site of the party. "I stared death in the face," he said. "But I knew I couldn't give up on my missions. I will go and rescue them."

Navigating through bullet fire, Ziadna managed to reach his passengers at the scene of the party … where an inferno of bodies, blood and bullets rained. "I told them to bring as many as possible," he said. Twenty-four additional people crammed into the 14-seater vehicle, and on the way, they rescued another couple, one of whom had been shot in the leg. Ziadna says he also caught sight of a motorized Hamas paraglider hovering above, spraying bullets with a machine gun at revelers.

Under constant gunfire, the minibus sped away.

This is what Ziadna said at the end of recalling his story:

"I had an option to go back. A weaker man may have done a U-turn at that junction," … "But I said no way, I will throw myself at death if it means I can save lives."

Ziadna, I'm telling your story here in the Australian Senate because you provide inspiration to the whole world.

At the end of the Queensland commemoration of 7 October 2023, we lit lanterns. We lit lanterns—lanterns giving off light, lanterns dispelling darkness. Light is a symbol of good. Light is a symbol of beauty. Light is a symbol of redemption, healing, truth, peace, justice and hope. Let us pray for more light in this world. Let us pray for more light, dispelling darkness.