By: Fern Sidman

In a modest Crown Heights living room heavy with grief yet radiant with defiance, Chani Schlanger Drizin sat shiva this week for her youngest brother, Rabbi Eli Schlanger — a man she describes not only as family, but as a force of joy, courage, and unapologetic Jewish pride. According to an exclusive report that appeared on Sunday in  The New York Post, Drizin’s mourning has unfolded against a backdrop of escalating antisemitic violence, both abroad and alarmingly close to home, sharpening the resonance of her message: the Jewish people will not retreat.

“We’re not hiding and we’re not afraid,” Drizin declared, her voice resolute even as sorrow etched her features. Speaking to The New York Post, she insisted that honoring her brother’s legacy means living precisely as he did — openly, visibly, and without apology as a Jew.

Drizin, 54, a British native who has lived in New York City for more than three decades, welcomed mourners into her Crown Heights home wearing a freshly torn sweatshirt — the traditional Jewish symbol of mourning and rupture. The garment, she explained, reflected both the personal devastation of losing her “baby brother” and the collective wound now borne by Jewish communities worldwide. Crown Heights itself, long a vibrant center of Jewish life, has in recent years become a troubling epicenter of antisemitic incidents, a reality underscored again this week by new attacks.

Rabbi Eli Schlanger, 41, was among the 15 people murdered in the horrific Hanukkah massacre at Sydney’s Bondi Beach — an attack that sent shockwaves through the Jewish world. According to the information provided in The New York Post report, Schlanger was shot in the back after throwing himself over another community member in a final, instinctive act of protection. He died instantly.

The details of his final moments paint a portrait of a man whose values were not theoretical, but lived — and ultimately sealed — in action. Schlanger had been one of the primary organizers of the annual “Hanukkah by the Sea” celebration, a beloved event that drew approximately 2,000 people to Bondi Beach on the first night of the holiday. It was meant to be a night of light, unity, and joy.

Instead, death descended without warning.

Investigators allege that Sajid Akram, 50, and his son, Naveed Akram, 24, opened fire on the crowd, transforming celebration into carnage. Dozens were wounded. Fifteen were killed. Among the injured was Schlanger’s wife, Chaya, who was grazed in the back while attempting to flee with the couple’s children — including their 13-year-old son and their newborn baby, just six weeks old. The infant sustained shrapnel wounds to the leg and was released from the hospital days later, Drizin told The New York Post.

Entirely characteristic of the family’s devotion, Schlanger’s wife and all five of their children — ranging in age from 17 to mere weeks — had been present to help their husband and father run the event. The Schlanger family’s presence was not incidental; community service was woven into their daily lives.

Back in Brooklyn, grief soon collided with fear.

Only days after the massacre, antisemitic violence struck closer to home. A yeshiva student was assaulted on the subway. Another man was stabbed by an attacker who allegedly screamed, “I’m going to kill a Jew today.” These incidents intensified a sense of vulnerability that Drizin said now permeates daily Jewish life in New York.

“I don’t know what happened to New York,” she told The New York Post, her voice breaking. “This is my home, but the spike in antisemitism is terrifying. We don’t feel protected. Jews are under threat here — it’s very scary.”

Yet even as she acknowledged the fear, Drizin refused to surrender to it.

“The scary thing is, it’s going to happen again,” she predicted with a realism born of painful experience. “I pray it doesn’t happen here, but it won’t stop me from leaving my house and continuing our holy work.”

During shiva, Drizin could often be seen scrolling through videos of her brother on her phone — clips of him laughing, joking, embracing family members. These moments would frequently reduce her to tears, yet they also fortified her resolve.

“Eli was all about joy, love, and appreciation for being Jewish,” she said. “He would tell us to keep going.”

And so she is.

Even amid mourning, Drizin insisted on lighting the Hanukkah menorah publicly — a deliberate act of spiritual resistance. As candles flickered in her Crown Heights home, she prayed aloud for “an end to the hatred in this dark world,” summoning the strength to sing the ancient melody commemorating the miracles granted to the Jewish people throughout history. The New York Post reported that passing cars blasted festive Hanukkah music, an almost surreal juxtaposition of celebration and sorrow.

“We’re still going to light the menorah in public and take the subway,” Drizin said firmly. “They’re not going to tear us down.”

That sentiment was echoed by family friend Shalom Goldstein, whose cousin, 20-year-old American Leibel Lazaroff, remains critically injured after being shot multiple times at Bondi Beach. Goldstein told The New York Post that he believes “political correctness” has helped fuel the current wave of antisemitism, emboldening attackers while silencing accountability.

“We were hoping we’re in better times,” Goldstein said. “But the ugly head of antisemitism is rearing again. The problem is the bystanders and those who rationalize it or find politically correct ways to spin it.”

Goldstein said he has personally appealed to New York City Police Commissioner Jessica Tisch for increased protection in Crown Heights following the recent spate of attacks — a plea that underscores the growing anxiety among Jewish New Yorkers.

Drizin, for her part, framed the moment not only as a test of security, but of identity.

“We’re all in this together,” she said. “They try to destroy us, but every time they do something, we become stronger and more resilient.”

That resilience, she believes, is her brother’s enduring legacy.

Rabbi Eli Schlanger was known for visiting the sick, supporting the incarcerated, and radiating warmth wherever he went. To his sister, he was nothing less than a “modern-day Maccabee” — a reference to the ancient Jewish fighters who resisted persecution and reclaimed their faith through courage and conviction.

“No one’s going to stop us from continuing what we’re doing,” Drizin vowed. “We will carry that legacy unafraid.”

As The New York Post reported, her words are not rhetorical flourishes, but a declaration of intent. In a city she still calls home, despite its dangers, Drizin remains determined to live openly as a Jew — lighting candles, riding the subway, singing ancient songs of survival — even as hatred surges around her.

In mourning her brother, she has transformed grief into purpose. And in doing so, she has become, like him, a symbol of something larger than loss: the unyielding determination of a people who have endured darkness before — and who, candle by candle, continue to bring light.