On Holocaust Memorial Day, we pause to remember the six million Jews who were murdered and persecuted.
The tragic events of the Heaton Park Synagogue and Bondi Beach attacks on Jewish communities show that the devastating consequences of antisemitism, hatred, prejudice, and indifference remain with us to this day.
Holocaust Memorial Day is observed each year on 27 January and marks the anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau.
The theme this year is Bridging Generations, a reminder that the responsibility of remembrance doesn't end with the survivors - it lives on through their children, their grandchildren and through all of us. This theme encourages us all to engage actively with the past - to listen, to learn and to carry those lessons forward.
We are proud of the rich and diverse community who live in our borough, which includes a significant Jewish population. It is important we come together as communities to mark Holocaust Memorial Day and of our shared responsibility to stand firmly against antisemitism and hatred.
Survivors story - Ruth Lachs
"My name is Ruth Lachs and I am here this evening because my life was saved by ordinary people who chose to be brave and heroic at a time when it would have been so much easier, and so much safer to turn away.
"I was born in Hamburg Germany on March 7, 1936. My family lived on Heinze Strase, in a Jewish neighbourhood and my father and uncle were partners in a textile business.
"Our lives changed dramatically after Kristallnacht in November 1938. People thought it could never happen in Germany, but when they watched their synagogues being burned to the ground, and the men being marched away to concentration camps – it was a wakeup call.
"My father realised it would no longer be safe for us in Germany and made plans to get away. He had a visa for America, but decided that he would struggle to make a living there because he couldn’t speak English. Afraid that he would be unable to support his family, we went to Holland instead, where he thought we would be safe.
"We were forbidden to take any contents from our home when we left, and my father was forced to sell his business for a nominal amount of money to non-Jews. We arrived in Holland with only some clothes and a small amount of cash.
"We lived in Southern Amsterdam, in an area where many Jews lived. I was only three years old, and Dutch became my mother tongue.
"But our safe existence was short lived though, after Hitler conquered Holland in May 1940, bringing his anti-Jewish policies, which had already terrorised so many in my homeland of Germany.
"Jews were no longer allowed to own businesses, to go to cafes or parks or visit any places of entertainment or recreation. Daily freedoms that were once taken for granted were snatched away, and our lives became a misery.
"By 1942 stories began to circulate of the Germans rounding up Jews and taking them to a collection centre in an old theatre in the middle of Amsterdam, the Schouwburg. From there, they were sent to a transit camp called Westerbork. Selections were made and people were then transported to death camps and slave labour camps, such as Auschwitz and Treblinka.
"Horrified by what he heard, and fearful for his family, my father turned our attic rooms into bedrooms, and at night we hid up there, in the hope the Germans would think our flat was empty.
"As the round-ups progressed it was no longer safe for us to stay in our apartment. My parents sought the help of a neighbour who was part of an organisation called “The Underground Workers”. They were non-Jews who helped Jews find safety. My brother Karel and I were placed with a couple whom we called Tante Annie and Oom Wim. I was six years old at the time.
"I remember how my parents prepared us for the terrible separation. They told us that it was safer for us to be apart for the moment, and that they would come back for us. I held that belief with me always. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for my parents to be parted from us - such little children.
"My name was changed from Ruth Gans to Rudy Klein, in order for me to sound less Jewish. Tante Annie and Oom Wim were so kind to us. They treated us like their own, although they were in fact childless. They were wonderful people who looked after us with great warmth and care.
"Unfortunately, not all Dutch people were against the Germans. Some colluded with the occupation. In September 1943 the Germans came to our door. Someone must have been suspicious, and denounced us. My brother and I were arrested along with Tante Annie, and we were taken for interrogation. We were brought to the police station and I was asked over and over again where my parents were. I had been given a story and I stuck to it. I was to say I was an orphan and my parents had been killed in a bombing raid in Rotterdam. Although I was only six, I was brave and I never gave in.
"Nevertheless, Karel and I were sent to the collection point. Tante Annie was held in the police station, but after a day or so she was released, To this day, I do not know how or why she was freed.
"The children at the collection point were housed in a crèche, before deportation. When I arrived I found a girl named Mira Lazer was working there. This was an extraordinary twist of fate as she had been a nanny for our family. She took extra care of me; in fact she saved my life.
"At night the Nazis came to count the children, so that they would take the correct number on the deportation the next day. Mira told me to get dressed quickly and then she hid me outside in the sandpit so that I wouldn’t be counted. She promised she would return for me, if I stayed still and kept quiet. It was very dark as I crouched in the corner, and I was shivering with the cold.
"Mira was true to her word, and as soon as the Germans had left, she came back for me.
"There was a network of Dutch students whose aim it was to save Jewish children from transportation to the death camps, and that night I was taken by one of these brave young men on a train to Limburg. Karel had contracted polio and had to stay behind. It all happened so quickly, I didn’t even get chance to say goodbye to him.
"I was placed with a kind Catholic family who had two children of their own, but just one week later I too contracted polio and needed to go to a hospital. This of course put me in grave danger, as I had no identity papers. Once again, I was lucky to be in the hands of a kind and courageous soul -the medical director of the hospital. He proved to be a brave and generous man, as he took the huge risk of taking me in. I was most dreadfully ill, but I do remember the young student who had brought me on the train coming to see me. I was held in isolation, but I looked up and saw his head pop up in the window, holding up a gift of six eggs – a rare luxury! It is a beautiful memory that will always stay with me.
"After two and a half months, I was discharged from the hospital, but with nowhere to go. The family who had taken me in had a new baby, and were nervous because of my having had polio. The student underground movement then took me back to Amsterdam.
"I was placed in a home for handicapped children. The matron there hid a number of Jewish children in a separate room. We could not of course, go out and despite our young years, we helped with the general household chores such as sewing or peeling potatoes. Although the matron was a kindly woman, she was sick herself and so often in bed. The nurses were much less caring, and I felt terribly lonely and sad. I remained there until the end of the war. I wonder sometimes how I coped; I was so young, so alone and so very unhappy.
"When the war ended in 1945, I had no idea whether my parents had survived and were looking for me, or had perished. I had had no contact with them since going into hiding with Annie and Wim. One day I was called to the matron’s room, given new clothes to put on and told I had some visitors. As soon as they entered the room I recognised my parents and I was finally happy. My parents were overjoyed – they could not believe I had survived safe and sound, and that they finally had me back. Their happiness was tinged with a dreadful sadness though. Tragically my brother Karel had been taken from the crèche we had both been placed in, to Auschwitz and he had perished there. He had been just three years old, and I mourn him to this day.
"My parents had survived in hiding in the north of the country and had found me with the help of the Red Cross. All I wanted was to leave the home for good, and be with them. I was just nine years old at the end of this terrible journey.
"Looking back, I never forget - where would I have been without the bravery of those who helped me? Those who were courageous in the face of terror?
"Tante Annie and Oom Wim, with whom I stayed in contact long after the war;
"Mira Lazar who was imprisoned in Bergen Belsen, but survived; *The Underground Workers;
"The student who brought me on the train and gave me eggs and who was later captured and executed;
"The family in Limburg; the medical director of the hospital and the matron of the children’s home.
"Thanks to them, I stand here now. A mother, a grandmother and a great-grandmother. My family are the legacy of my extraordinary survival and of the ordinary people who chose to do good, when they were surrounded by evil.
"We must never forget the horrors of the Holocaust, or the six million who were murdered by the Nazis, and it is our duty to share our stories with the next generations. We must also remember that there were those who gave life and hope. I thank them today and always for my survival."
Councillor Eamonn O'Brien: "The day reminds us of our shared responsibility to stand firmly against antisemitism, hatred, prejudice, and indifference.
"Our thoughts remain with you. No one should ever feel unsafe because of their identity, their faith, or their heritage.
"On behalf of the council, we want to reaffirm our unwavering support for our local Jewish community. We stand with you in solidarity.
"We will continue working closely with partners, community leaders, and residents to challenge antisemitism in all its forms, promote understanding, and ensure that our borough remains a place where everyone feels safe, respected, and valued.
"As we honour survivors and remember those who were lost, we also strengthen our commitment to building a future rooted in compassion, inclusion, and hope.
"Once again, our thoughts, prayers and support remain with you."