Rabbi Leibel Lazaroff speaks to teens about resilience and  Jewish identity

By Sharon Wisch-Ray

Just over four months after being critically wounded in the Bondi Beach attack at a Sydney shopping center, 20-year-old Leibel Lazaroff sat before local Jewish high school students — still walking with a cane — and delivered a message shaped by what he had lived through: Don’t hide. Be proud to be Jewish.

Speaking April 16 at Tiferet Israel, Lazaroff addressed students in an afternoon question-and-answer program moderated by Kenny Goldberg, chair of the Texas Holocaust, Genocide, and Antisemitism Advisory Commission, appointed by Gov. Greg Abbott.

He urged them not to shrink in the face of rising antisemitism but to live openly and with intention.

“We need to not just combat antisemitism, but also we need to focus on being more Jewish,” he said. “It’s about being proud of who we are.”

Lazaroff, who grew up in College Station, where his parents, Rabbi Yossi and Manya Lazaroff, serve as Chabad rabbis at Texas A&M, comes from a family deeply rooted in Jewish life in Texas. His grandfather brought Chabad to the state, establishing its first presence in Houston.

In Sydney, Lazaroff had taken on a leadership role, organizing a large outdoor event expected to draw more than 1,000 people for a first night of Hanukkah celebration. Rabbi Eli Schlanger had entrusted him with running the program.

That afternoon, as the event was getting underway, Lazaroff returned to his car, parked near a gate at the edge of the venue, to retrieve something.

He heard gunfire.

“I knew exactly what it was,” he recalled.

As confusion spread and people began to run, Lazaroff took cover behind his car. Instead of fleeing, he moved toward the danger, removing his shirt and using it as a tourniquet to try to stop the bleeding of an injured law enforcement officer.

At the same time, he was looking for a way to respond.

“I’m from Texas — I know how to shoot,” he said, describing how he asked the officer for a weapon, drawing brief laughter from the audience. “There were two choices — either we’re all going to die, or we try to do something.”

Moments later, he was shot.

Believing he was dying, Lazaroff began reciting the Shema again and again.

Then, he said, he heard a voice.

“You’re conscious — stop saying Shema. Say Tehillim. You can survive.”

“In that moment,” Lazaroff said, “my brain switched from dying to, ‘I could survive,’” and he began reciting Tehillim.

The shooting continued.

For roughly seven and a half minutes after he was hit, Lazaroff remained conscious on the ground as the father-son terrorist team continued firing before being neutralized. During that time, he said, he sat up and held pressure on his own wounds, trying to keep himself alive.

Even as medics began triaging the wounded, Lazaroff said he was initially passed over because he was conscious, alert and speaking clearly. He had to advocate for himself, insisting his injuries were life-threatening. Only later did responders recognize the severity of his condition. He did not at first realize he had also been shot in the leg.

Around him, others were struck. He recalled seeing Rabbi Schlanger, who had welcomed a newborn just weeks earlier, and who was killed in the attack.

“I remember thinking, why him?” Lazaroff said. “He has a wife, children … why not me?”

He remained conscious until he was taken into surgery, later recalling the sequence of events in striking detail.

His parents traveled from College Station to Sydney not knowing their son’s fate. They were at his bedside when he regained consciousness two days later.

What followed was a long and uncertain recovery — 11 surgeries, eight weeks in the hospital, including three in intensive care, and a life-threatening infection that required ongoing treatment, including antibiotics administered through a PICC line.

“There were a lot of reasons why I shouldn’t have made it,” he said.

He pointed to what he described as a series of moments that, in his view, helped save lives.

In the days leading up to the event, inflatable bounce houses and slides typically set up for children were prohibited at the last minute due to local ordinances. Lazaroff instead arranged for a rock-climbing wall and placed it on the far side of the venue — a decision that, he said, gave children a place to take cover.

A bullet that struck his leg missed his femoral artery by millimeters. Explosive devices used in the attack did not detonate.

“There was a lot of tragedy that day,” he said. “But there were also a lot of miracles.”

Four hours after being discharged from the hospital, Lazaroff performed “Habeit” on a grand piano at the Sydney Opera House during Australia’s National Day of Mourning.

Although discharged, he remained in Sydney for continued rehabilitation before returning home to College Station in February.

By the time he spoke to students in Dallas, his message was clear.

“It is scary,” he said. “But we have to remember that we’ve been here for thousands of years. We will continue to be here. They’re not going to get us down.”

He emphasized the importance of vigilance, being aware, prepared and serious about security, while refusing to let fear define Jewish life.

“By us showing that we are not afraid and we are not going to go down is the best answer,” he said.

Again and again, he returned to the same idea.

“Be proud to be Jewish,” Lazaroff said.

At 20, still in recovery, he told students he is taking things one step at a time.

But the path forward, he said, is not about going back.

“You’re not going to get back to normal,” he said. “This is normal. What we have to do is take it with us … and move forward.”