Keep our sacred spaces sacred

In the wake of the recent shootings at places of worship at Bondi and San Diego, the Wellington Abrahamic Council of Jews, Christians and Muslims calls on all humans, religious and secular, to keep our sacred spaces sacred. All three Abrahamic religions believe in the sanctity of life. Killing people is wrong. Killing people as they gather to pray and express their spirituality is evil, no matter your religious or secular stripe.

The Abrahamic Council also calls on organisations, schools, governments, businesses, and places of worship to discuss and encourage their members to engage with people who are different to them, and get to know them. We believe that building real-life connection with “others” is the long-term solution to these acts of hate.

Jewish co-chair Dave Moskovitz says “Our society is increasingly fragmented, where we don’t have face-to-face contact with people that are different to us in real life. Many people spend most of their time online where they often interact with people like themselves, and objectify others. Judaism calls on us to ‘love your neighbour as yourself’, so we should go meet and get to know our neighbours. If they know us, they’ll better understand us and will be less likely to want to kill us.”

Christian co-chair Nick Polaschek says “Contrary to one current strain within Christianity, we affirm as Christians that Jesus’ teaching and example challenge us to respect those from cultures and traditions that are different than our own”.

“It always strikes hard when your family, neighbor, or even strangers are taken away abruptly in the name of hate,” said Rito Triumbarto, Muslim co-chair. He also suggests that more human interactions will suffocate prejudice and wash away hatred. As he notes, “We are created as nations and tribes that we may know one another” (Quran 49:13). Social cohesion is a way to keep us humane – let’s work harder on this.

A Different Kind of Peace

A thought from New Zealand, by Muslim Co-Chair Rito Triumbarto, presented as a reflection at the Wellington Abrahamic Council Meeting, 1 December 2025

They say home is where your heart is. My heart is back in Indonesia — where the call to prayer marks the rhythm of the day, and faith is a natural, open part of life.

Eight years ago, I moved to New Zealand. I came looking for opportunity and the peaceful, green land I’d heard so much about. And at first, I found it — or so I thought. It felt calm, but looking back, I realize that calm came partly from something I wasn’t used to: blending in.

For a few years, my faith was just for me and my family. Prayers at home, small gatherings with other Indonesians. Out in public, I was just another person. No one stared. No one commented. I thought that meant I was accepted. I didn’t realize it just meant I was invisible.

Then March 15th, 2019, happened.

The quiet that followed wasn’t peaceful — it was heavy. Full of shock. Our community was seen — not as neighbors or friends, but as targets. Suddenly, being invisible felt dangerous. How could such hate hide in a country known for its kindness?

In the weeks after, there was an incredible wave of love. People said, “They are us.” There were flowers, vigils, kindness everywhere. It felt like maybe, from something so awful, real belonging could grow. It felt like the country had decided: hate wouldn’t win.

But time passes, and life moves on. And lately, I’ve started to feel a new kind of unease — maybe even harder to shake than the trauma of that day.

It’s the slow understanding that here, in this same country that stood with us, it’s perfectly legal for someone to stand in public and shout hate against people like me.

Many here see that as a sacred part of freedom. To me, it feels like a luxury I can’t afford. My safety in practicing my faith now feels shaky — weighed against someone else’s right to say I don’t belong. The same law that protects my sister’s right to wear her hijab also protects someone’s right to call it a symbol of oppression.

I’m stuck between two realities: the real warmth and welcome I’ve felt from my Kiwi friends, and the cold truth of a system that gives a voice to those who hate me for what I believe.

March 15th was a horrible, single act of evil. But this — allowing public hate as a matter of right — is like a slow sickness. It quietly tells you that you’re only tolerated, not truly accepted. That your place here can be questioned anytime.