Melbone Shabbat Shalom

Arrived today in Halls Gap, visitors' heart of the Grampian Mountains. I arrived here via the Great Ocean Road that runs along the southwest coast of Victoria. The week prior to that was spent in Melbourne, my last of Australia's major cities.

I really like Melbourne. It has real neighborhoods with unique character. It has excellent ethnic restaurants. It has bars and pubs of all sorts, you've got more choice than VB swilling blue collar pubs and eurotrash plastic leather teenybopper pisspot lounges. Melbourne has the MCG (more on that next time). Melbourne has the highest Greek population outside of Greece. Melbourne has Italians. Melbourne has Jews (more on that shortly). Melbourne has Irish. Melbourne is at once happily familiar to this NY/SFer and still utterly Australian.

Last Thursday morning, I finally spoke to Louis on the phone. It was great to talk to him, he never fails to put me in touch with the sublime spirit of my travels. After our chat, I was feeling invigorated and excited about the trip ahead, so I decided to do some research. Since Melbourne is the heart of the Jewish community in Australia, there's an excellent Jewish Museum, genealogical society and library. I thought that they might have some resources on Jewish migrations from Russia and Asia, the same path that my mother's side of the family took.

So I went down to the Jewish museum in St. Kilda. St. Kilda is the first suburb south of downtown Melbourne, right on the water. It's known to be the heart of the Jewish community. I stayed there my first few nights at a very cozy hostel (with free parking!) called "Jackson's Manor" before I wanted a change of scenery and moved to the YHA in North Melbourne (much more expensive, but has all the mod-cons).

So I went down to St. Kilda to visit the Jewish Museum. They had a special exhibition on the Dreyfus Affair going on, it was excellent. Later, while browsing the other exhibits on Jewish history and modern Judaism, I met one of the volunteer guides, Zara. We chatted for a while about the museum and local community and Zara took my contact info so that she could reply with some more information about the Genealogical Society in which she had some friends. At this point, the museum was closing, according to the Russian security guard. On my way out, I bounced some of my newfound Slavic off of him and he seemed to understand what I was saying. At least he smiled, anyway.

The next morning, I was just getting up when my phone rang. It was Zara. Her younger sister, Lee and her husband Ron were making a Shabbat dinner that night and I was invited. Warmly honored, I accepted. After thanking Zara and saying goodbye, I found myself a bit nervous:

"I don't have a kepah,"
"all I have are my corduroy pants and this nice long sleeve t-shirt,"
"what if they're really orthodox (Zara had mentioned that she belonged to the Orthodox shul),"
"I haven't been to Shabbat dinner in years!"
"I guess I shouldn't drive. Is taking the train okay?"
"Should I bring something? Of course! But if they're Orthodox, it might be inappropriate to carry anything to their house"
"I don't even remember what is allowed or not on Shabbat! If I get up to use the bathroom, am I allowed to flush the toilet, or is that considered 'operating a machine'"

In the end, I decided to relax, smile a lot and just go with the flow. Trying to be in the spirit, I left the car at the YHA and took the train down to St. Kilda. I thought I would try to find the Jewish main street in town (Jackson's Manor was on the goy side of St. Kilda), maybe pick up a bottle of Kosher wine to bring and then walk to the train to Brighton, the neighborhood a bit farther south where Zara's sister lives.

So I bummed around Acland and Carlisle Sts. for a bit, never really finding the Jewish part of town or a good bottle of Kosher wine, but I did find a very nice flower shop with some lovely bouquets. "Tov!" I thought. "Kosher wine is shit anyway," and bought my host some flowers. Who cared if the sun had set and I was exchanging money. I wasn't going to arrive empty handed. (definitely channeling the imparted wisdom of my Mom and Grandma at that point. What would they do?)

So I walked to the train station at Balaclava and caught the next car to Brighton. The irony here is that the Jewish neighborhood starts on Carlisle street the block after the Balaclava station. I'll get there eventually.

It was a solid walk to and from all the train stations, but I still arrived with a few minutes to kill, so I checked out the shoreline at the end of the block. Nice neighborhood, Brighton, and I was in the nicest part of it.

Being afraid to ring the doorbell on Shabbos, I knocked on the door. No reply. I don't think they heard me, so I knocked again. Movement inside, this time, but still no answer. I knocked again and waited, and again a few more times before I was finally cheerfully greeted by Ron. "Why didn't you just ring the doorbell?" he asked, adding "we're not Orthodox, you know." with a smirk.

Greatly relieved, I entered their lovely home and was swept up by Lee and Zara's middle sister, Naomi, to be introduced to the whole mishpucha. I met niece Tamara and her boyfriend Ryan, both a little older than me. Soon, we were joined by Lee, who loved the flowers (good idea, Mom and Grandma!) Then, in a flurry, niece Naomi (yes, that makes two) and Julian arrived with their 3 year old Amy and 1 year old Joshua. I was in the middle of it smiling and basking in four generations of Jewish family goodness.

After kibbitzing in the living room, it was time to eat, so we made our way to the dining room. Amy helped Aunt Lee say the blessing and light the candles and then Ron led us in the Hamotzi and the Kiddush. Bread was broken, wine was poured and we settled in to a leisurely meal featuring stimulation conversation and Lee's excellent cooking. Ryan runs his own computer system and networking consultancy, so we had a lot to talk about and got on great. Julian, Naomi Younger and I chatted about traveling and their trips to the US, including the time that he and Naomi wound up staying in a "hostel" in New Orleans that turned out to be a drug infested flophouse. I commiserated with my "flat tire under the bridge on Tchoupitoulas amid hostile gunfire and resigned cops" tale.

The conversation drifted to politics, we were all on similar ground, so there was a lot of "if you think that's bad, in our country...".

Eventually, the yeladim got tired and the evening wore down and it was time to go. Ryan, Julian and I exchanged contact info, so as to perhaps meet up for beers when I get back to Melbourne. My belly was full, my head was a little buzzed from all the wine and most of all, my heart was happy for the generous evening-- a reminder of happy memories with my own family on the Jewish holidays-- and a reminder of the bigger Jewish community that I'm a part of anywhere I go in the world.

There was one moment, though, that really reminded me of our common roots, despite being with another family on the other side of the world. It was after we'd said our goodbyes and I was headed out the door to catch a ride from Ryan that Lee called out to me. I turned around and she stepped close, "Please don't tell me that you came out tonight without a coat...."