I was not born in Israel, but it is my homeland

When this year's Olympic fever infiltrated the hospital where I work, I didn’t think it would have an impact on me.  

Colourful streams of flags from various countries decorated the entrance to my ward. Each morning, new ones were added, as a shout out to the staff members from those lands. First the Zimbabwean, then the Chilean and the Nepalese flags, followed by many more.

“Is yours up there?” the ward clerk asked me, assuming that like most Australians, multiple flags flew in my heart.

“Yeah, Australia is up there,” I said. “And South Africa is up there too, that’s where I was born.”

As those words left my mouth, it struck me that I’m not truly from either of these places.

“Where are you originally from?” is a question I receive almost weekly. Perhaps my slightly darker skin shade, or the subtle differences in my accent, prompts the enquiry.

When I answer “South Africa” it never seems to satisfy them, and actually, it does not satisfy me. It is certainly a big part of me and I carry vivid memories of my childhood there. The vibrant, warm and rich culture of South Africa, its history and its spirited people have a place deep inside me. So do the beggars at each traffic light on the way to school. Their extreme poverty and indignity – the legacy of apartheid – were plain, even to a child. For the first twelve years of my life, their suffering shaped my thinking.  

Those formative years deepened my appreciation of life in Australia, and of the privilege of making this free and prosperous country my home.

They also attuned me to the historical and ongoing injustices committed against the First Nations people of this land. Simultaneously, I have been moved by the profound cultures and traditions of First Nations communities with a spirituality sustained for over 60,000 years.

I have experienced the beauty, depth and resilience of communities in the Kimberley, Pilbara, Cape York and Perth, and I have recognised the horror of what has been afflicted upon them. A significant part of my Australian self is my sense of duty towards First Nations people, upon whose land my community, my family and I have prospered.

Consequently, I passionately immersed myself in the Yes campaign leading to the Voice to Parliament referendum last year. Door-knocking, organising events, distributing resources – I dived in with a full heart. It consumed me.

Until October 7, 2023.

My relatives were murdered. My people were slaughtered and abducted. My homeland was violently desecrated. Once again, Jews were massacred in their home. I froze, paralysed by grief and stricken with a sense of guilt for being so invested in another people’s struggle.

For days, I could not face anything to do with the Referendum. How could I? Suddenly it had become insignificant, trivial almost in comparison. It’s hard to admit, but I was surprised to feel so little toward something by which I had once been so compelled.

Judaism is at the core of my being. It always has been. Israel is my homeland, but it took the nightmare of October 7 to cut through the multiple layers of my identity and reveal my essence – as I believe it did for many Jews around the world.

Adding to the complexity is the pain I feel for innocent people suffering in Gaza, neighbours who also call this land home.

I was not born in Israel, nor were my parents or grandparents. I descend from several generations of Ashkenazi Jews who lived for centuries in Lithuania. But they were not from Eastern Europe either. Genetic studies have shown Ashkenazi DNA continuously traces back to its origin in the Levant. Scientific evidence shows what Jews have always known. All of us ultimately come from the small ancient land of our ancestors, called Israel. I am bound to that land and to the Jewish people. This is my heritage and my culture first and foremost.

Stan Grant, one of the giants of our Australian nation, criticises the arbitrary and dangerous boxes of identity. He warns against the perils of 'rooted identity'.

Grant argues that identity boxes “are not big enough to hold love”. They are also not big enough to hold the paradox at the heart of the Jewish people.

“Judaism remains unique in its combination of universalism and particularism,” writes the late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks. We are a particular people, from a particular land with a unique story and a specific history.

Yet, the Torah begins with the universal – humanity as a whole. We believe “the God of Abraham is also the God of everyone”.

Our lives are enriched by both the particular attachments we have to our family, to our own people, and the universal attachments we have to humanity – to the diverse cultures and civilisations that we live in.

Grant touches on this, echoing the words of poet Edouard Glissant, “it is possible to be one and multiple at the same time; that you can be yourself and the other; that you can be the same and the different”.

Notwithstanding the enormous pain we live with since October 7, I do believe, as a Jew, that it is possible to be both a citizen and an exile, connected to the place in which you live, whilst yearning for the home from which you come. Our challenge, Sacks declares, is “to remain true to our heritage, while being a blessing to others, whatever their heritage”.

Exactly a week later, on October 14, as a shell of myself, I walked to the local voting station to hand out flyers and campaign for “Yes” one last time. I thought given all that has happened, maybe on this side of the world, a small miracle can occur.

In the late afternoon, a large Aboriginal family poured out of a minivan to cast their votes. The young children called after their “Pop” to catch up. Pop, noticing my Kippah, stopped to offer his hand and said, “I am so sorry for what has happened to your people. It is such a disastrous tragedy”.

I was silent, holding back tears as he shook my hand.  

Now, when people ask where I am from, I proudly say Israel, knowing I am part of a particular people from an ancient land. But I am also grateful for the mark South Africa has left on me, and confident in my connection to Australia, this ancient land on which I am blessed to live, committed in my duty to its First Peoples.