When an Australian Jew makes the monumental decision to make Aliyah, it’s extremely difficult for their family and friends to digest. Why on earth would someone choose to abandon their close-knit community, their hometown of carefree aspirations, their comfort zone, their ‘no worries’ commitments, and rebuild their life halfway across the globe? Rather than running away from the challenges and conflicts that hound our day-to-day Melbourne living, making aliyah is a life choice to run towards a place, an idea, a home that resonates in all aspects of our Jewish identity. “B’shana haba’a b’yerushalyim,” we have cried for over two millennia, and now in our shrinking global village, Jews have created for themselves the opportunity to live their lives in a land they can call their own.
Countless olim from Australia and across the world have described the magnetic pull they have felt from within to return to the Jewish homeland. Regardless of our home countries – from Iran to India, Uruguay to Belarus, Ethiopia to Romania, we are building our own community in our own state, communicating in our own shared language, and celebrating our festivals according to our religious and national calendar. We, Australians who choose to fly across two oceans to make aliyah, are consciously giving up our cushy Caulfield comforts and exchanging our affluent and easy lifestyles for the daily struggle of Israeli living. Why?

Aliyah flight: in transit

So it’s come to this. What an anti-climax. My body can barely hold the build-up of tension and stress and preparation and hype and tears and emotion and love and anxiety and-and-and-and…
I’m sitting here in Bangkok airport, splitting headache, overtired, exhausted, drained, and finally calm.
This is it. Aliyah, baby. It’s as if I never left. Twenty-five years of a strong Jewish identity is finally coming to its fruition. It’s as if the haze is being lifted from before my eyes. Shapes are regaining their focus, colours are intensifying, and while I have no place to call my own just yet, I don’t feel so rootless anymore.

My first Shabbat as an Olah Chadasha

Overtiredness racked my body and denied me sleep during the first few days of my arrival. I had been awake for more than eighty hours and I couldn’t get my mind to quieten down once I lay my head against the pillow. I had to will myself to sleep during that first Shabbat. Soulful melodies ushered in my Sabbath prayers, and as I walked home from shule that night, I felt awash with renewal by my first Tefillat Shabbat (Sabbath prayers) in Israel – as an Israeli.

I can now call myself an ‘Israeli’, a citizen of the State of Israel. I have the right to vote for and complain about my government. The streets of Jerusalem, the beaches of Tel Aviv, the hills of Haifa – they belong to me, and I can settle wherever I please within the borders of my land. I never felt the same passion, the same sense of belonging, upon celebrating the ‘land girt by sea’ as part of Australia’s national anthem. My life played to the tune of Hatikvah. The Partisan Song is an anthem of my past in blood-soaked Europe. Advance Australia Fair – a place of refuge and childhood and family and friends and joy and love. But throughout – Hatikvah, a song of hope, of returning to the land of our nation after thousands of years, fills my heart with pure energy and emotion as it moves me to tears. Hatikvah, a haunting melody which conjures images of sacrifice, hardship, renewal, birth, stability, home, belonging, language, prayer, family, and heritage, is our anthem, no matter where we live.

Sarah has arrived. After a whirlwind few weeks of attempting to tie up loose ends, Sunday sort of 'happened' upon me. Sunday - the Day Before. Usually, the day before is one spent relaxing with family and friends, having the suitcases already packed, and the last minutes trips to Chadstone to pick up anything left of the List.

Yes. Sarah had been living and moving according to a List. This is a first, especially for one who LOVES the label of Listmaker - however never really following through.

However, Sarah's Day Before was one of masked panic and contained psych-out. Leaving things to the last minute is my style. Everybody knows that. However, the Day Before, or should I write the Month Before, I was in complete denial. I'm going to Israel for six months? To live? And I'm working full time until the Week Before? Nu Sarah, ma kara? (Sarah - what happened to you?)

Let's just say, I was 'blinded' by the emotional experience. I've misplaced my glasses. Big time.

A man in Paris saw a pit bull attacking a toddler. He killed the pit bull and saved the child’s life. Reporters swarmed the fellow to cover the story….
“Tell us! What’s your name? All Paris will love you! Tomorrow’s headline will be: “Paris Hero Saves Girl from Vicious Dog!”

The man said, “But I’m not from Paris.”
Reporters: “That’s OK. Then the whole of France will love you, and tomorrow’s headline will read: “French Hero Saves Girl from Vicious Dog!”

The man said, “I’m not from France, either.”
Reporters: “That’s OK also. All Europe will love you. Tomorrow’s headlines will shout: “Europe’s Hero Saves Girl from Vicious Dog!”
The man said, “I’m not from Europe, either.”
Reporters: “So, where ARE you from?”
The man said, “I’m from Israel.”
Reporters: “OK… Then tomorrow’s headlines will proclaim to the world:
“Vicious Jew Kills Family Pet!!!”

Now, do you understand the media?

sometimes i WISH i could paste these to the margins of the work i read...



To view, check out the design police.

Ok. So it's been quite for some time. Almost a year. Well, half a year. All silent on the Sarah front. This hasn't been because I've been unconnected to the blogosphere, rather, I have been keeping busy reading blogs than writing.

My plans to go and join the center of my Jewish world in Israel are still going strong - my obsession with the culture, its politics and its quirks has reached some incredible heights. Even when I returned from my short stint over the summer, I felt I had to indulge myself and rent some Israeli movies. Well, perhaps in the midst of the stench of the Gaza war, I was craving to see something in which the Israelis/Jews were the heroes, rather than our usual paltry Hollywood Jewish stereotype of the snivelly victims.

So I rented Munich.


The video library doesn't stock many quality Israeli films. And I didn't have the patience to sit through Exodus. Besides, I was thirsty for blood. Not Paul Newman (though his sauces aren't half bad).

Other recent Israeli films that make me less home-sick (well, it's not exactly MY home yet, but I suppose one could say that it's the home of the Jewish people? No. That's sounds like crap.) are Noodle and Eskimos of the Galil.

Noodle was another great Israeli film. they're pumping them out nearly every year. Quality acting, tight writing and screen shots. Loved it. It even made me cry.
And then I wanted to eat Chinese food.


Eskimos took me a while to get through. Slow, dull, punctuated with some really moving scenes of kibbutznik alterkackers being abandoned by brash Israeli capitalism. Another snapshot of the multi-faceted society of Israel. What joy.



What else have I been doing? Reading. Reading at work (but that's work...), reading blogs about Israel and Operation Cast Iron Lead, and reading Beaufort. The book. I must've raved about the movie when I saw it last year. The book is fantastic. Traumatic, an invaluable gain into the fierce passion of some serving soldiers, it definitely is a personal and cathartic reading journey.

I've added the Israeli blogs I've been following - I advise you to have a sticky beak around the Jewish blogosphere, it is such a diverse community.

Ok. Welcome back to the end of the world.

S xx

current playlist:

hermetico - balkan beat box
virtual insanity - jamiroquai
come around - MIA (feat. timbaland)
new soul - yael naim
in the waiting line - zero 7
refuge (when it's cold outside) - john legend
the book of love - peter gabriel

current hairstyle:

freshly washed, smelling sweet of paul mitchell serum. paul mitchell reminds me of 'don't mess with the zohan'. that flick reminds me of israeli hairdressers. which reminds me of my boy's ex-flat mate. note to self - israeli hairdressers are NOT to be trusted. even the zohan (sorry, sandler). waiting to be blowdried - apparently 'blow-waved' is an archaic expression that should have remained in the 80s vacuum. Pity my mum still uses it. Should someone tell her?

current mood:

perplexed. feeling alone? no. maybe. perhaps i've felt alone my entire life. maybe there's nothing wrong with that. confused as to the insecurities that seem heavy in my chest. thanking god they're not heavy in my stomach. that's when i KNOW something's wrong. still perplexed.

current temperature:

quite comfortable. heater's working again. remember to thank the plumber. maybe i should become a plumber. it's a stable job - everyone needs a plumber, all over the world. plumbers make a good living. plumbing or publishing? tough choice. hold up - maybe rethink the plumbing. it's a crappy job.

oh, the pun was never intended.

current timecheck:

is there even a word as timecheck? don't think so. regardless, it's one a.m. on a wednesday night. which means it's morn. which means it's september. which makes it sound like december. which is when i'm visiting israel for a short while. also my boy. does the order matter? no. not today. today i just want to see him.

check out tomer yosef (lead singer of Balkan Beat Box) in a soothing 'Don't Fly Away'

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