The East Melbourne Hebrew Congregation stands as one of the oldest synagogues in Australia, steeped in rich history and personal significance for families like mine. Our roots trace back to the Ballarat gold rush, and the synagogue embodies much more than mere architecture; it symbolizes hope and resilience. Nearly a century ago, my great-grandparents, Rachel and David Miller, exchanged vows under its Chuppah, weaving their personal story into its legacy. Rachel fled the violent pogroms of Russia, while David arrived from Britain, seeking a better life in Australia. Together, they were determined to build a future full of promise for their children, resonating with the broader narrative of Jewish immigrants who found refuge and belonging in this new land.
Constructed in the 1870s, the East Melbourne Synagogue showcased the ideals of safety and community for Jewish immigrants, offering a space where they could practice their faith free from persecution. Surrounded by churches and civic buildings, it stood as a testament to Australia’s commitment to diversity and acceptance. Its stained-glass windows and memorial plaques honor both Jewish contributions and the broader community, illustrating a rich tapestry of interwoven identities. The synagogue represents a sanctuary where generations of families, including mine, have celebrated life’s milestones and reflected on their heritage amid a changing landscape.
As a frequent visitor to the synagogue over the years—attending events, observing Shabbat services, and finding moments of solace—I hold a deep appreciation for these older congregations. Although many Jewish families have moved to suburban areas, our hearts remain tied to these sacred spaces. They evoke memories of ancestors who fled danger, embodying the strength of our collective past and the dreams of a peaceful Australia. This sense of belonging underlines a profound connection to both the physical space and the spiritual journey that brought us here.
However, my world was shattered when I learned of a recent attack on the synagogue. Following Shabbat dinner, someone had deliberately doused the front door in flammable liquid and set it ablaze, an act that was not merely a random vandalism but an attack on our community’s very essence. The violation struck at the heart of our shared experiences, tainting the memories created within those walls, where my great-grandmother once stood with joy on her wedding day. This act of arson was a blatant attempt to erase the story and faith that bind us, a painful reminder of the darker elements that continue to challenge our existence.
As a community rabbi in Melbourne, articulating the grief that accompanies such a sacred place being threatened is a daunting task. The incident has unsettled me deeply, weighing heavily on my heart as I grapple with feelings of anger and despair. This attack reflects a larger, troubling trend of rising antisemitism within Australia, leading many in the Jewish community to feel increasingly unsafe. We find ourselves facing a reality that many never imagined would emerge in our lifetime, reminding us of the fragility of the freedoms we have come to cherish.
Despite the pain this act of hatred has caused, I still cling to the hope and promise that drove my great-grandparents to these shores. My belief in Australia, even in these difficult times, remains steadfast. I turn to the majority of Australians who stand against hatred and advocate for safety in places of worship, whether they be synagogues, churches, or mosques. It is crucial that, together, we reaffirm our commitment to understanding, love, and acceptance, ensuring that our stories, along with the sanctity of our sacred spaces, are preserved for generations to come.
