A Palestinian flag flies above a building right in the centre of my picturesque rural town of Castlemaine. It has been there for almost a year. It demonstrates, for those who raised it, a commitment to peace, love and support for the victims of a devastating war on the other side of the planet.
And yet, on that terrible day of 7 October 2023, there was barely a minute of pity, of human fellowship by the Castlemaine activists for the families burnt to death in their homes, the young women brutally raped, the babies barbarically murdered, or elderly peace activists taken hostage into Gaza. Not a minute of condemnation of violent terrorist acts based on a fundamentalist religion whose values should have been an anathema to them.
How quickly peace and inclusion turned into blame, hatred and the cancelling of anything and anyone perceived as “Zionist”. How quickly the sharing of memes and articles that revised the whole of Jewish history, using language and attitudes straight from a Nazi playbook. How quickly the tiny Jewish community, in trying to express our grief, was labelled and shunned.
The irony of my town is that it has much in common with places like Kibbutz Be’eri and Nahal Oz, which, from all descriptions were beautiful and tranquil communities, peopled by activists committed to social justice and peace. People who were engaged in actions to assist the people of Gaza by transporting them to Israeli hospitals, learning Arabic and creating dialogues wherever possible with their neighbours on the other side of the fence.
I felt very much at home in Castlemaine, having moved here a decade ago. A ‘tree-changer’ from the city searching for a quieter life that still contained like-minded people, a lively arts scene and good coffee.
Everything changed for me on October 7.
As the fence was breached, it opened a hole in my heart. A raw wound oozing blood-deep existential fear. This fear was not for my personal safety. It was a fear welling up from the depths of my Jewish collective unconscious. When I saw footage of the bloody pogrom, I recognised this fear. Within a few days, the stories of anti-Semitic outbursts around the world began to filter through the media, reinforcing this fear. A fear thousands of years old. The eternal Wandering Jew, adrift in a hostile world with no safe harbour, dependent for survival on the tolerance of strangers.
Israel, with its invincible IDF, its super-human Mossad, the strength, bravery and determination of its people, had, despite the wars and threats of annihilation, protected the borders of the land of our forebears; creating and maintaining in my lifetime a physical and psychological haven for Jews across the world. If the people of Israel could be massacred, the Jewish people were once again vulnerable.
The depth of my fear, anger and anxiety took me by surprise. I am not religious in the traditional sense, but my Jewish identity has always been fundamental and a source of pride. As a Jew of the Left, I had worked for many years to bring about a more even-handed and educated approach to the “Palestinian problem”. I had many political disagreements with friends but rarely fell out with them over divergent views on Middle Eastern politics.
The rapid rise in global antisemitism after October 7, from the far right but also from academics, students and ideologues, was frightening. The emergence of a concerted campaign to portray Israel as a genocidal entity, so evil that it had no right to exist, felt as if it were coming from a place of such deep hatred of my people that it started a transformation inside me. All my previous political certainties began to unwind, and my sense of identity began to transform, a process that continues to this day.
While I was still in shock and grief, and fear for my Israeli friends, my community was gearing up to become a centre of Pro-Palestinian activity.
My first encounter with what was to come occurred a few days after the 7th and well before Israel had gone into Gaza. I was handing out How to Vote cards for the Referendum on the Indigenous Voice to Parliament. A woman came up and loudly informed me that Palestinians did not commit any massacre. It was Israel that murdered its own people as an excuse to go into Gaza and kill Palestinians. Her words, delivered with such ferocity and certainty, were a knife in my guts. She’s a nutter I thought, naively assuming hers was an extreme position that any rational person would reject.
It didn’t take many days after October 7 for local activists to start agitating for a rally to support the people of Gaza. Several of my Jewish friends believed that they would call for the release of Israeli hostages and condemn Hamas as well as calling for peace and the protection of Gazan civilians.
As I knew some of the people involved with the rally I spoke with one of the organisers. It was immediately obvious to me that this rally was all about liberating Palestine ‘from the river to the sea’, not a peace rally at all. I tried to explain to her the difference between treating both sides as victims of terrorism and of taking a partisan stand which actually endorses terrorist acts, but to no avail. Of course, the rally turned out to be completely focussed on anti-Israel and pro-Palestine rhetoric. The mayor of the Shire was one of the attendees.
A few members of the local Jewish community complained to Council about the mayor’s involvement, and about a massive From the River to the Sea sign which went up in the town, pointing out how hurtful and divisive this was. Council took the concerns seriously enough to order the mayor to refrain from partisan politics, and the sign to be taken down. Council staff also promised to bring the opposing sides together to discuss the issues, but sadly, this has never happened.
Since then, for most of the year, there has been a Free Palestine Rally in the park adjacent the supermarket every Sunday. People swathed in kaffiyehs calling Israel a genocidal state, and holding teaching sessions for their children on the innocent Palestinian children being butchered by the white colonial-oppressor Zionists. I don’t go near the supermarket on Sundays.
The local cinema held a Palestinian film festival. So many community events have been held in support of Palestine, or hijacked by fervent pro-Palestinians, that I am now wary of participating in the social and cultural life of the town.
The days became months, the war continued, most of the hostages remained in captivity. I was desperate to comprehend how October 7 could have happened, and to gain some understanding of the situation in Gaza. The mainstream media was focused on an exclusive diet of images of suffering Palestinian children. I couldn’t blame anyone for being devastated by the suffering, but there was no context to leaven this view, and Hamas had been left out of the story.
I was fortunate in having friends who switched me onto some amazing podcast series by outstanding American, British and Israeli reporters and analysts, that were supportive of Israel but far from uncritically so. These podcasts opened my eyes to a much broader and more complex situation, with players not only in the Middle East but across the globe.
At the same time, my friends were sharing information on social media that I knew was distorted and factually incorrect. When I tried to provide information, I was met with, “you think your way, I’ll think mine” No debate.
After one close friend had shared a particularly toxic document by Hamas denying it had committed any violence to civilians on October 7, and refused to discuss it, I was utterly devastated. So much so that I considered moving back to the city, to the safety of the community I came from. I was missing my old chevra[community] and family members.
I walked into the pharmacy that morning as an older woman was emerging. She was wearing a Magen David. I asked her if she was Jewish. “No dear”, she replied. “I’m Presbyterian. All the Jews in my family were killed in the Holocaust.” I told her I was finding life difficult in Castlemaine. She smiled gently and told me that she and her congregation supported Israel. “Don’t worry, there are a lot more who think like us.”
That little encounter at such a time comforted me immensely. It helped me to reached a decision about my own direction. I do love living here and I will not be run out of town by people who use borrowed phrases to cloak their own ignorance and prejudice.
Reflecting on how best I could focus my energy, I realised that arguing with my old leftist friends was a waste of time. I needed to focus on our little Jewish community and bring us together for mutual support. Most of my Jewish friends have been hurt and traumatised by October 7. The ongoing existential fight that Israel is in means that the stress is not dissipating with time. Even here in the Diaspora, we are all ‘still in October 8th’, as some commentators have said. We Jews who live outside the main cities are too far from the centre of Jewish life to participate in the rallies and the cultural and social activities which have kept many of my city friends feeling supported throughout the year. We are a small but diverse group in Castlemaine. Some are strongly connected to Israel through family, friends or having lived there. Others are children of Holocaust survivors and very attuned to antisemitism. Some are committed to religious practises others have no religious attachment. Then there are a few, so appalled by the sheer scale of victims of the Gaza war and the machinations of Israel’s political leaders that they are struggling in all directions.
And so, I conceived the idea of holding a commemoration and Yahrzeit for the anniversary of October 7. Sadly, I knew this would have to be a private event. It is an indictment of what has been going on in our town that we do not feel safe to memorialise the victims of a massacre of our people openly.
I asked five women to help plan and run the event. These women reflected the diversity of our community. At our planning sessions, we argued, cried, drank whiskey and hugged our way towards a program that we felt would reflect our beliefs without exacerbating differences.
The event was held in my home on Sunday, 6th October. In my introduction, I quoted the New York Rabbi Angela Buchdahl, “Jews are experiencing a communal grief. It is important not to feel alone. We experience something more profound by doing the grieving together.” This, I said, is why we are here.
We lit candles and said Kaddish prayers together. There were speeches, silent meditations, tears and singing, followed, as is our way, by food and conversation. From the feedback, I know that people found it to be a “special and unique event, very moving and much needed.” I hope that this memorial, a culmination of a year of tragedy and grief, will be the beginning of more profound relationships and a strengthened Jewish community.
Am Israel Chai.
