I still call Australia home

for love of this land

And someday we'll all be together once more
When all the ships come back to the shore
Then I realize something I've always known
I still call Australia home.

Maybe I’m just a sucker for schmalz. But last night I watched the Bondi massacre memorial event at the Opera House and scrapped the (excellent) piece I had planned for today and decided to reflect on it instead.

Hearing memories about the dead from their loved ones was beautiful and brutal. “I am now a widow,” says an older lady. The new identity hadn’t yet quite settled.

Rabbi Ulman spoke well as usual. The mere presence of the wounded cops, shot defending our community, was moving. A Jewish lad who was shot caring for a policeman was discharged straight from hospital to play and sing at the event. Ani Ma’amin always gets me (you have not lived until you have watched it sung by an assembly hall of kids, including your own). Chris Minns has the best speech writer in the land (if you read this, please reach out!). Albo’s apology was graciously given and graciously received.

Both the Premier and the Federal Leader of the Opposition claimed back the Opera House that night following the debacle that occurred there after October 7 2023 (it took two years… but we got there).

The overwhelming sense of the night was one of reconciliation. Ulman nailed it when he thanked Australians:

I want to express my gratitude personally and on behalf of our community to every Australian who sent a letter, laid a flower, waited in line to donate blood, or gave financial support to the bereaved. You did not just offer comfort, you restored our faith in humanity.

And then:

I have never been a prouder Jew, and I have never been a prouder Australian.

Never been a prouder Australian. The event ended with ‘I Still Call Australia Home’¹ — exactly right. Despite the Haredim on stage, the Hebrew prayers, the Jewishness: it ended in a visceral Australianness.

Not a day goes by I am not grateful to my parents for leaving everything they knew to come to this great land, and for Australia affording us that opportunity. My uncle one night after he arrived to this country woke up in a sweat and was so relieved to be here he ran out into his backyard and just hugged his big plum tree.

Blessings cover this land like jacaranda petals. Cycling through Willunga in South Australia, its rolling paddocks shimmering like golden cat fur. Bright pink flowering gums on our street. The glee that comes up like sickness when stepping onto Freshwater beach for a morning surf. Bondi heaving at sunset. And at nightfall, a giant menorah stands still, its candles lit against the dark. It’s impossible not to love this land.

In a moment of crisis in investment banking, a former colleague once told me that if he lost his job, he could always go back to Byron Bay. He was a country boy, and all the gold a career in the big smoke had to offer was just cream on top. He could always just go back. (He’s now head of the region.) I think about that sometimes, because when I reflect on the lives my grandparents’ families lived and the unspeakable things they went through, no matter what happens, if you live in Australia, you’ve already won. Whatever happens is all upside.

I caught up with a Lebanese mate the other night. His uncles all share the same birthday: 26 January. They came to this country, and just registered their date of birth as Australia Day. Birthday cakes every Australia Day BBQ. They never went back. They just love this country.

There’s no place in the world I’d rather live. I still call Australia home.

Happy Australia Day.

1. The singer Rabbi Feldman is just an astonishing talent. I’ve heard him perform at both religious and more intimate settings and he is a national treasure.