In long-isolated Australia, festivals bring out Jewish celebrants in Sydney and Melbourne
When things finally began returning to normal in Australia after nearly three years under one of the world’s strictest Covid protocols, Australian Jews didn’t hesitate to celebrate.
In November, Jews with the roots in the former Soviet Union who live in Australia heralded their heritage with a pair of long-awaited festivals in the country’s two biggest cities, Nov. 6 in Sydney and Nov. 13 in Melbourne. Each event attracted about 200 people. Limmud FSU Australia hosted both festivals in close partnership with the Zionist Federation of Australia or ZFA, marking the FSU Jewish community’s first in-person, large-scale events since 2018.
“For a while, we couldn’t travel more than 5 kilometers from our homes,” said Ukrainian-born Inna Polura, who worked logistics for Limmud FSU’s first Sydney festival back in 2015 and now volunteers at the Sydney Jewish Museum. “This last event was very successful, and at least 50 kids attended. We see a huge potential here.”
Moscow-born real estate agent Elena Sladkova, 25, added, “Finally we were able to do it, and this was one of the best festivals our community has seen in a very long time.”
About a quarter of Australia’s 120,000 Jews were born in the former Soviet Union or are children of immigrants from the former USSR. Limmud FSU organizes gatherings all over the world to strengthen Jewish identity and a sense of Jewish community among Jews with roots in the USSR.
At the Limmud festivals in Australia, which were held in both English and Russian, representatives of three nonprofit groups — the Blue Peony Foundation, the Svoboda Alliance and the Russian-Speaking Jewish Community Association — shared tips on how to assist Ukrainians suffering from the war that has devastated their country.
The Sydney event, held at New South Wales University, featured such presenters as Amir Maimon, Israel’s new ambassador to Australia; Leon Goltsman, Waverley Councillor for Bondi Ward, Sydney; Ron Weiser, former president of the ZFA; Diana Ulitsky of the social service agency JewishCare NSW; and Rabbi Yehoram Ulman of the Sydney Beth Din. The Melbourne event took place at the Crowne Promenade Conference Centre, with such prominent speakers as MP David Southwick, deputy Victorian Liberal Party leader; and Sebastian Inwentarz, ZFA Birthright’s Australia director.
Some of the festivals’ sessions focused on uniquely Australian themes, such as Professor Ludmila Stern’s history lecture on the World War II-era prosecution of two elderly Ukrainians and a German in the Australian city of Adelaide for atrocities against Jews. Jeremy Jones, director of international and community affairs at the Australia/Israel & Jewish Affairs Council, spoke of local efforts to secure the emigration of Soviet Jews to Australia in the 1970s and ’80s. In Melbourne, Simon Holloway, head of education at the Melbourne Holocaust Museum, spoke on the dramatic emergence of Holocaust research in the former Soviet Union.
There were plenty of lighter sessions among the three dozen or so at each festival. At the Melbourne event, Orthodox psychotherapist Miriam Dolnikov talked about myths and facts about Orthodox sex. Rabbi and chef David Trakhtman spoke about “spiritual gastronomy.”
Volunteers, like these ones in Melbourne, are an indispensable part of those who organize Limmud FSU conferences. (Yuri Peress, PY-PHOTO)
In between sessions, entertainment was provided by the Russian School Lider Dance Ensemble as well as students from the AMS Music Centre and VulgarGrad, a seven-piece, Melbourne-based band that plays unique funk and punk renditions of traditional folk songs from the former Soviet Union. A special performance was held in Sydney by Ukraine-born Israeli singer Vladi Balyberg, and both events featured a unique concert by a prominent Israeli actor and singer, Vladimir Friedman. There were also workshops on challah baking and martial arts for kids.
“The last three years have shown that everything in the world can change overnight. But the fact that Limmud FSU continues to work and be active is priceless,” said Marina Rozenberg Koritny, head of the World Zionist Organization’s Aliyah Promotion Department. “This organization does wonderful, significant work in Jewish education in the Diaspora, and continues to remind us all the time that we are all one people.”
This year alone, Limmud FSU has held festivals in New Jersey; Niagara Falls, Canada; Baku, Azerbaijan, and Boston. A Dec. 1-3 gathering in Tiberias, Israel, was the year’s biggest event, with some 1,100 participants.
“It has been a long time since we last gathered in Australia,” said Limmud FSU founder Chaim Chesler. “But the post-Covid Australian Jewish community, whose roots lie in the countries of the FSU, is just as vibrant and hungry for community and learning opportunities as before. We are delighted to return.”
Events for children were part of the Limmud FSU conference in Sydney, Austrlia, on Nov. 6, 2022. (Veda Kucko)
Among Limmud FSU Australia’s key supporters are the Conference on Jewish Material Claims against Germany, the ZFA, the World Zionist Organization, Genesis Philanthropy Group, the Jewish National Fund-Keren Kayemet LeIsrael and Wilf Family Foundations. Since Limmud FSU’s first conference in 2006, the group has hosted more than 80 events worldwide, drawing over 80,000 participants. The group’s co-founder is Sandra Cahn; Matthew Bronfman is its chairman; and Aaron Frenkel is president.
“I think the best way to expand your network is by volunteering and participating in the community, and that’s why I’m involved with Limmud,” said Russia-born Maria Gelvan, 38, who coordinated the activities of the 28 volunteers at the Melbourne festival. “It’s an absolutely amazing opportunity for unifying the Jewish community.”
Luiza Levenfus, 44, who immigrated to Israel from the former Soviet republic of Azerbaijan at age 12 before moving to Melbourne when she was about 20, says Jewish identity is at risk in Australia’s multicultural society.
“There is a big risk of losing our connection to Judaism,” Levenfus said. “I feel like my kids don’t understand the Jewish side of things, even though their mom is Jewish and their dad is half-Jewish and half-Russian — especially in the suburb where we live.”
That’s why taking the time to go to the Limmud FSU festival was so important, she said.
“People there get me. I don’t have to explain to them why I have tears when I hear Hebrew songs,” Levenfus said. “We’re all on the same page.”
A little‑remembered Gilded Age millionaire helped make milk safe for American kids through his ‘retail giving’
The 1844 edition of the widely used schoolbook written by William H. McGuffey, “Newly Revised Eclectic Fourth Reader,” includes a dialogue about the difference between “true and false philanthropy”:
Mr. Fantom: I despise a narrow field. O for the reign of universal benevolence! I want to make all mankind good and happy.
Mr. Goodman: Dear me! Sure, that must be a wholesale sort of a job: had you not better try your hand at a town or neighborhood first?
As the discussion continues, the lesson becomes clear. Mr. Fantom’s approach is too ambitious to accomplish much, while Mr. Goodman’s, if narrower in scope, was likely to be more useful in practice.
Nathan Straus made his mark in philanthropy after a successful career running the Macy’s department store. Library of Congress Image by
Many of Straus’ contemporary philanthropists were setting lofty goals for their giving. In oil magnate John D. Rockefeller’s case, it was promoting “the welfare of humanity throughout the world.” For steel tycoon Andrew Carnegie, it was “to promote the advancement and diffusion of knowledge and understanding.”
Straus pursued more mundane objectives that included championing milk pasteurization. Although his efforts are not as well known today as those of his more ambitious – and wealthier – counterparts, they accomplished a lot and showed that what might be called “retail giving” can have far-reaching effects.
Successful immigration story
The Straus family came to the United States from Germany in the 1850s during the first big wave of Jewish immigration. Lazarus Straus, Nathan’s father, followed a familiar path for Jewish immigrants at the time, beginning as a peddler and eventually establishing his own store in the small town of Talbotton, Georgia, where the members of his family were the only Jews.
He prospered, became a respected citizen and saw that his children received good educations, including in their religion.
Then the Civil War upended the family’s life, first by reviving antisemitic prejudices and then, eventually, by destroying the family’s business.
Starting anew in New York City, Lazarus and his older sons, Isidor and Nathan, began to sell imported china, glassware and other crockery to retailers in the Northeast and South. One was Rowland H. Macy, who had founded an eponymous store that was on the cutting edge of what Fisher calls a “retailing revolution.”
Macy’s innovations included stocking large inventories of many kinds of merchandise, competitive pricing, extensive advertising and providing a variety of services like public restrooms and a cafeteria to make shoppers’ experiences more pleasurable.
Aided by the rapid urban and economic growth of the late 19th century, the model flourished. Department stores displaced smaller, specialty shops. Other retail powerhouses, such as Bloomingdale’s and Lord & Taylor, soon competed with Macy’s.
The Straus family sold their wares at Macy’s. After Rowland H. Macy died, the Straus family became partners with its new owners. By 1896, the Strauses owned the store outright. And Macy’s was expanding: It bought another department store in Brooklyn and created a flagship building on Manhattan’s Herald Square, which Macy’s still occupies.
The landmark Macy’s department store in New York’s Herald Square opened in 1902 while Nathan and Isidor Straus ran the retailer. Library of Congress Image by
His philanthropy journey begins
While Isidor Straus oversaw the store’s internal operations, Nathan focused on the company’s external activities, such as purchasing, marketing and dealing with government and business leaders.
A third brother, Oscar, pursued a career as a politician and diplomat, eventually becoming secretary of commerce and labor under President Theodore Roosevelt and the first Jewish member of a presidential cabinet. Perhaps inevitably, this led to a series of public appointments for Nathan Straus.
However, as they became wealthier, Nathan and his wife, Lina, increasingly devoted their attention to a series of philanthropic projects.
In 1893, the U.S. entered a four-year economic depression, its worst until the 1930s. As unemployment in New York City rose, Nathan Straus used his merchandising skills to address the needs of the jobless and poor.
He created a number of “depots” near tenements and boarding houses that sold coal, food and fuel at discount prices. Fisher, Straus’ biographer, rightly calls these early examples of what is now known as “social entrepreneurship”: the application of business principles to solving social problems.
Making milk less deadly
As these efforts were getting away, Straus also launched what would become his major preoccupation: promoting pasteurized milk.
In New York City in the early 1890s, Fisher writes, “the annual mortality rate among children under five was about 15 percent,” or 18,000 infants and toddlers per year. A main cause was consuming raw milk, which, unless certified by inspectors, was likely not only to contain a variety of pathogens, such as tuberculosis bacteria, but spoil easily going from farm to table.
Although scientists had long known that heating could make milk safer, doctors and public health officials worried that sterilizing milk might also destroy its valuable nutrients.
Straus, who had lost one of his own children to what he believed was a milk-borne infection, built on his projects for the unemployed by working with New York social service agencies to develop pasteurization plants and infant-milk stations near low-income neighborhoods.
They sold sterilized and refrigerated milk at below-wholesale prices, or donated it to those who could not afford to pay. Businesslike efficiency kept costs low, as did donations. Multilingual ads publicized the product’s availability, doctors and nurses advised parents on child-rearing, and careful recordkeeping aimed at assessing the program’s health benefits.
Straus and his wife devoted much of their time and money to this work. In addition to establishing 297 milk stations in 36 cities, they also spoke and wrote widely about the merits of pasteurization.
By 1908, their efforts paid off when the U.S. Public Health Service endorsed pasteurization and state and local governments began requiring that milk sold in their jurisdictions be pasteurized. Raw milk remained available in many states, and debates over its safety continue to this day.
As a result of this and other Progressive Era measures, New York City’s health commissioner estimated that infant deaths dropped by two-thirds
during the first two decades of the 20th century, with similar declines elsewhere in the country.
The coastal Israeli city of Netanya was named after philanthropist Nathan Straus. Jack Guez/AFP via Getty Images Image by
Other causes
While most of Nathan Straus’ efforts occurred in the U.S., he used his trips to Europe for Macy’s to promote pasteurization on the continent.
During a 1904 visit, he toured the Mediterranean and stopped in Palestine, then part of the Ottoman Empire. Impressed by the early Jewish settlements and holy sites he saw, Straus became an ardent advocate for creating a Jewish homeland in the Middle East, an unusual position for a Jewish businessman of that era, according to Fisher.
On a subsequent trip, a broken leg kept Straus from returning to New York on the maiden voyage of the Titanic; his brother Isidor and sister-in-law Ida were not so fortunate.
In the U.S., Nathan Straus led Zionist organizations, while in Palestine, his chief contributions involved supporting a variety of health care and economic development activities, including Hadassah, the women’s health and community development organization founded by Henrietta Szold.
Nathan Straus’ achievements as a philanthropist are not widely known today because he did not create a grantmaking foundation that outlasted him, as Rockefeller and Carnegie did.
Instead, by the time of his death in 1931, Straus had donated much of his fortune. Fisher writes that Straus used to invoke an old Hebrew proverb: “Money given in health is gold. Money given in sickness is silver. Money given after death is lead.”
He also didn’t donate heavily to the burgeoning network of communal organizations set up to assist the growing population of Jewish immigrants, as did the financiers Jacob Schiff and Felix Warburg, who were also affluent Jewish immigrants from Germany.
As Fisher notes, this pattern of philanthropy resembles that of Straus’ friend – and pallbearer – Julius Rosenwald, the longtime head of Sears, Roebuck and Co. Both supported Jewish causes as well as major initiatives aimed at helping others: In Rosenwald’s case, it was schools for African American children in the South, while for Straus, it was milk pasteurization in New York City and beyond.
During and after World War I, they worked together to assist Jewish refugees in Europe. Fisher might have added that neither Straus nor Rosenwald sought much recognition for their work.
His thorough account should help give Straus the credit he deserves for his philanthropy. It should also show that donors do not have to aspire to “make all mankind good and happy” to make an important difference.
In many ways, Nathan Straus was an old-fashioned do-gooder, responding to the needs he saw with innovative solutions. As a result, he wound up accomplishing a lot of good.
“Emma,” a young Jewish woman who we met in 2019, didn’t belong to a synagogue. She didn’t have a Jewish partner. She didn’t observe Jewish rituals regularly. On most surveys about religion, she would not seem very engaged with Judaism.
But as Emma talked about what she did in her free time, a very different picture began to emerge. She visited Jewish websites and enjoyed listening to Jewish music. She read books about Jewish topics and had recently attended a retreat for young Jewish adults to learn Torah while also doing yoga.
She was highly invested in learning about Judaism, but she explored her identity without joining traditional institutions.
Most major surveys about religion ask whether someone belongs to a congregation, how often they attend services, whether they pray regularly and whether belief is important in their lives. Those measures help identify broad shifts, like the growing percentage of Americans who are religiously unaffiliated: the “nones.”
But many Americans’ religious lives, like Emma’s, are not disappearing; they are moving away from membership of traditional institutions. To understand what religion looks like in 21st-century America, researchers may need to ask different questions.
Learning through art
As scholars of Judaismand education, we have been exploring how people learn about religion beyond traditional places like synagogues, Jewish schools and summer camps. Between 2019 and early 2023, we spoke with hundreds of people and explored different leisure time activities to discover what people learn about Judaism and Jewishness through cultural arts.
We interviewed dozens of audience members at Jewish-themed shows on Broadway, such as “Leopoldstadt”and “Parade.” We attended Jewish concerts and asked attendees what they learned. We explored how social media communities offer spaces to talk about different Jewish topics, like what fans learned about ultra-Orthodox Judaism from watching the television show “Shtisel.”
‘Shtisel,’ an Israeli series about an ultra-Orthodox family in Jerusalem, ran for three seasons.
Our research revealed that there is a vibrant ecosystem of people learning about religion in their leisure time. Through the arts, both Jews and non-Jews encounter Jewish history, Jewish religious practices and representations of Jewish communities.
Screen and stage
Most people we spoke with told us that they felt meaningful connections to Judaism during activities that would rarely appear on a standard religion survey.
“Joan,” an unmarried woman in her 50s from Connecticut, told us that she was deeply invested in Judaism, but felt that synagogues and Jewish community centers were not welcoming to single people without families. Instead of joining a Jewish institution, she watched Jewish-themed TV shows and movies on Netflix, and joined social media communities to chat with other fans.
“Luis,” who lived in Boston but was born in Argentina, was a Sephardic Jew, a group that traces their ancestry and traditions to Jewish communities who once lived in Spain and Portugal. His wife was Ashkenazi, meaning her ancestors came from Central and Eastern Europe. She considered herself secular, and so the couple joined the Worker’s Circle, a nonreligious Ashkenazi institution rather than a synagogue.
Yet Luis loved deepening his knowledge of Sephardic culture, and he often attended concerts of music in Ladino, a Sephardic language related to Spanish, with other Sephardic immigrants.
American singer Sarah Aroeste writes and performs in Ladino.
For Joan and Luis, these activities were not peripheral to their Jewish lives. Rather, they were central avenues for learning and community. We interviewed hundreds of Jews who told us that cultural experiences were opportunities to reflect on Jewish practices, explore questions of belonging, connect with family histories and find friends with common interests.
New questions
Some aspects of these patterns were distinctive to Judaism. Historically, many Jews have understood Judaism to be a cultural world, and not only a theological tradition. Learning about cultural dimensions of Judaism has long been part of Jewish education.
The broader phenomenon of informal learning, though, extended far beyond a single tradition. Across America, increasing numbers of people learn about religion through media, cultural productions and digital networks. Christians may study biblical themes through podcasts, online discussion groups or religious influencers. Muslims may participate in online learning communities that connect believers across the world.
The challenge for religion researchers, then, is not simply to determine whether engagement with religion is rising or falling. Rather, it is to develop more nuanced ways of understanding how people explore religious themes and practices, beyond traditional institutions. Only then can we more fully understand how contemporary Americans actually live their religious lives.
