On the first of September we started our move to Melbourne. We would not move into our permanent home until the first of January. Our home in London was packed up, and we went from a house full of stuff to four under-23-kilo suitcases.

On the 9th of October we flew to Israel and spent loads of quality time with our family and ate waaaay too many croissants, and then on the 1st of December we started our journey to Melbourne. Initially we were living in temporary accommodation. And the final move, on January 1st, we slept in what is going to be our home for the next few years.

We have packed and repacked those same four bags way too many times for my liking. And though I have moved many times, I believe this is number 26 or 27. This one was harder than I thought it would be.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to be here. In fact, I’m super happy. But this is the first move that it’s just me and Daniel. Where I don’t have the distraction of a big family to keep me going from task to task, or, as a child, the sense of a whole family moving in the same direction. On the other hand, what we have found in Melbourne is a big community, invested not just in the community but in us.

Our move, though, is happening against a backdrop none of us can ignore: the elephant in the room, or rather in the country, antisemitism in Australia. People have stopped expressing, at least to us, that they are in shock. On the other hand, we are being met with frustration and anger at how the situation is being handled, which people are sharing openly.

The other day, in search of a metzia (a good deal in Yiddish, more on metzias in future posts for sure!) we drove out to Maribyrnong. Yes, I will get to know Australia one shopping trip at a time. I found the perfect hallway table, and because it was ‘dinged’ (don’t you love Australian!) I got an extra $100 off. Thus, the metzia.

We are driving around in a perfectly sized Volkswagen Golf, and though roomy enough, it was not built for a whole console table and every other bit of shopping I had done. And yet the sales assistant, who had shared with us how angry and frustrated and heartbroken she was, as a regular Australian, at what was happening in a country she thought she knew and still loves, did everything in her power to help us. She refused to let us carry the table out to the car. This thing is over a metre and a half long. And then she shoved and pulled and detached the legs of the table, rearranged the seats of the car, and gently closed the hatch. With a look of satisfaction, she turned to me, tears in her eyes, and said, “Well, even if the country is going to hell, at least you have a hallway table!”

I hugged her, climbed into the car, my chin literally on the dashboard, and drove on.

Next to Costco, where we signed up for membership (to my mom: yes, we will visit Costco as soon as you get here). The man managing the till one over from the one we stood by said, “Shalom!” (insert Australian accent here).

The woman behind our till then rolled up her sleeve and showed us the tattooed names of her children, all Hebrew names. Though she is not Jewish, she shared with us her deep faith in Judeo-Christian values, and said she could not imagine an Australia without Jews. That, she said, would be “the end”.

I have mentioned before that we have been wined and dined pretty much every evening since we got here. In fact, last night was only the second night in five weeks I had to make dinner. And here is where the head scratching starts. We are blessed in our new home to have a wonderful, in working order kosher kitchen. It has the right amount of everything, including counter space.

What I don’t have is much else.

When we packed up our bags in September back in London, I packed up our full kitchen, 30 years’ worth of accumulated pots, pans, and every kitchen gadget you can imagine. I refuse to buy or even borrow anything more than the bare minimum for our current kitchen. Buying is out of the question. I don’t need another ‘anything’. And borrowing, I’m concerned that the generous person who loans me something will tell me to keep it, leaving me with yet another thing.

Which brings us to the age-old dilemma of what’s for dinner? Baked potatoes is the answer, requiring minimal equipment and satiating my current need for comfort carbs.

It actually turns out that years ago I tried creating a series of recipes for university students away from home for the first time, and baked potatoes were high on the list. In a communal oven, they could be double wrapped, keeping them kosher. They are cheap, filling, and comforting.

Eventually, I hope my kitchen stuff will arrive and I will once more be cooking and sharing recipes and menus. Daniel is concerned that I may have forgotten how. This remains to be seen!