I’m mourning my Australian identity.

Israel is my mission, but Australia was my peace. It was a silent anchor that kept me grounded when life felt untethered. It was the only place where I didn’t have to be a “Zionist,” a “Jew” or a “target” – I could just be a guy on a beach, shielded by a society that seemed to have outrun the reach of ancient hatreds.

Australia always represented the “safe room” in my mind. No matter how tense things got here in the Jewish state, Australia was that garden of tranquility I could daydream over.

It was the physical manifestation of Francis Fukuyama’s “The End of History” – a place where the ideological wars were far removed, the only thing surrounding you are oceans and the biggest worry was the cricket score.

The “End of Jewish History” had arrived Down Under, and we were living this privileged moment. It was the proof that after 2,000 years of wandering, Jews in the Diaspora could finally be just another thread in a multicultural tapestry. Ordinary. Boring. Safe.

It was a place where you didn’t need to look over your shoulder while wearing a kippah. A place where “Jewish” could just be an afterthought, perhaps secondary to “Australian” for some. A place where the fence surrounding the Jewish day school was knee-high and you could easily........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)