When I was a child the Jewish ghetto in Melbourne was very compact – it had to be because people were poor and no one had a car. The language was Yiddish and everyone knew everyone else. We went to mixed schools and had our own teacher for religious education because we formed a critical mass. Half a century later, it has grown exponentially. And here I am right in the middle of the most extreme part of it, the last place I expected to be, now the only one without a car.
The community has flourished, now boasting many full-time day schools of every stripe. But in my area, Balaclava, they still mentally inhabit the Poland that King Kazimiercz invited them to all those centuries ago because he could tell a good businessman from a dud. Tonight political arguments are out: never mind the theory that has resurfaced in Schlomo Sand's The Invention of the Jews: that our European ancestors were people called Khazars, who converted to Judaism in the 13th century and therefore had nothing to do with modern Israel. Nor am I popular for suggesting Jews would have been wiser to stay in Egypt because the art was so much better. Such heathen thoughts don't belong here.
Four generations live within walking distance from one another, cars notwithstanding. After all, on holy days you can't drive, cook, turn lights on or do anything resembling work. On the sabbath, synagogue members stand outside ready to welcome in all those willing to join a community that will look after you as long as you conform. And not all the women are dowdy with long skirts and dull wigs either: there are young smartly dressed blondes carrying large numbers of children in tow.
As in Israel, this part of the community is known for its burgeoning birthrate. But the men are still in their Polish garb even when it is hot: black coats and hats, beards, and white shirts. The language is no longer Yiddish but increasingly Russian or Hebrew, reflecting the newest migrations. And the family is everything; on the sabbath they walk together proudly in their finery, smiling and talking: no Nintendos, iPads or mobile phones in sight.
There are some good things about escaping modernity. Some of us have vainly tried it to cure our addictions, but this way of life has still not bowed down to conventional ideas of progress.