(no subject)

I've carefully balanced the number of requests for more of my life history with the number of people who carefully abstained. I've taken into account that this is day 5 of headache. Instead of years of funny stuff, I'm going to give you one episode from my teen years. It's seasonal. Funny stuff another day, I promise.

When I was fifteen, I went into a church for the first time. I grew up in Hawthorn, where many of the churches had bells, and have always loved the clang of competing music every Sunday morning. When I asked my parents (from when I was a toddler) if we could see inside a church, I was taken to the gate and the parent would say "We've seen the church. Can we go home now?"

"But I want to go in!"

"You can't. It's like Christmas carols. When you're twelve you can do what you like, but now, you have to be proper. You're Jewish."

"Not even to look at the pictures?"

"Not even to look at the floorboards."

The ban on other religions made my life complicated. For instance, at school I'd be punished for saying "I can't sing these words, Miss, they're Christian." And Christmas carols can be gorgeous. I wanted to sing.

I solved this in third grade. It stopped me getting into trouble with teachers and with parents. My solution?

"Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, the little [blank] [blank] lay down his sweet head."

I had my Christmas carols.

When I was in Girl Guides, eventually, someone had an idea. "Let's have an ecumenical service." It was the late seventies – ecumenical everything was trendy.

There were two of us who didn't regard the prayers chosen as terribly ecumenical. We argued. It caused much upset, but eventually we won. All the texts for the service had to be non-offensive to everyone else. No smiting heathens and no "Let us all pray to Jesus, Our Saviour." After the argument, our leader was quite willing to believe that Jesus wouldn't save me, anyhow.

They insisted that the service be in a church. My parents were upset, but they had promised they wouldn't interfere with my religious choices after I turned twelve, so they reasoned with me for a bit, then let me participate.

I arrived early. A half hour before things began, no-one was there. Not even a security guard. I thought I had the wrong day. It was all unlocked, though, and very peaceful. The lack of locks scared me a bit.

Ten minutes before the service someone came, and I asked "Is there a problem with security?"

"Huh?"

"What if there's a bomb threat or something? Who handles it?" That Shavuot, we had all traipsed out of the synagogue in the middle of the service, because someone had phoned in a bomb threat.

"This is a religious building. No-one ever threatens."

"But, but..." I spluttered. I explained. He didn't believe me. It was just impossible for to understand that I had never been able to go to a place of worship without guards and yet that I lived around the corner.

I found a corner seat and sat very quietly for five minutes, wondering that we could be all Australians together and that this precious peace and religious freedom could exist so close and yet so very far away.

That was my real coming of age religiously. Being thrown out into the playground during class because the school couldn't be bothered finding religious instruction for four Jewish children wasn't it. Being accused of killing Jesus wasn't it. Being alone for so much of the time in primary school because I was a 'dirty Jew' wasn't it. Discovering that it's possible to walk into a place of worship quietly and to sit down and think in peace, without having to explain, without having to joke with the security guard: that was my moment of truth.