We didn’t have Haggados for each person, and certainly there were none for children. My grandfather had one, and perhaps the other men as well

As told to Elana Sotil by her mother, Kathy Barukh

Sydney, Australia. 1980

AS

I step into the kosher grocery store, I feel my heart expand wide like the vast ocean I recently crossed.

I walk through the aisles slowly, passing shelf after shelf filled with an abundance of processed, packaged, imported kosher foods that I could never have imagined possible as a child. Milk, yogurts, cheeses, jams, cookies, crackers, ice creams — so many choices, so many varieties. When Pesach arrives, I expect all these options to disappear. But they don’t. Instead, new products made especially for Pesach replace them.

Finally, I reach the last aisle at the back. The shelves are lined, stacked high with perfectly square boxed matzah. I marvel at the shape: we grew up only eating round matza, and it certainly never came in boxes.

I fiddle with the new ring on my finger. It is what has brought me here to Australia, across the globe, away from my family and everything familiar in India, to a new type of Jewish world.

Everywhere I look, the word “modern” screams out at me. The cars, the buildings, the stores. Sometimes I walk by a shul, and then, amazingly, I pass by yet another one. I dream of adding my own children to those playing outside the large school buildings that are full of only Jewish students.

I walk down the streets of Sydney, my cheeks feeling the effects of the huge smile often spread across it as I bump into yet another Jewish woman, or wave to someone rushing by on her errands. One elderly lady takes me under her wing, teaching me everything a Jewish woman must know to thrive in this big new city.

By the time I return home, I feel lighter, having had the chance to get a glimpse into the lives of new friends, and to allow them a glimpse at my own.

My kitchen is my happy place. I add spices and cook the vegetables just like I watched my mother do years before. Back then, we had just fresh ingredients accompanied by fragrant Middle Eastern spices. Now I stand in my new home with a fridge full of vegetables, plus a few packaged items I’ve selected from the kosher store. Their labels reveal that, like me, they’ve also traveled far; they’ve made the long journey from the US or Israel all the way to my small kitchen in Sydney.