Was my dad wrong to choose Melbourne?

My father, a survivor of the Holocaust, passed away in Melbourne in 1982.

For all of my adult life at any family function, I made a little speech to thank my late father for choosing Melbourne-just about the furthest place from Europe on the planet-to move to in 1947. But at a family occasion last month, I couldn’t bring myself to express that same sentiment.

It’s not Dad’s fault. He didn’t know that in 2025, Melbourne would be regarded by some as the world’s capital of antisemitism.

Dad was born and lived the first part of his adult life in Poland. He was editor of a major newspaper, on the boards of sporting organisations and by all accounts lead a good life. Until things started to change in the 1930’s. It began with small groups of people blaming Jews for Europe’s problems and ended with the murder of six million Jews – including my father’s family – for no reason other than they were Jewish.

Dad managed to escape Europe to the Middle East where he met my mother. From there – like many who survived the Holocaust – he chose Melbourne to begin a new life. I can’t imagine how difficult it was was for him to make that decision, to venture to an unknown far-away country where people spoke a different language, where he had almost no possibility of continuing his career as a journalist. And he didn’t. And life wasn’t easy for him here.

But in my heart of hearts I feel he chose Melbourne – not for himself – but for me and my brother, and for the generations to come. Because he wanted us to have wonderful lives, to be educated and to be free of the persecution which he and his family suffered.

Shortly after arriving in Melbourne, Dad proposed to my mother – still in the Middle East – by mail! Imagine how he must have agonised waiting for her answer. Why didn’t he text her? In 1948 Mum arrived, with her parents and three sisters in tow. Three generations of Australian Jews have followed.

And until very recently it felt like Dad had made a great decision.

My brother and I were educated and have had good careers. We were obedient children. So he became a doctor and I became a lawyer. They said we would be bums if we didn’t study! I might be anyway. Life for us and our children has been good.

Mum and Dad could never bring themselves to speak of the traumas they endured in Europe, but we understood. And it explained a lot.

Personally I have never experienced antisemitism. Sure there has been the odd remark… a stereotype reference… a joke here or there… the odd attempt at humour. But I never saw malice. In my opinion when it comes to humour, nothing is sacred. And let’s face it… us Jews… we can be funny. Just watch Jackie Mason to see what I mean.

But the truth is I was always slightly nervous. Always wondering if what happened last century  (and many times before) could happen again. I think it’s called intergenerational trauma. But surely not. Not here in Melbourne.

And yet a couple of weekends ago our phones start pinging from family and friends around the world asking if we were OK. How could it be that people in Israel who had been sheltering from rockets, and whose children are dying in the war, were asking us here in Melbourne if we were OK?

The arson attack at East Melbourne Synagogue, and the invasion of Miznon (which by the way serves Melbourne’s best cauliflower) by a gang of masked terrorists (why the press continue to call them protestors when they were masked, intimidated diners, and called for violence, is beyond me) which followed so many other antisemitic incidents in recent months has put Melbourne on the world map, and for the wrong reason.

A few months ago I was at the beautiful East Melbourne Synagogue for my equally beautiful niece’s pre-wedding event and the rabbi walked over to my son and handed him the synagogue’s Wedding Registry, opened at a page from 1948. There we saw the names and signatures of my parents, married in that very place on the 22nd day of July of that year. And there we were. Three generations of us.

And when I woke recently to read of the horrific attack on that very special place – where the journey of my wonderful parents and three generations of Australian Jews began – all I could think about is whether Dad should have chosen somewhere else.

Henry Kalus is a lawyer who likes to write (like his Dad).