Mitzpeh

"I won't have any meat in stock until after Passover. I don't know what you were expecting to find here on a Friday afternoon. Not many Yids live around here anyway. Try the shul."

I held the pay phone receiver to my ear and stood in shock in the Queen Street train station in Brisbane, Australia. Was this man angry with me?

That morning, I had packed a cooler and traveled on a two-hour trip into Brisbane to meet my Maryland friends and to try to buy some kosher meat.

After leaving my friends to go to the meat shop, and before traveling across the city, I decided to call the store where I was heading. After all, it was close to closing time, and the train system in Brisbane isn't the most reliable.

The response I got was condescending and rude. I stood in the middle of the train station, alone, frustrated and upset. At that point, in my attempts to keep kosher, I had not eaten meat in six weeks. I thought I was just looking for meat, but that day, I learned I was wrong.

Following my prodding, the disgruntled shopkeeper with whom I spoke told me that the synagogue was on Margaret Street. I ran out of the train station with a simple street map and attempted to find this synagogue - not really knowing what I hoped to find.

After passing the synagogue once, I actually found it. A large stone building with stained glass windows stood in the middle of a street with shops and businesses. No one was near the synagogue, so I decided to sit and wait.

Eventually, a man came from around the back of the synagogue. I asked him what time services took place that evening and pointed out that all I had to wear was the Grateful Dead T-shirt, denim skirt and sandal I had worn for my day in town. I sheepishly asked if I could attend in my plain clothes, and he assured me it would be fine.

I ran off, attempting to contact my Maryland friends and ask them if they wanted to attend services with me. My friend Marty agreed. After a lot of rushing between picking Marty up at the train station and navigating back to the synagogue, we were finally ready to settle down a bit.

The man to whom I had spoke earlier showed us into the synagogue and welcomed us. The synagogue had split seating, so I left Marty and climbed the stairs to the balcony. I tried to remain inconspicuous to the few women in attendance. I carefully chose a siddur and sat down a little presumptuously in the front row, in order to see everything.

Similarly to the fact that I had not eaten meat in six weeks, I had not attended a service at in six weeks either. Being away from a sense of Jewish community had definitely been difficult for me. The feeling of being inside of a synagogue and praying with Jews was incredible, to the point where it was almost surreal.

The synagogue was sparsely populated, with maybe 50 people total. The service was nothing I would usually consider to be spectacular, but for me on that night, it was uplifting. I was sad when the service had reached its end.

Upon reuniting with Marty, he told me the synagogue's rabbi had invited us to dinner. Again, I was nervous about my inappropriate dress, but the rabbi assured us that he understood. We walked to his apartment near the synagogue.

Hearing Kiddush, washing, eating challah and having conversations about the parsha were all fantastic. Marty and I learned that the rabbi was a Chabad rabbi, who actually knows Rabbi Backman! Small world, right?

The idea that he would invite two scruffy-looking college students from across the world into his home astounded me. The night was fantastic, and yes, I ate meat.

As I returned to my university, I could not stop gushing about the experience. I realized, that while I had tried to find kosher meat, I was really looking for a connection to a religion and a culture that I hold so dear.

These days, religious beliefs are the subject of frequent criticism in all parts of the world. However, I traveled to the land down under and felt included in not only a new shul but also into the home of a random family. Such a connection is powerful and goes above and beyond citizenship, nationality and distance. We are all connected because we are Jewish. If you didn't believe it before, you better believe it now. My story is living proof.

Adena Raub is a junior journalism major who is studying abroad in Australia this semester. She can be contacted at araub@umd.edu.

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