As told by Les Margulis from the Blue Mountains, NSW (Formerly of New York, New York)
My life has been nomadic, and I freely admit that I have been searching for a place and a space to “belong” for many years.
It was that search which brought me to an ever so slightly run down house perched perilously on the side of a mountain, where I and a handful of others partook (over a period of time) in very special religious ceremonies.
So, how did these ex-patriots come to be wrapped in a tallit and tefillin, nearly crying with emotion after hearing the RARA Rabbi read from the Book of Esther?It’s a long story.
Each of us has his or her own winding tale of grandparents fleeing the pogroms or the Holocaust. Some of the Mountain Diaspora left Europe with no more than a day or two to spare and with diamonds sewed into the inner lining of bubbe’s skirt.
Many of our generation didn’t want to be identified as being Jewish. We were always — to be clear — proud of being Jewish and never, ever tried to hide it in any way, but we never felt religious and we didn’t want to be identified as obviously, Jewish. Our Anglicized surnames hid our heritage.
My family was, in many ways, typically American — in a melting pot sort of way.
Both sets of grandparents traveled in steerage for weeks to land in the Lower East Side with neither a mastery of English nor enough money to last the month. Yiddish was the de facto tongue spoken in the streets and in the shops.
I was the first in my family to complete university and to top it off with a Masters in Communication.
I learned the hard way to get what I wanted— not in a loud, demanding way, but in a quieter, persuasive, effective way.
Yet, there was no spiritual connection. Hashem had left me devoid of emotion. I was a success in commerce but a failure in life.
At that time, I was living in Moscow and running a large communication company. One day, I saw an ad in the English language newspaper inviting all Jews in Moscow to rediscover their spirituality at the time of Passover. The Rabbi was Chabad from Chicago and his sincerity and openness allowed me to reconnect and become re-rooted in my Jewish heritage.
I felt that for years I had a spiritual hole that needed to be filled. And when I came to the Mountains, I found RARA, also by chance, or perhaps by luck. RARA gives me hope.
I’m a pretty optimistic person. Partly because the world isn’t changed by pessimists: I say that it is time for people that stand up for what they believe in.
I believe in being Jewish. Jews have never looked for a fight. But, that being said, we have always believed in fighting for what we believed in.
There is no other way.
Photo by D-Mo: The Chabad of RARA Chanuka gathering in Katoomba in late 2022. Les is seated on the left.