On the Road with RARA

In the summer of 1977, three Monash University students, barely a year out of Yeshivah, hired an old campervan and embarked on a journey that would inspire a revolution in Chabad’s outreach philosophy.

Led by Saul Spigler, the boys spent two months shlepping through the Outback, finding Jews in remote corners of the country and helping them reconnect with their Judaism.

It was a unique, albeit short-lived project, which was put on ice for 20 years, except for the occasional trip whenever Spigler could gather a posse and venture out.

But nine years ago, he realised that it could not continue in the same ad-hoc manner. Outback Jews needed regular visits. And so Chabad of Rural and Regional Australia (RARA) was born. The organisation grew quickly, and in 2004 they took on Rabbi Dov Oliver and his wife Shevy as full-time directors.

More Chabad Mobile Home than Chabad House, RARA now stands as a project unlike any other in the world. It has built outpost communities throughout Australia and, in the trademark “Mitzvah Tank” – a brightly-painted Winnebago – makes regular extended cross-country trips, often manned by young international shlichim.

From Cairns to Caboolture, Darwin to Deniliquin, Newcastle to Nowa Nowa and Alice Springs to Alexandra, no corner has been left unexplored.

With Rabbi Oliver at the wheel, I have hopped on board the newest Mitzvah Tank, decorated in native Australian colours and plastered with bold Jewish symbols including the Lubavitcher Rebbe, for its maiden voyage around rural Victoria.

WE hit the highway to the bemused stares of passing truckies. Our first stop is Gisborne which, being an hour out of Melbourne, only just meets the RARA criteria.

We make a quick stop to visit Susie, who has unfortunately been unwell. She is going into hospital soon, so Rabbi Oliver wants to wish her well and drop her one of his trademark kosher care packages – Glick’s challah, chocolate coins, rugalach and a small bottle of grape juice. He then gives Susie a stunning Judaic lithograph, made by his father-in-law, before we set off for Woodend, home of the infamous Hanging Rock.

Half-an-hour later, we roll into Woodend on some two-year-old information that there was a Jewish man named Ron who might be working at the local BP service station.

The story goes that two RARA shlichim had spent a fruitless day in the area and went to fill their car before setting off home. They asked the attendant whether he knew anyone who was Jewish. He paused and said that, in fact, he was. But he was working at the time, and there was a line of people waiting to pay. The shlichim had to let him go.
Two years later and we are back.

“There’s a 90 per cent chance we’ll be out of luck,” Rabbi Oliver says, “but even that 10 per cent makes it worth the trip.”

This willingness to take any detour that may result in a connection with a Jew is the hallmark of RARA.

Once, when in Mackay, Queensland, the RARA team were told of a man who lived four hours inland. Visiting him would seriously set back their plans to arrive in Cairns in time for Chanukah.

“We debated it for a while,” recalls Rabbi Oliver, “but then I realised, ‘What are we here for if we don’t visit him? We’ll still get to Cairns, but if we don’t take those four hours he will have no Jewish contact at all’.”

Ron, as expected, is not in. We prepare to head off, when the lady behind the counter tells us that he lives just around the corner and that she could call him if we wanted. Rabbi Oliver jumps at the chance to finally meet the elusive Woodend Jew. A few minutes later, a station wagon pulls up next to the Mitzvah Tank and there he is.

Initially reluctant to speak, and clearly sceptical of this black-hatted man handing him a bag of kosher goodies, he asks who sent us. “Nobody,” says Rabbi Oliver. “We came because we heard there was a Jew in Woodend and we wanted to meet you.”

Ron eventually agrees to come into the tank for a proper chat.

He is softly spoken and deeply thoughtful, gradually opening up about his remarkable past spent travelling the world, before coming to settle in rural Victoria. Ron grew up in suburban Melbourne, but his artistic yearnings led him to look elsewhere, including Israel.

He tells of an evening in Jerusalem, where he was drawn to a mysterious door by the ornate red light hanging outside.
He slipped through to find a small, deserted synagogue.

“I left feeling, for the first time, a real Jewish connection,” Ron says.

Although not conventionally observant, he now practises his Judaism his own, unique way. We leave Woodend inspired by this philosophical, unassuming man.

An hour later we are in Castlemaine, hoping to meet up with two people in the area. Unfortunately, neither is home, so Rabbi Oliver leaves each a kosher care package and we continue on to Maldon, Victoria’s first heritage-listed town.

Founded in 1853, it once had 37 pubs and 27 churches. Until very recently, it was also home to a popular little teahouse run by Anne Borg, who we have arranged to see this afternoon.

As we arrive, we are greeted at the gate by Anne’s cheerful Maltese husband Albert. He marvels at the new tank.
“It’s a beauty!” he enthuses. “Much better than the last one.” Albert takes us inside, where Anne is waiting excitedly with a freshly-painted portrait of the Lubavitcher Rebbe.

Since her first chance meeting with RARA five years ago, Anne, an accomplished artist, has been transfixed by the depth and complexity of the Rebbe’s face. One of her earlier portraits even hangs in Rabbi Oliver’s Melbourne office.

The Borgs exemplify the RARA experience. Anne first encountered “two young rabbis” in Maldon’s main shopping strip. She has been closely associated with RARA ever since.

We stay for an hour, being regaled by funny, often touching stories of life in Maldon.

“On the day I opened the teahouse,” Anne recalls, “I wasn’t quite prepared, so all I had to serve was my mother’s kosher turkey soup. Everyone loved it.

“I often served Jewish food after that. People would come in asking if I had any of that funny sounding stuff, meaning lokshen kugel.”

As we leave, Albert, who is not Jewish, points out a beautifully carved wooden “shalom” sign at their front door. “Albert made that,” Anne beams.

We hit the road again, heading towards Bendigo. The tank’s GPS system doesn’t recognise the address, so we invariably get lost.

At the service station, Rabbi Oliver asks a local how to get to California Gully. After rattling off directions in the broadest Australian accent imaginable, the man winks and says, “Have a happy Yom Kippur.”

Several wrong turns later, we arrive at the home of Fred Beach, an American former merchant marine, who by an interesting confluence of events has found himself living on the outskirts of Bendigo.

Our conversation has only the briefest religious moment, as Rabbi Oliver subtly slips in a short lesson. For the most part though, we talk about family, pets and books. Fred, it turns out, is a voracious reader, lighting up when we discuss Michael Chabon’s latest novel, The Yiddish Policeman’s Union.

After we leave, I ask Rabbi Oliver about the lack of overt religiousness in the visits. “This isn’t about forcing religion down people’s throats,” he explains.

“It’s about spreading Yiddishkeit and menschlichkeit, giving them a connection to other Jews.”

The power of this connection is evidenced the following morning, when Fred calls and offers to join us when we visit the Bendigo cemetery that, somewhat surprisingly, has a dedicated Jewish section.

He is waiting for us at the gate when we arrive and guides us towards a towering olive tree that marks the start of the Jewish section.

“This is appropriate,” Rabbi Oliver says to Fred. “Israel’s foremost cemetery is on the Mountain of Olives.”

The three of us make our way to a fresh mound, the final resting place of Greg Shapiro, who died only a few months ago, aged 33. Rabbi Oliver was in regular contact with Greg and his young family during his battle with cancer.

Both Fred, who had never met Greg, and the rabbi say some psalms.

They then walk through the small section, stopping intermittently to pray at other graves, including that of Abraham Friedman, who was only nine when he died in 1864.

“I feel it is just as important to visit these places as it is to visit the living,” Rabbi Oliver explains to me later. “I often wonder who is left in these towns to come and say prayers over the departed. Many times the families have long since moved on.”

Before we leave, Rabbi Oliver invites Fred to come to Shabbat dinner next time he makes it down to Melbourne. A tentative date in August is set.

We take a quick stop at the Bendigo hospital next, but are informed by the registrar that there are no Jewish patients.
“I guess that’s good news,” Rabbi Oliver quips, as we walk back to the tank.

We are still running early for our next arranged meeting, so Rabbi Oliver decides to drop in on a local Jewish man who has thus far resisted RARA’s efforts.

“Sometimes if you call, they politely decline and your only option is to drop in unannounced another time.”

It turns out that this particular gentleman, well into his 70s, has very little interest in Judaism. Nevertheless, he invites us in for a quick chat and graciously accepts Rabbi Oliver’s care package. It’s not a RARA breakthrough but, says Rabbi Oliver, “at least he will have a kosher meal”.

For the next three hours, we drive through a blustering storm towards Benalla, where we are set to meet Max Norman, a 90-year-old author, adventurer and bon vivant.

“Wait until you meet Max,” Rabbi Oliver says. “He is a real character.”

Max doesn’t disappoint. He animatedly recounts his days growing up in Brownsville, New York, “the same place as your Rabbi Groner”, he says, referring to the spiritual head of Melbourne’s Chabad community, Rabbi Yitzchok Dovid Groner.
The conversation shifts to Max’s service in the United States Air Force, complete with cloak-and-dagger intrigue and Casanova-like escapades.

Before the sun begins to set, he enthusiastically lays tefillin, his voice booming as he repeats the prayers. Rabbi Oliver then helps him affix a new mezuzah to his door, before we set off back to Melbourne.

The past two days have flown by in a swirl of colourful Australian landscapes and characters. And while my trip ends here, for the RARA team it has barely begun.

In a fortnight, Rabbi Oliver will be back in Darwin, and the van will be making its way west on a two-month, cross-Nullabor adventure.

And while it’s anyone’s guess what kind of Jewish life they’ll encounter in the Outback, there’s one thing for certain: it won’t be dull.