Make Collingwood Jewish Again
By Kate Lewis
I remember finally securing an appointment at the highly coveted, very fashionable, and of course “sustainable” hair salon in Melbourne’s Inner-North – Donna Sheridan.
As my stylist snipped the signature “wash and wear” style into my hair, I proudly mentioned that my grandparents had lived here when they first arrived in Australia. After the war, Melbourne’s Inner-North became home to a growing number of Jewish immigrants and Holocaust survivors seeking refuge. My grandparents were among them, renting a single room in a run-down house on what was then an affordable Kerr Street in Collingwood.
On the other side of Smith Street, they later opened their shmatte factory on Oxford Street, manufacturing coats in a red-brick building. That same building—where my Zaida would wheel me around on his hand trolley as a kid—became, decades later, the place I’d stand in line for breakfast at Proud Mary, waiting patiently for my avocado toast with balsamic drizzle during Melbourne’s “cafés are the new clubs” era. That moment in Melbourne’s history happened to line up perfectly with my migration to the Northside.
In my early 20s, I made the move from the eruv of Caulfield and its surrounding suburbs back to the starting point of my family’s Australian story. It was a kind of reverse migration—from the leafy comfort of suburban life to the gritty streets where my grandparents had literally set up shop. They had worked tirelessly to move away from this industrial area and establish themselves in Melbourne’s lush South-East, so my Buba was utterly perplexed. In her unshakable European accent, she asked, “Vy vould you vant to live zhere?”
But I wasn’t alone. A handful of friends joined me in establishing share-houses scattered across North Fitzroy, Brunswick, and Collingwood. Whether it was an unconscious ‘right to return’ or simply the appeal of a more “alternative” lifestyle, we declared ourselves (in hindsight, embarrassingly) the “Northside Jews.” Edinburgh Gardens became “Shnitzburgh Gardens.” North Fitzroy was “North Shnitzroy.” We renamed Milkwood café “Milsch Wood” and stopped just short of calling Mein Local “Mein Kampf.”
We loved discovering buildings that had once been Jewish institutions—the original Kadimah on Lygon Street, East Melbourne Synagogue, and ‘Floraston’ in Collingwood. We rode bikes, danced at no-lights no-lycra, swam laps at Fitzroy Pool, and shopped at Piedimonte’s. Each Friday, we made the pilgrimage back to Caulfield for Shabbas, returning home with enough food to last the week.
We loved it, until we didn’t.
Now, walking through Collingwood feels different. The streets are plastered with stickers, posters, and graffiti that make it clear Jews are unwelcome: GLOBALIZE THE INTIFADA, BOYCOTT ISRAEL, ALL ZIOS WILL FACE THE SAME FATE, ISRAEL, THE DEMONIC STATE. These are largely produced by the BDS movement and “Free Palestine Printing.”
The State of Israel was created shortly after my grandparents arrived in Australia. It symbolised a place where Jews would always be welcome. Today, the same hatred that drove them from Europe is repackaged as “activism” and “altruism,” denying any Jewish connection to the land and calling for its destruction. It’s eerily reminiscent of my grandparents’ stories of pre-war Europe—the marking of Jewish businesses, the calls for boycotts—now dressed up in the language of social justice.
The suburb that once offered my family refuge has become a place where Jews are made to feel unwelcome again.
But there’s a new presence in Collingwood—Goldstone Gallery on Derby Street. A space that gives voice to those who have been silenced, doxed, or cancelled. A space that welcomes those rejected elsewhere. In its own way, it’s an act of creative rebellion—Jewish resilience written into Collingwood’s streetscape, a reminder that we have been here before, and we are still here now.
