It’s easy to forget that the Holocaust was, in some ways, a tragicomic, existential catastrophe.
It was, according to Jewish scholars, a “race war” where a nation of “diverse peoples, cultures, and languages” was “fought over” by an enemy “with the same religious, racial, and ideological ambitions”.
There were massacres and mass killings and it was, at times, a race war.
But in the end, the war ended in victory for the Jewish people.
There were also, of course, many “victims” of the Holocaust, both Jews and non-Jews.
The Jewish people, of which the majority of Australians are born, were, in many ways, the victim of the war.
The Jews, and their descendants, were a “proud and respected” people who were “welcome to our country”.
They were not “a persecuted minority” or “a minority within a minority”.
Their history was not defined by an “internal conflict” with “a foreign enemy”.
It was about the history of “the Jewish people”.
In a way, the holocaust became, in a way of life, the Jewish identity.
The history of the Jewish community in Australia, and its legacy, is also a part of Australia’s national history.
It is, in part, why, when the Holocaust is remembered, Australians feel a deep connection to the place.
The Holocaust was an existential threat to Australia, to our way of living.
In the 1940s, Australian Jews, most of whom had lived for generations in a country where they had never been seen as “our own”, were the “oppressed people”.
Jews were, according the Australian Broadcasting Corporation, “an underclass”.
The Australian Government was, by definition, the “dominant political power in Australia”.
In 1938, it had to make “a decision whether to accept Jewish immigration”.
But, for a Jewish Australian, the decision was easy.
A “Jewish immigration” policy was a decision that the Jewish Australian would have to make every day.
It would have no impact on his or her everyday life.
The Australian Jews were the privileged minority.
It wasn’t a situation that required a “plan”.
It wasn´t a matter of “if”.
In many ways the holodomor of the 1930s was the perfect scenario for the Australian Jewish identity to come into being.
The holodome was built on a site that had been looted by Germans and was in ruins.
The government had already approved the construction of the Sydney Opera House and, even then, it was an open secret that Jewish families would not be welcome in the Sydney suburb.
The only way the holodeck could accommodate the “Jewish community” was by making the place accessible for all.
There would be no Jews.
There was no “Jewish problem”.
There was simply “the holocaust”.
The “Holocaust” was the defining moment in Australian history.
The events of that day had to be remembered, remembered in a place where “people of the same culture, language, and religion, and even the same nation, could live in peace.”
The history, as the ABC put it, was “a time when a nation’s past and future are intertwined”.
A century later, the memory of the holohoax is a part that Australians can draw on to “reflect on the importance of this great and important chapter in Australian and world history”.
In the wake of the centenary of the Australian Holocaust Memorial Day, we can also consider the holo-holocaust as part of our collective history.
This is a time to reflect on the holonovel.
A part of Australian and global history.
A reminder of our past, of the history that we have lived, and of the future we will continue to live.
This part of the world is part of us.
We are all Australians.
We’re all Australians today.
A story about the Jewish holocaust, and the holonovel, is a story that has to be told.
The Holonovel is an important part of Jewish identity and history.
We have to tell it.
For those of us who grew up in the 1930, 1940s and 1950s, the history and the stories of the Holohoax, the Holodome, the Sydney opera house and the Sydney Olympic Games are all part of what made us who we are today.
The legacy of the “Holodome”, as it was called, was never a secret.
For many of us, it is a central part of who we were.
But it was not always so.
It didn’t always feel like a secret to those of our generation.
The fact is, it wasn’t until the late 1960s and early 1970s that the “holo-hoax” was known to the wider community.
For decades, the public’s perception of the tragedy of the Nazi holocaust was largely shaped by an Australian media campaign, spearheaded by the ABC