Spring in Melbourne has arrived in several ways: the tree in my courtyard is green, and daffodils are popping up. The air is fresh, breezy, and bright. The birds I hear when I wake up sound sweeter. Summer it seems is just around the corner.

Journalism school is in its final crazed month as my final assignment due dates are looming, yet I still procrastinate. I have four assessments ahead of me: radio portfolio, feature story, media law exam, and a website. Spring break is over, and now my classmates and I are trying to focus as we prepare for our last month. It feels strange knowing that school will be done as of November first, and I will be returning to the harsh winter of New York in January while my former classmates are tanning on the beach. I try to sit and focus on my studies, but the sun is shining through my window, and all I want to do is go outside, have a coffee, read a good book, and get a tan.

Rosh Hashanah has just passed, and Yom Kippur begins tomorrow at sunset. Growing up in New York City I only knew Rosh Hashanah as an autumn holiday. It coincided with a cooler climate, shorter days, and a new school year. But here, things are different. Rosh Hashanah fell on the first day of my spring break, and I celebrated with my cousins here. I didn’t know what to expect—were things going to be different? Different foods? Different traditions? On Friday night, I was pleased to see apples and honey, and two round loaves of challah sitting on the table. As per Australian Shabbat tradition, egg salad with fried onions and guacamole were served. I made a bracha, a blessing on a new fruit: kiwi. Dinner however, was not traditional. The host family served Asian chicken soup with wontons, Moroccan chicken, and Moroccan cigars with honey for dessert. I craved my mother’s brisket and matzo balls.

The next morning, synagogue felt the same as I looked around the room and whispered to my cousin Ariella, “Jews here look the same, they just have accents”. Bored teenage girls with too much make-up, teenage boys with untamed hair, little kids in cute frocks; it all was a familiar scene. The tunes were mostly the same, the prayer book, even an American rabbi led part of the services.

Lunch at my cousin’s parent’s home followed, in similar fashion to Friday night. Again, egg salad and guacamole, but the rest was traditional, and it made me smile as I thought of home: chicken soup, gefilte fish, and honey cake.

On Saturday night, as the sun began to set, I thought about how appropriate it all was, that the new year, spring, my school year ending, all came together. They all mean new beginnings, a clean slate so to speak. I rather like it. But looking ahead, it will seem strange to celebrate Chanukah in the summer. I wonder, do they do barbeques and eat latkes?

Sara Rivka Davidson is currently finishing her graduate diploma in journalism at RMIT University, in Melbourne Australia. She plans on pursuing a career in radio or features writing. We think she’ll be great.