Australian Story: S2025 Gut Instinct
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News.com.au
35 minutes ago
- News.com.au
Sydney youth service founder Father Chris Riley dies age 70
A prominent youth support worker and priest, Father Chris Riley, has died aged 70. The Catholic Priest was best known for his work as the founder of Youth Off the Streets in Sydney. His death was announced on the service's Instagram page on Friday afternoon, following a 'long period of ill health'. NSW Premier Chris Minns marked his death with 'profound sadness', noting his 'visionary' work had 'changed the lives of tens of thousands of young people across New South Wales'. 'In founding Youth Off The Streets in 1991, he turned a single food van in Kings Cross into a lifesaving network of crisis accommodation, counselling and other wrap around support services,' Mr Minns said. 'Father Riley believed there is no child born bad, only circumstances to overcome, and he spent over three decades proving that with compassion and opportunity young lives can be transformed.'
The Australian
2 hours ago
- The Australian
Ruby Kraner-Tucci always liked the novelty of being both Italian and Jewish. She found anti-Semitism post October 7 to be confronting and scary
I don't easily pass the 'Jew test'. I didn't attend a Jewish school or youth group. I don't speak Hebrew or Yiddish. I live a few suburbs away from Melbourne's Bagel Belt, and I celebrate Christmas and Easter. Growing up, I relished my Jewish identity. With the unwavering support of my father, my mother imparted the value of Judaism in my life. For most in our circle, we were 'the Jewish family' – the only Jewish family they knew – and I never thought that to be a bad thing. We taught our friends how to play dreidel (a game played with a four-sided spinning top, often decorated with Hebrew letters). We introduced them to challah (a special kind of braided bread eaten on the Sabbath). We threw epic Purim parties. We explained why gefilte fish (beloved by many Jews, it's made with ground carp) wasn't really that bad. We were the fun Jews, the exotic Jews. I always loved being the centre of attention in this way, but as I grew older and my social circles expanded, I started to self-censor. When I met someone new and revealed my heritage, I would often notice the second-too-long pauses. The darting eyes. The clearing of throats. Sometimes there was a polite nod, rarely were there questions. People were always more interested in my Italian background. So when a friend made an off-the-cuff Jewish joke, it felt easier to laugh along than to defend myself. When I was told my new haircut made me look 'more Jewish', I smiled politely to keep the peace. When my brother was playfully called a 'Jew dog' by his mate, I stayed quiet. These instances were too sporadic to impact me. It wasn't a big deal. That was until October 7. The flooding of Instagram came first. Each scroll through my friends' virtual lives brought vicious anti-Israel sentiment. Slogans calling for the eradication of Israel, the land that kept my family safe: From the River to the Sea. Slogans I couldn't help but see as personal attacks: Don't Wash your Holocaust Trauma with Palestinian Blood. Why didn't they speak to me, possibly their only Jewish friend, before they spoke out online? Did they think about me at all? I prepared myself for the debate and discussion that was sure to come. For my friends to ask about my views on the war and share their own. But it didn't come. It has never come. No one has been curious about my perspective on Netanyahu. No one has seemed worried about my family in Israel. But I'm the fun Jew so I say nothing. I self-censor. I bottle it up. Instead of speaking out, I deleted the app. As someone part of a generation that uses social media to connect, I was now left completely out of the loop. I missed birthdays, engagement announcements and the welcoming of new babies. I deleted the app, yet I couldn't escape it – this obsession with the Gaza war, as if there were no other large scale, deadly conflicts unfolding around the world. At work, my colleagues and I received death threats: 'Jew, two-faced bastards, burn in hell.' Everyone said it came with the territory. The territory of working in Jewish media. You deserve to be teleported into a Palestinian 'safe zone' moments before the bombs hit. But I'm still working in Australia. I'm still Australian. Yet: 'All you Jews will die.' It's a week after the one-year anniversary of October 7 and I'm at a Chinese restaurant with two non-Jewish friends eating cheap dumplings. 'How's work for you?' One friend asks me, after they've both spoken at length about their jobs and boyfriends and travel plans and parents and latest TV obsessions. 'We just received another death threat. It was so bad we called the police,' I say, ignoring the way they shift in their chairs. I don't usually talk about this topic with these friends I've known since high school. This topic of being Jewish. 'Honestly, I've worked at Jewish organisations before, I'm used to the security guards out front and the need to keep our address confidential, but I've never experienced this level of racism,' I continue, hoping to get some recognition, some validation. They exchange a look. One friend tries to speak but nothing comes out. 'I didn't know Australia could be like this. I thought our generation had gotten past antiSemitism.' I can't help myself. The burden is getting too heavy, and I want these friends to carry some of the load. 'Maybe I could have handled this year, the mourning of my grandmother, if I was on solid ground, but I'm not. I'm terrified. I practically begged my family to stay home on the October 7 anniversary because I was convinced something bad would happen.' Still nothing. The clatter of the Chinese restaurant around us helps to fill the silence. My friends look scared, but I can't stop. I won't stop. 'I've unfollowed so many people on Instagram, people I've known my whole life, and I don't even know if I disagree with them. That's the thing, I don't know what I believe. I know I'm anti-war and it's horrific seeing Palestinians die, but I also care deeply about a Jewish homeland. You know what really hurts? No-one has asked me if I'm okay. No-one checks in with me because they've already assumed that because I'm Jewish, they know what I think and they're holding it against me. I've even stopped telling people where I work. I'm so worried that they will judge my decision to work in Jewish media right now. And if I do tell them, I then feel the need to explain it is a progressive organisation that can be critical of Israel, so I can be accepted. And who is even helping us? The police just tell Jews to stay at home, and the government isn't acting fast enough. I used to vote for the Greens, but I can't anymore because they refuse to condemn Hamas, and I can't vote Liberal because combating antisemitism is the only policy I actually agree with them on. But don't we all want to combat anti-Semitism? Are people our age really anti-Jewish?' I catch my breath. My friends are stunned. They look at each other. I feel a hand on my shoulder. And still, no-one speaks. Dead silence from my friends of over a decade. 'Maybe we should just change the topic,' I offer, crushed. I stifle my tears in our shared Uber home and seek comfort from my fridge. I find a carton of eggs. I boil two and cry. This is an edited extract from Ruptured: Jewish Women in Australia Reflect on Life post-October 7, edited by Lee Kofman and Tamar Paluch, published by the Lamm Jewish Library of Australia, $34.99 RRP ABOUT THE AUTHOR Ruby Kraner-Tucci is a journalist and writer, currently working as the assistant editor of The Jewish Independent. Her writing has appeared in The Age/Sydney Morning Herald, Broadsheet and Time Out, among others. Ruby was awarded Multicultural NSW's Best Report in Multicultural Media 2025 and recognised as a Young Journalist of the Year finalist at the NSW Premier's Multicultural Communications Awards 2024. Review A mythically jacked Jason Momoa leads a sweeping Hawaiian epic. Plus: the cosiest crime drama you'll watch all year. Review The action-packed The Gringo Hunters, set in Baja California, follows a Mexican police unit capturing American fugitives.
SBS Australia
2 hours ago
- SBS Australia
Behind the Crime trailer
SBS acknowledges the Traditional Custodians of Country and their connections and continuous care for the skies, lands and waterways throughout Australia.
