8  
MELISSA ABRAHAMS
The path less
travelled
What do a lawyer turned medicine weaver, a beer
brewer, a sexologist and a young guy determined to
make wine like his grandmother all have in common?
They took non-conventional journeys to their careers,
following their passions and carving out a unique
niche for a life of fulfilment. They share their stories
with Rebecca Davis.
RICHIE HARKHAM
Winemaker | Entrepreneur
F
IFTEEN years ago, Richie Harkham
bought a vineyard in the Hunter
Valley. While it was the first time the
entrepreneurial Sydneysider tried
his hand at winemaking, the craft long ran
through the veins of his family.
Having fled from Iraq, Richie’s
grandmother Aziza Harkham made wine in
Zichron Yaakov, part of Israel’s renowned
Carmel wine region. Using no electricity
and scarce running water in the process, she
kept the elixir in terracotta pots to ferment
under the house, an ancient winemaking
technique used by the Romans.
“I started making the same wines that
she made,” tells Richie, “and every few years,
I had an artist from South Australia build 300
litre, massive terracotta clay amphoras.
“Every day you hand plunge it. We seal it
with beeswax once it finishes fermentation
and then we bury it under the ground for six
months, the same way they used to make
wine thousands of years ago.
“There is a real magic in winemaking, and
it is a real blessing.”
H
ARD work does not intimidate Richie.
The youngster started working in a
Jewish bakery at 12 years old.
“I love business. I love work,” he enthuses.
“My parents migrated to Australia with
nothing, and watching my dad and my
uncles – they were in the shmatte trade –
buying and selling and doing the deals, it
really inspired me from a young age.”
Having studied commerce at university,
Richie says that he couldn’t wait to finish
the degree and get into business. His first
venture was to take old boarding houses
and turn them into backpacker hostels.
While Richie has lived “a very diverse,
crazy life”, he continues to evolve.
NEWS
Three years after establishing Harkham
Wines, Aziza’s was born, the winery
becoming entirely kosher with zero
additives or preservatives – “the way that
my grandmother used to make it”.
Reflects Richie, “I think that through the
journey, I’ve made every single mistake
you can make,” recalling the first vintage of
shiraz that he spilled entirely.
“Making wine is so tough, especially the
wine we make which is always alive, always
changing.”
Each year, 30,000 kilograms of grapes
are picked by hand. Then there are the very
early mornings spent aboard a tractor.
“But what I love about wine, is no two
years will ever be the same. It’s a snapshot of
time and place, and that’s what excites me
so much.
“What happened in that year is all
captured in that bottle, and when I reflect
back, I just think about how hard I have
worked to set up a winery and make good
wine.”
But the journey has not been without
major adversity.
In 2014, Richie experienced a serious
motorbike accident, which saw him receive
the world’s first live knee transplant.
After a series of surgeries and long
rehabilitation, Richie remembers the first
time he arrived back at the vineyard.
While his typical day would consist
of picking grapes with the pickers, and
climbing up tanks, the reality of his previous
life evaporated before him.
“I wanted to help and I was in so much
pain. For the first time, I broke down and I
cried.
“A large part of my identity was tied up
in Harkham Wines, and I was having to deal
with the fact that I’d maybe never be able to
do that again.”
While Richie’s healing progressed, the
challenges continued with a four-year
drought, affecting 40 per cent of supply. The
recent bushfires saw that number double.
Despite the hardships, Richie’s work
has only broadened. He is a motivational
speaker, and he has also created the not
for profit, Hark Angels, building schools in
impoverished communities of developing
nations. Nine have been established so far.
“People told me, ‘You’re crazy’, that
it’s impossible, don’t even try … Well,
everything’s impossible until it is done.
“I’m not a very smart person, I’m not
overly talented, but I’m a very hard worker,
and if I believe in something, I just never
give up.”
NEWS
DR NIKKI GOLDSTEIN
Sexologist | Relationship expert
“A
LOT of people always joke “Dad was like, that’s great – he’s all for
with me that, oh you must
have liked sex, that’s why you
education. Mum said, what are you going to
do with that degree?”
studied sexology. No, that
wasn’t why I got into it!
But Nikki had already begun studying part
of the program from Australia and knew that
“I was always the girl that wanted to help she loved it. “It’s kind of that thing of, find
people.” what you love first and then you’ll make a
Nikki Goldstein is an eminent sexologist living out of it.”
and relationship expert – but it wasn’t the She also fell in love with the open-
road she initially intended to follow. At mindedness of the program and its diversity.
university, Nikki studied psychology, reaching “You were studying alongside doctors and
the end of her degree and realising it wasn’t
gynaecologists – and former or current sex
for her. She returned to study counselling
workers that have a social work degree.
and then began work in that field. She was 21 “It was very different to my previous
years old “and it spooked me out a little bit”,
academic years because they taught human
she says, admitting she didn’t yet have the life
sexuality in the way that human sexuality
skills to deal with some of the things she was
should be taught; their philosophy was,
hearing.
there’s nothing that you shouldn’t have access
And so her mum’s best friend made a
to or shouldn’t see.
suggestion, “Why don’t you come and train
“That sometimes was quite confronting
with me and get into family mediation?”
and scary. But the idea was that you can’t pick
“So, I was in my early 20s divorcing people
and choose what you want to look at being a
for a living, which was a huge eye opener.”
sexologist.”
Before long, Nikki grew tired and
Nikki says the interplay of the taboo and
disheartened of being “a certificate factory”,
stigmas associated with sex set against the fact
the destination where broken married
that it is a large part of the lives of many adds
couples arrived to have documents signed for
to her interest and curiosity in the subject.
court.
And one of those taboo aspects is
“I wanted to be part of something that
education around sex and ageing, tells Nikki.
could help people before they ended up at
“There’s so much emphasis on when
this point.”
you’re younger, developing and exploring
Nikki contemplated, why are we not better
your sexuality, and I think people forget
educated about relationships? Why are we
not told how things can work for us rather about what happens when you are empty-
than trying to fit into a mould that isn’t right? nesters, you have no kids at home and sex is
“I found that if you went back to the very not what it used to be, but there’s still a want
beginning with so many of my clients who and a desire and a need to connect and feel
were now splitting up, they were just trying to pleasure.
go along with a life that they thought would “It’s just a matter of having these
make them happy. But they never stopped conversations and putting that information
and actually had a look at what they wanted. out there and normalising it.”
“So, it was full circle.” Indeed, Nikki aims to do just that. She has
authored a book, is the host of two podcasts,
N A
IKKI recalls when she made the owns an online adult shop, appears regularly
decision to study the doctorate of in the media, and has an extensive social
human sexuality in San Francisco. She media following.
picked up the phone to tell her parents. “I never thought this would be my life!”
BENYOMIN CYLICH
Brewery operator
“Y
OU should go to university,”
Benyomin Cylich was told by
the parents of friends after
graduating high school.
“You’ve got to go and study something,” they
implored.
But Benyomin knew from a young age that
he would not have a typical career.
“I wasn’t going to have a desk job. I knew that
was never going to suit me,” he shares.
While Benyomin says he never really felt
pressure, he did always question himself as to
where he would end up.
“And here I am, brewing beer,” he says with
delight.
But the path forward did not lead straight to
the keg. Benyomin tried his hand in other areas
first, studying aircraft mechanics, and a year
of firefighting in America; he worked as a bike
Medicine weaver | Alchemical healer
I
N another life, Melissa Abrahams was a lawyer.
But it was a path on to which she stumbled
almost by accident.
Having completed her Bachelor of Arts
in psychology, Melissa applied for a graduate
diploma of education, with a hope to teach
English. But when the university misplaced her
application, her mother suggested she sit for the
law entrance exam instead.
“Being Jewish, I’ve got a long stream of lawyers
behind me,” she smiles, “So, I sat it very arbitrarily
and got in, then it was this kind of thing of, if you
get into Melbourne Uni law school, how can you
say no?”
In Melissa’s first year of law, the famous Mabo
decision was handed down, crystallising the fate
of the 22-year-old: “I knew that for me, the area
in which I wanted to work was with Aboriginal
people or First Nations people”.
And immediately after her articles, as a first-
year solicitor Melissa found herself at Sydney’s
Public Interest Advocacy Centre, running Stolen
Generation cases from around Australia. With
no experience, she was overseeing seven other
solicitors based in every state.
“It was very, very, very hard,” Melissa reflects
with a pause. “Things were really different. We
didn’t know about post-traumatic stress disorder.
We didn’t know about vicarious trauma. I was a
first-year and second-year solicitor, and I had no
supervision.
“It was incredibly stressful and I kind of, I
suppose, in retrospect, had a bit of a breakdown.”
With her 29th birthday soon approaching,
Melissa vowed to herself that she would not cross
the threshold into her 30th year in this state. She
resigned on her birthday.
“The upshot was, I was quite traumatised by
the experience. I read a lot of stuff that was really
terrible.”
A few jobs down the track, Melissa found
herself working at a bookstore – “and meditating
a lot, and doing a lot of yoga”. They were practices
Melissa had taken on since her early 20s, but they
had new resonance.
Before too long, the next step became clear to
her: she needed to go to India. She mulled over
the idea for a few weeks before surrendering
and buying herself a ticket, spending the next six
months in northern India.
After undertaking a silent retreat in
Dharamasala, Melissa found herself in a small
village, deep in Himachal Pradesh.
“There were 35 Indians, me and an Israeli, of
course,” she tells.
“It was the monsoon and all the roads were
down. There was no electricity, no radio, no TV, no
newspapers, no mobile, no internet. It was a really
great experience to be so alone.”
It was also a time of great introspection – “We
really dropped into a very deep magical space and
learned a lot.
“And from then on, I knew I wanted to work as
a healer.”
FTER Melissa’s experience, she began to
study acupuncture, living in London for
a time when her husband (ABC journalist
Rafael Epstein) was transferred as a European
mechanic, a swimming instructor and disability
carer. And he served in the Israel Defence Forces
for 18 months.
It wasn’t until his return to Melbourne after
the army, that he got a job at a bottle shop. They
sold over 300 craft beers, and at the end of each
shift, he was given a different beer to take home
every day.
“I had an empty bookshelf and I would rate
the beers based on what I thought of them. So,
there were five levels on the shelf – one star, two
stars, etc.
“I filled the bookshelf with my beer rankings
and then I figured, I obviously like a certain type
of beer – maybe I should give home brewing a
crack, and try to make my own flavours.”
He reached out to a beer brewing friend
who offered some tips – and before he knew
it, Benyomin was offered a job too, as assistant
brewer at a craft beer brewery.
“When I first started working full time as a
brewer, being able to see into the brewpub, and
watch people enjoying a beer at the bar, and
 9
correspondent. When they returned, she set up her
practice, and later undertook studies in Shamanic
Womancraft. The culmination of the training is four
days spent alone, fasting in the wilderness.
“It’s a very traditional ritual, practised by many
different communities around the world,” tells
Melissa.
“On the third night, I was awake drumming and
asked for a vision and what landed on me was this
title, medicine weaver.”
But what does that mean?
“I practise a number of different types of
medicine – obviously not Western medicine, but
Chinese medicine and some forms of energetic
and spiritual medicine.
“The term ‘weaver’ is this beautiful practice and
title that women throughout history have used in
the practical sense of actual weaving, but also the
metaphorical sense, a healing practice of bringing
together disparate threads and weaving them as
one.”
Sometimes that looks like psychotherapy, and
sometimes it looks more like traditional Chinese
medicine, explains Melissa.
“But in every session, there is a weaving
together of my energy, the client’s energy, all the
other energies that are present in the room, to
foster healing.”
Her work explores the physical manifestations
of ailment or illness, and its connection to the
emotional and mental, unpacking the “web of
factors” that contribute to it.
And with many Jewish clients, Melissa says
that the intergenerational collective trauma of the
Holocaust bears a unique impact.
F
ROM a young age, Melissa explains that she
was driven to heal.
“My sole mission is tikkun olam. What
it looks like, whether it’s a lawyer or medicine
weaver, it’s all same, same. It’s all working to make
the world a better place.
“So, I was a good Jewish girl, married and a
lawyer and what I did seemed mad. But to me,
the ‘no’ of the legal career was so clear, and the
‘yes’ of going to India was so clear. What looked
like courage from the outside, to me, was just
necessity, it was just what happens next.”
knowing that I personally created that beer, that
was bloody awesome,” tells Benyomin.
Three years later, Benyomin is the brewery
operator at Hawkers Beer, in the Melbourne
suburb of Reservoir. Each year, he helps to
produce around three million litres of beer.
Based in the cellars, Benyomin oversees the
brewing process which takes six to eight hours,
and then the beer sits in tanks anywhere from
two weeks to four weeks, depending on style.
“And there are many things that go on in that
time, like temperature control, doing lab tests,
dry hopping the beer, adding hops for aroma, if
there is any flavouring additive, and then after it
gets carbonated and packaged.”
So, what’s the key to a good beer?
“Time, creativity and similar to wine,
complexity and balance of flavour,” tells
Benyomin.
“If you put a lot of passion and love into
something, I feel like it turns out pretty good.
You’ve got to take good care of it – like a baby!”