|
|
March 5, 2010
Jewish community in renaissance
Rabbi reflects on a recent UIA Federations Canada young leadership mission to Havana.
RABBI DANIEL MIKELBERG
Music is a powerful means to connect to culture, faith and community. Most of the music that I was listening to this past month was Latin American salsa and Israeli dance classics, but there was also a summer camp song that kept coming to mind. It goes like this: “Wherever you go, there’s always someone Jewish. You’re never alone, when you say you’re a Jew. And if you’re not home, and somewhere kinda newish. The odds are, don’t look far, and they’re Jewish, too.”
The odds are, Judaism is not the first thing that comes to mind when thinking about Cuba. Cuba is a top tourist destination for Canadians and, on arrival, most Canadians head straight for the beautiful beaches of Varadero. I opted for a different experience. I’ve just returned from a week-long UIA Federations Canada national young leadership mission to Havana. It was an inspiring trip filled with historical learning, opportunities for friendship building and tikkun olam.
Just as the camp song infers, we are never alone as Jews, even in Cuba. And, as Jews, we share so much.
This trip to Havana was a week of listening to stories. One of the first stories that I “uncovered” was at the Ashkenazi cemetery of Havana. This cemetery was established in 1908 and is now in disrepair after decades of neglect. As a team, we spent our first morning in Cuba doing the best that we could to clean up the cemetery. Everywhere, we found overgrown weeds, cracked gravestones, names covered over with moss. Noticing a grave in need of extra care, I set to work cleaning the headstone. It appeared to be bare, but as my fingers rubbed the dirt off the grave marker, I felt the shape of Hebrew letters. And so I scrubbed, etching away the debris, uncovering the words beneath. Pinchas Eliezer, born 1840, died in 1925. This seemingly nameless grave marked a life. Just one of many stories, hidden for so many years.
The early 20th century was a time of growth for the Jewish community of Havana. There were Americans who emigrated to Cuba pursuing investment opportunities, Turkish Jews who fled the Ottoman Empire and eastern European Jews looking for a better life. At its peak, 15,000 Jews resided in Cuba. In the 1920s, ’30s and ’40s, Cuba was full of Jewish life and Havana had a vibrant and strong Jewish community.
Things changed after the 1959 revolution. Ninety percent of the Jewish community left en masse. This exodus included most of the Jewish leadership, most of the founders of community institutions and most professionals. Cuba was declared an atheist state and religion was frowned upon. Some still practised their Judaism, but many who remained let their Judaism falter. While I was there, I learned the term Cuban minyan, which consists of seven men and three Torahs. On Shabbat mornings, the Cuban minyan would move from synagogue to synagogue, ensuring that these facilities remained in use.
The fall of the Soviet Union had a devastating impact on Cuba. These were desperate years when the country was on the brink of economic disaster. Basic supplies were nowhere to be found. However, it was also during this time that Cuban policy changed with regards to religious practice. Faith was no longer perceived as necessarily interfering with national allegiances. And so the renaissance of Cuban Jewry began.
Many young people discovered their Jewish roots for the first time, often encouraged by a grandparent. Every person who I met had a unique story, yet some issues are felt across generations. Jewish seniors have immediate needs, frail health and otherwise, that must be addressed. Their children have never really known Judaism and show little interest in religion. But Cuba’s Jewish young adults are carving out new paths as model leaders, facing similar obstacles as North American Jews: assimilation, apathy and discrimination.
Early in the trip, I took part in rikudim (dance) night. Every Tuesday, the young Jews of Havana gather for an assortment of activities, including Israeli dancing. For these young Jews, to Israeli dance is to experience Jewish culture, to come together as a community and to explore one’s connection to Israel.
Young Jewish Cubans have realized that the survival of Cuban Jewry rests on their shoulders. They are self-taught Jewish educators, each week teaching the children Hebrew, fostering in them a love of Israel and sharing the principles of tikkun olam. These same young adults are also caring for the most vulnerable of the community. We spent an afternoon visiting homebound seniors and families with special needs. We brought them simple gifts to supplement their government rations – powdered milk, diapers, clothes – things that many of us take for granted. These gifts were received like manna from the heavens. Cubans earn approximately $15 a month, their rations leave them hungry and in need. A monthly ration of one loaf of bread can only go so far. A pound of chicken to feed the whole family is a delicacy. Pharmaceutical drugs – even Tylenol – are in short supply.
The UIA Federations Canada mission was an exercise in giving and receiving. As Canadians, we can take pride in how we have partnered with the Jewish community of Cuba. Every year, Canadian Jewish Congress sends a Passover shipment to Cuba so that every family can have matza and gefilte fish for the holidays. This shipment often lasts past the holiday. Through UIA Federations Canada, dozens of young Cubans have traveled to Israel, joining young Canadians on Taglit-Birthright Israel. And a number of these participants have since made aliya.
The Patronato Synagogue, partially supported with gifts from North American donors, is more like a Jewish community centre than a typical shul. It has a pharmacy for Jews and non-Jews to obtain drugs that are unavailable elsewhere, it has a computer lab – a luxury that few can access in Cuba – and it even has a fully equipped gym.
One of my most memorable moments was at a Cuban cabaret. The salsa began and the Cubans were on fire! As typically shy Canadians, most of us stayed in our seats. We have many strengths, but salsa is not necessarily one of them. Our Cuban friends were dismayed by our lameness and pulled us on the dance floor. We ended up in circle, joining hands, and so began a hora – and not just any hora. This hora was vibrant and joyous. The circle of this hora represented life renewed. And this hora was whole; we were family intertwined, beautiful, strong and inspirational.
I learned a new song over my Shabbat there. Each week, after services, the young people lead a melody before the meal. There are two phrases – b’teiyavon, bon appetit, and toda raba, thank you. The words to this song serve as guidance. May we be grateful for our many gifts; let us share them with friends and make sure that no one is in need. May we celebrate our stories, a narrative that spans thousands of years, and is shared in nearly every language across the world.
Rabbi Daniel Mikelberg is the assistant rabbi of Temple Sholom Synagogue.
^TOP
|
|
