Experience Jewish Buenos Aires

KAREN GINSBERG

Buenos Aires is the largest city in Argentina and estimates of its current population range from three to 11 million, depending on how many suburban areas are included. At its peak, the Jewish community in the entire country was 500,000, making it the largest Spanish-speaking Jewish population in the world. Today, there are about half that many Jews in Argentina as a whole, with most (165,000) living in Buenos Aires, but the community that remains is welcoming and active, as my husband and I discovered on a recent trip.

The first Jewish migration to Argentina occurred in the late 1880s and brought Russian Jews from Ukraine. These Jews were able to escape the pogroms in Europe, helped by the Jewish Colonization Association, established by Baron Maurice Hirsch. Hirsch’s benevolence provided these pioneers with land and tools in exchange for a loan that they were expected to pay with future crops. The first wave of these immigrants settled in Sante Fe province, where they established the community of Moisesville. Some were already agricultural workers but many had to learn from scratch to work the land. In the Association Mutual Israeli Argentina (AMIA) building and the Museum of the Shoah, there are pictures of Jewish “gauchos,” and one can imagine them in the local café, drinking the local drink – and speaking Yiddish.

About 75 percent of Jewish migration has been from Ashkenazi communities; the remaining are Ladino-speaking Sephardi Jews. The Buenos Airean Jewish community today is about 20 percent Orthodox, while about 30 percent of the community considers itself to be either Conservative or Reform and the rest are unaffiliated.

The central area within Buenos Aires, Once (pronounced On-say), is where many Jews live and have their businesses. A Jewish person owns the largest mall in the city (Abasto Mall), which has a mezuzah on its doorpost, as well as the only kosher McDonald’s in the city. In Once, one can see evidence of a rich Jewish life: kosher restaurants, Jewish bookstores, publishers, butchers and synagogues. But this is a community that still bears many scars. During the military dictatorship in the 1970s, when people “disappeared” at the hands of the junta (military-led government), Jews were 0.5 percent of the general population, but compromised about five percent of the population who went missing and whose bodies have never been found. Some feel that the disproportionate losses may have been because, during the junta, so many Jews stood up for justice and, ultimately, paid the price.

In the 1970s, anti-junta demonstrations took place in the Plaza de Mayo, opposite the government’s Rose Palace. For the last 40 years, a group of mothers (and now their daughters and granddaughters) has demonstrated peaceably in the plaza. On our trip, we came upon a group of these women and, in halting Spanish, asked if we might take their picture and told them that, as parents, we felt for them. They unfurled their banner for the photo, pressed some literature upon us and held our hands for a moment.

The founder of the Madres des Plaza de Mayo – Renee Epelbaum – is a well-known Jewish woman who lost all three of her children. According to Madres de Plaza de Mayo by Marjorie Agosin, Epelbaum’s son Luis disappeared in 1976; son Claudio and daughter Lila were abducted four months later. Some 30,000 people are believed to have disappeared since the military took over after Juan Peron in 1976 and the “Dirty War” began – its first victims were labor union members, university activists, journalists, but the abductions eventually became random.

Another scar was created in 1992, when the Israeli embassy, in central Buenos Aires, was bombed. Twenty-nine died, as did five Catholics, who were in the church that abutted the building. The embassy was rebuilt in a new location, but there is a stone monument in its original location, with a small glade of tilo trees within it. Our guide, Salito Gutt of Jewish Tours Argentina, explained that the tilo is known to have calming qualities and that these trees were planted as a message to the victims that they should rest in peace. No one has been brought to justice for this bombing.

Another attack occurred in 1994, when a suicide bomber ploughed into the Jewish federation (AMIA) building, killing 85 people. The building has subsequently been rebuilt, further in from the street and with heavy security. Outside, the first names of the 85 who were lost are written on a tableau in a style that resembles graffiti. We were not permitted to take a photo but our guide explained that there are no last names on the tableau because all who died are held by the community to be “ family.” There are small memorial headstones with the names of the victims lining the street by the new building. The death toll would have been much higher had the additional 300 wounded not been quickly evacuated to a hospital within two blocks of the AMIA. As with the 1992 bombing, no one has yet been brought to justice.

When asked what life is like for the Jews within the country, Gutt said, “Even though there are not restrictive laws against Jews, we know that we are not welcome in and by the government. There are a couple of Jewish congressmen and some Jewish judges but there are still some sports and cultural institutions where Jews know they are not welcome. We know that those who bombed the embassy and the federation building could not have acted alone and that finding them has not been a priority for the government. The response of the community has been to ask for justice and to grow our own institutions. But life goes on, and then we are still an active community.”

In addition to the terrorist threats, Argentina has experienced several economic crises, which have affected Jews as deeply as they have others. Many left the country during these crises, which has reduced the size of the community, but it still thrives and, in Buenos Aires, the AMIA is clearly the heartbeat.

AMIA started 116 years ago. Its mission is “to promote the individual, family and institutional growth of Jewish life in Argentina to ensure continuity, sustain the values of the Jewish people and underpin the sense of community.” Among its activities are a variety of social services that are delivered to both Jewish and non-Jewish clients, including training programs to help those in need of assistance finding employment. AMIA is largely funded by the community itself, although the government or a private company occasionally supports an activity.

Many institutions are headquartered at the AMIA, including the Chevra Kadisha. There are also many artistic installations, the most breathtaking of which is “Monument to the Memory of the Victims of the Terrorist Attack on AMIA” by Yaacov Agam, an Israeli plastic artist. AMIA’s brochure describes it “as a visual prayer that becomes a symbol against terrorism and a permanent expression of the Jewish people’s struggle for truth, justice and peace.” The installation is a series of nine vertical, colorful planks. When the observer moves among them, the colors and shapes change the images drawn from Judaism. Among these are a rainbow, which was God’s gift to Noah and all living creatures after the flood (and is the international symbol of AMIA itself), and images of the flags of Israel and Argentina intertwined.

We also visited the 91-year-old Gran Templo Paso, an Orthodox synagogue with a familiar story in Buenos Aires. In recent years, it began to lose members and tried to accommodate those wanting a more modern and less-religious interpretation of rituals, but the shift stirred up other issues, and the synagogue reverted to orthodoxy. One of the most moving moments was seeing the numerous sifrei Torah for which the synagogue is now the keeper. Many of these scrolls belong to rural synagogues no longer in regular use because the Jews have migrated to larger centres. Apparently, the scrolls are returned to the communities for the High Holidays, when attendance is at a maximum.

Buenos Aires has a small and elegant Museum of the Shoah. On the day we visited, there was a beautiful photography display of elderly survivors. Every line, wrinkle and tilt of a chin told a story. The permanent collection includes considerable information on the conditions leading up to and during the war.

There was a Jewish presence throughout our trip. While waiting for the streetlight to change on a Friday evening walk, we found ourselves beside a young man with a beard and kippa, his wife and baby. Within a moment of my saying “Shabbat shalom,” we were welcomed to the city and invited to an upcoming Chabad event.

Karen Ginsberg is a freelance writer living in Ottawa. To reach Jewish Tours Argentina, e-mail [email protected] or visit jewish-tours.com.ar.

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