A LONELY JEW IN LONDON
My first long term visit out of Australia,
as a Jew and a teenager was to Sweden. Coming from a traditional Jewish community
in Melbourne, I was astounded by the liberal, open-mindedness without any
historic drama dripping out of their long gorgeous blond hairs of the Swedish classmates
and surprised that they had obviously grown up without social obligations
(common in a Jewish community). I remember clearly, thinking to myself, being a
traditional but non-religious Jew is to feel “abnormal” in this diversifying,
globalizing world.
We are good Australians, good South
Africans, good Americans and until recently good French, but the complexity of
the world with populations of diverse origins made us realize that some of
those among whom we lived, didn’t actually share that opinion. Obviously we
were not French enough, despite what the PM Manuel Vals and President Hollande
emphasized wanting the French Jews, knowing they were leaving France in the
thousands. (8000 French Jews migrated to Israel in 2015 alone), leaving the
beauty, haute culture and the language of Paris for the safety of Israel.
Timmerman, an argentine writer and human
rights activist, asked his mother when he was a little boy: Why do they hate
us?
They hate us because they do not understand
us, replied his wise mother.
I feel lonely in London as Pesach
approaches, having lost my mentor and friend Cecil Hellman with whom I could have
discussed these things. Strangely enough, London is the only city I want to be
in Europe. The comfort of familiarity from my student days here allays the
fear, suspicion and the uncertainty.
Natan Sharansky (who was jailed for 9 years
for protesting against the oppression of Soviet Jewry) expressed a view that
rings a bell
“I hope I am wrong but this century may be
the last century for Jews in Europe”
These conflicting thoughts don’t occur to
me when I am in KL or Malacca or Fort Cochin. In those places, I am a visitor
and perceived as such, despite looking like a local, but in the West, these
thoughts arise from being part of the west: physically, emotionally and intellectually.
I am a good citizen, contribute to the society,
a humanitarian physician, I am part of the fabric of the society in the west, but
that is not the case in Malaysia, India, Colombia or Brasil.
Yet why am I so happy in those places?
There, I am not marginalized but exotic. I am not marginalized in the west
either. Two things which affords this exoticism to me in the East: my devotion
to Cuba and being Jewish does not carry any social weight in the West.
Sitting at the breakfast room at this
lovely hotel near Green Park, enjoying the best of the British, I felt lonelier
than I felt at Double Tree by Hilton in Kuala Lumpur or Hotel Equatorial in
Malacca.
Cubanidad (Cuban-ness) is a mantle of
protection and strength in countries that share cultural roots and language,
but the symbolism that needs to be transacted here is at yet another cultural
level, it is not found in the elegant silence of this breakfast room, but
perhaps in a hospital ward or a lecture theatre of an university where WHAT I
am ( Doctor of Medicine, Professor of Anthropology) will be far more
respectable than the rhythm of my soul for Cuba or the curiosity of the mind of
this Jew.
Notes:
In his comments at the Brown event (where
the new anti-Semites chanting for human rights tried to disrupt), Mr. Sharansky
encouraged students to explore and claim their Jewish identity. “First of all,
always remember from where you came,” he said. “If you want to make the world a
better place…you have to be strongly connected to your roots and your identity.
This is your source of power to change the world.”
PS Hag Sameach soon and can someone help me
find a Seder to attend in Buenos Aires?
