My reflections on the Cuba Trip from last week's Friday night service.
Many of us are familiar with the story of
Bonchi the Silent: the poor, righteous man who accepts every heartache and
trouble in his life without objection.
Upon his death Bonchi ascends the very heights of Heaven to the Throne
of God, whereupon The Holy One, surrounded by all God’s hosts, offers him
anything as a reward for his piety. In response, the man only some bread and
perhaps a little butter, resulting in groans, as the angels realize his piety
was for poverty of imagination as much as anything else.
I was thinking a great deal about this story
as 17 of us from Beth Emeth traveled throughout Cuba, engaging with the
island’s history, its challenges, its people and especially its Jewish
communities.
I’ll explain.
To say Cuba is a poor country would be an
achievement in understatement. Three houses collapse in Havana daily, on
average. Beautiful homes that once held the wealthy are now jam-packed with 80
or more people who have no means of keeping up their apartments with an average
salary of $20-30 a month, and those sit next to Soviet-Era brutalist apartments
that haven’t seen paint or patch in some time. To be sure, we didn’t see the
kind of poverty one experiences in, say, Jamaica; we did not see shantytowns
lacking basic resources, but if you can imagine some of the worst parts of the
East Side of Wilmington, or Browntown, or parts of south Philadelphia, you can
get a sense as to the living conditions.
We went as a mission: not to enjoy the sun
(which was good, there wasn’t any!) but to bring relief supplies to the Jewish
communities of Havana and Cienfuegos. Once a thriving community made up of
American, Turkish and German Jews who had fled to Cuba over the years and set
up stores and businesses, many had fled after Fidel Castro’s revolution,
leaving a remnant 1500 Jews across the whole island, mostly in the capital. And
yet, there was life there; they ran senior centers and pharmacies, Holocaust
Museums and clinics. They practiced their religion openly and enthusiastically,
and were always permitted to make Aliyah, an opportunity many of their young
people have taken up. For Shabbat, we joined Bet Shalom in Havana, the
Ashkenazi Conservative congregation (There are only three left total in
Havana), where their youth group led services and made Shabbat dinner, the
sanctuary filled with young adults and teens reciting a service in Hebrew and
Spanish any Reform Jew would recognize and be able to follow along. We visited
the community in Ciengfuegos, which meets in the president’s apartment, in a
room smaller than one of our classrooms. With the last rabbis having fled in
the 50s and 60s, the community has learned to be self-reliant, and to thrive
and even find tremendous joy, despite profound dependence on the Jewish
communities of North America.
But if you ask a Cuban—Jewish or
non-Jewish—what the future holds, you get unsure looks and even less sure
words. Lots of worry—about becoming Disneyland, or Jamaica, or Shanghai, and
losing some essential aspects of their culture. For all their poverty, for all
their disenfranchisement, Cubans are proud of their heritage and their country,
and a sense that the remnant that hasn’t fled—to America, to Israel—is all in it
together, and they don’t want to lose that. At the same time, when I asked
members of the community what their hopes for the future were, they couldn’t
articulate an idea. Just as Bonchi couldn’t imagine a world of joy, the Cubans
I spoke with couldn’t imagine five or 10 years down the road. Not because they
don’t have hopes and dreams—for themselves and their children—nor because they
lacked for enthusiasm, but because there is an innocence, a gentleness. All
they could do was keep going: keep singing, keep serving the community, keep
holding together with pride and love, keep maintaining the buildings, the
Torahs, the books, the cemeteries, and especially the community to the best of
their ability.
17 of us went to Cuba. We brought school
supplies and religious items, medicine (thanks to Sara Hockstein), and canes
(thanks to the Kutz home), clothes and materials and money for the communities
we encountered. I brought home new friendships and connections, an appreciation
for all that we have in this community, the support we bring to each other, and
a humility about the work we do, and a new appreciation for the power of our
heritage, for if Judaism can survive amidst the poverty of Cuba, then surely it
can thrive anywhere.
