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A Jewish Journey through India

January 2014

Rabbi Susan Talve Day 12 COCHIN and CHAMUNDI - January 22, 2014 Our last day is spent tracing the steps of the Black and White Jews of Cochin. We hear again and again that we must have been here for thousands of years because the rosewood and ivory used in the Temple of Solomon could only have come from Kerala. We also hear that certain hebrew words have come the dialect spoken here, Malayalum, the only word I remember is par par for butterfly, but this needs more research. We know that the Jews were in Shingly in 70 CE, then went to Mala in 1080 and then on to Chennamangalam. In Mala a non-Jewish man meets us. He is part of an association to protect the synagogue and the ancient cemetery that is being destroyed to build a stadium. We are unable to get into the locked synagogue but we agree to write a letter to the head of the town to protect the 2,000 graves that are still there. In Chennamangalam, the synagogue is being turned into a museum. It is beautifully restored. A tombstone outside clearly reads, "Sara bat Israel" and the Hebrew dates corresponds to 1269 making it the oldest extant text found in India. The wooden relief paintings are colorful and beautiful. Common motifs we notice in each of the Kerala synagogues are the painted ceilings covered with carved lotuses, the Torah reading stand in the women's balcony, the red and gold painted arks (painted like many of the Hindu goddesses) and the many oil lamps hanging all over the main floor. We can tell that there were many Jews here who lived a peaceful life ex-cept for the brief time under the Portuguese. We read about a Jewish mystic named Neche-miah Motha and a festival at the end of Chanukah that honors him. His tomb is in Cochin.

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Chennamangalam Synagogue (stock photo)

The saddest place we visit is Ernakulum where there are still two synagogues. One is too badly damaged to visit but the other is preserved by one of the 23 Jews who remain named Babu. Babu has turned the front of the synagogue into a fish and plant store. But when he takes us into the back we feel his love for the place and his sadness that there is no longer a minyan. He tells us that the influence of the Jewish community was so great, they still use hebrew numbers in the market place for selling. He describes how the members would sing the psalms back and forth and then he sings to us a prayer with a reference to the Shechinah. When he is singing he is no longer sad. His voice is soft and gentle and we are transported to another time.

(stock photo)

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Ernakulum Synagogue (stock photo)

It is hard to believe that the trip is over. We were so blessed to have such a wonderful group. Much kindness and caring. I think each of us was pushed beyond a limit and beyond a comfort zone at some point. India offers many opportunities to grow, to expand ones circle. No wonder imaginings of enlightenment came from this ancient land of colors and contrasts and complex-ity. The first night the wonderful professor Rohee das Gupta, spoke about the challenge of com-plicity. One of the more thoughtful members of our trip commented that we had not really seen poverty. We saw maimed beggars and women with tiny children on their hips begging for food that broke our hearts, but we did not go into rural areas where poverty and suffering may be worse. I began to regret that I did not build in more of an opportunity to see and to serve the suffering. But our last two days in Kerala helped me to see that we were being guided and that we had a mission. Thanks to our wonderful guide Ralphy and our amazing artist and dear friend Siona, we became witnesses on this trip to Jewish India. This is such an important part of our story as Jews and by visiting every Jewish site we could, by participating in the Malida in Mumbai, and receiving and returning the blessing in Alibag, by making the minyan in Cochin and by letting the people in Mala know that we add our protests to their attempt to build a stadium over 2,000 Jewish graves, by doing all of this, we became witnesses to this great and rich legacy of our people.

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We end as we began the first night, with Siona giving us a glimpse into her Fulbright work. She interviewed and made videos of over 70 Jews still left in India. She is turning 40 of them into photo collages that tell their stories with the vibrant colors and textures of ancient and modern India. Her work will help to keep the story of the Jews of India alive even as emigration and old age continue to diminish the numbers.

Siona Benjamin “ Finding Home”

And now there are a few more witnesses who dared to take this journey who will be able to share the rich cultural of sounds and tastes and smells, the stories and the songs and the wonder of Jewish India. May the history of tolerance and inclusivity that the Jews enjoyed in India be a model and an inspiration for all and may the deep sense of spiritual life and love for Israel that lived in the hearts of the Jews of India continue to heal the broken heart of the world.

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DAY 11 On Shabbat morning, the men who were able went to try to make a minyan at the Paredesi Synagogue. My cold was raging so I chose to go later. When we arrive we see that the members of the community did not come so Ralphy decides to count the women. Jim reads Torah and brings the Torah up to the women's section to read on a special Torah reading stand on the women's balcony that we see in every Kerala synagogue. We learn that this is the custom of all the Kerala communities. Bev [Berla] said Kaddish for her father standing in the main area. I wonder if this is the first time that women have been counted here.

(stock photo)

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Paredesi Synagogue in Cochin (taken by Rabbi Jim) Once again we had a wonderful 6-course lunch based on the recipes of the Koder family. Jerry sees that Shabbtai Koder, who worked for the Tata family in this region and was the owner of this beautiful palatial home, once received a Rotary award from an international convention held in St. Louis! We wonder if he traveled there. The world is getting smaller.

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We visit the church where Vasco de Gama was buried for a short while. We are told that this is one of the oldest churches in Kerala where most of the Christians are. But as I think I said earlier, the tradition is that St. Thomas came here in the first century. The Kerala Christians are named Jacob and Joseph and Matthew. There are many statues of a very white Jesus. But the most prominent statues are of Mary. Mary as mother is everywhere. The churches look much like shrines and one very large church even has a sign for an ashram. There is much cross-cultural mixing that makes the spiritual life richer and more colorful. I am reminded how this works at CRC as well. Later in that afternoon, we see the dancers prepare for the Kathakalli dance. Two large men putting on wild colorful makeup to tell the story of a demon disguised as a beautiful woman tries to seduce the non-compliant prince. They come out in elaborate costumes and perform to music and a singer telling the tale. This is an art specific to Kerala and there is much pride in it.

(stock photo)

We return to the hotel and gather outside in a beautiful area to make havdalah. The portion speaks about seeing the sounds at Sinai. Everything is so colorful here we, too, feel as though we have seen the sounds.

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Days NINE and TEN On to THEKADY and the spice village. Then to COCHIN. I'm thinking of skipping this day. India is crowded and difficult. It is also wonderful and holds great mystery and wisdom. What I have not mentioned so far is the miserable cold and stom-ach flu that our travelers have shared. Almost each one of us has had a meltdown at some point. After a lovely morning, I am thinking of how I could have done a better job at the beginning of the trip of sharing expectations and setting down the rules needed to be in such a big group. I am thinking of the Torah portion this week where the rules are set down in the Ten Command-ments. The word used for the tablets is "harut," chiseled in stone, absolute. The same root gives us "herut," freedom, suggesting that there must be rules for people to live together re-sponsibly, with freedom. We have a mix of rule followers and rule breakers that are challenging each other to expand and give each other the benefit of the doubt. I am praying that by tomor-row night, with Shabbat, the "schmutz" (haven't said that in a long time!) will dissolve and we will end the trip with positive feelings all around and that everyone will be healthy going home! Leaving the backwaters, we climb on narrow roads into the hills of Kerala bordering Tamil. We begin to see tea plantations everywhere replacing the rice paddies. The roads are narrow and winding, overlooking steep hillsides. There are women in the tea fields cutting the tops of the short bushes with a tool that sweeps across the carefully placed plants that create beautiful patterns. We learn that all tea comes from the same bush and the different teas come from harvesting different parts of the bush at different times. Tea plants cover the hillsides in beauti-ful patterns. Tea is planted this way for the water to drain because they do not like too much water.

Rabbi Susan at the astrological observatory (courtesy of Helene Frankel)

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Picking tea (courtesy of Helene Frankel)

The 4-hour ride leads to a tour through a spice garden. We see turmeric and pepper and all-spice that were brought from Jamaica, growing. We taste the ginger from the ginger root and learn about the sex life of the nutmeg tree that needs a male and female to be within three kilometers of each other. There is cardamom, and chocolate, and coffee growing with the holy basil plant beside the house of the spice gardens owner. I am reminded of following an Arab woman in the Galilee who picked the leaves of a marjoram plant to make her zatar. It was growing by the side of a stone and she seemed to know just where to go. In this garden, I begin to feel the power of Ayurvedic medicine that uses the herbs and spices of Kerala to heal. We scratch the bark of the cinnamon tree and taste real cinnamon, some of us feel, for the first time. After the spice garden, (when we should have gone straight to the hotel) we stop at a spice shop. Some of the group imagined Indian women sitting in saris selling barrels of fresh colorful spices like in the spice section of Mahane Yehudah or the shuk in Jerusalem. There are barrels

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of cardamom, but the teas and spices are packaged. Susan Pearlman finds what we all agree is a grogger for Purim and she buys two for her congregation in Carbondale and two for CRC! We spend too much time, and arrive at the beautiful Spice Garden hotel in Thekkady, cranky and tired realizing that on the schedule we were supposed to go to the Periyar Nature Reserve. Our guide made the call because we were running late and the reserve is a badly run govern-ment attraction that often has long lines and disappointing visits. The resort offered a cooking demonstration, the beautiful traditional Indian dancers and dinner...most were too tired to move but there was still enough energy for a near mutiny. After I identified everyone's bags to send to the rooms I heard the murmurings of those who wanted to go to the Reserve in the morning. In the midst of the mutiny, Jim checks his e-mail and learns that Dolly Sitzer has died. May her memory be a blessing. The picture Bill and Kathleen put in the announcement looks just like Sara. Our Ralphy pulled every string imaginable, including getting in touch with the supervisor of the reserve to get us tickets. 19 of us were willing to be on the bus wild boars, deer, water buffalo, and anywhere from 2 to 45 tigers, depending on who you listened to. Typical of our India expe-riences so far, there is an amount of waiting , walking, pushing, smushing and arguing before we get on the boat for the hour and a half ride. Turns out you had to pay extra for cameras.... They are very strict since a boat capsized drowning 45 people some time ago. There are assigned seats, life jackets and a stern crew keeping us quiet and in our seats. We get a glimpse of the hunting palace the Maharaja who built this preserve built for himself. It is now a $500+ a night hotel with very few rooms. We see everything but the tigers. On the way back to the bus, an Indian family from Mumbai insists on taking our pictures with them. We feel a little like the animals...though we have taken so many pictures of local people...we smile and snap, too. We return to the Spice Garden Hotel. It is lovely here but if we don't leave we won't be in time for Shabbat services in Cochin. They are opening the synagogue just for us. We will make a minyan for the 8 Jews still living in this ancient community of Cochin Jews. 14 more in a neighboring town. The synagogue is beautiful. We wait and finally there is a minyan of ten men. Our 6 and 5 more appear. Jim leads the service again. The women sit in the back but this synagogue honors the women by bringing the Torah to them on Shabbat morning. A unique custom. We meet Sara on the way to the synagogue. She could be anyone's grandmother and was born here. She sells her fine needlepoint in a small shop next door to her home, a room with a bed. We take pictures. The Jews of Cochin claim to have come in the time of King Solomon. The Shabbat dinner is in the home of a wealthy Jewish family that is now a restaurant. They serve 5 courses based on the Shabbat recipes of the family that lived in this beautiful home. It is more than delicious. Renee agrees! They serve us the kosher chicken

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Ralphy has brought from Mumbai. A magical evening. This cold is wearing me down. I will fill more in tomorrow. Shabbat Shalom. I truly miss CRC as Shabbat approaches.

Yitro En-theos y In God

jsg y Cochin y 18.1.14 (Saturday)

There's a security guard listening just outside our havdalah circle. India. On the portion when Yitro the outsider brings down the wisdom that turns him insider Yitro togethering unifying. India. Alan from Australia says God is in everywhere. India. Jeane found a shrine shown to her by two proud Muslim girls

dedicated to a m'kubal Hebrew saint claimed by Muslims Hindus Jews. India. The synagogue shares a wall with a Hindu Temple. We are in India where the Jews Christians Muslims Hindus at times in some places have one set of footprints. Va-yi-chad Yitro 18:9, Yitro unified all the good

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DAY EIGHT

KERALA Day 8 was spent traveling south via the flight to Cochin and then the bus ride to paradise. We arrive just in time for a sunset cruise on the backwaters of Kerala. Backwaters are the mixing of the sea and the myriad rivers that flow into her. At certain times the sea flows into the rivers, mixing the sweet and salty waters. It is nature’s way of containing the vegetation that would otherwise overtake the waters that connect the villages sustained by them. We stay at a beautiful resort in Kumarakom. The center of the resort is water that is lit up at night with lights all around. Music and traditional dance welcome us to dinner.

Wildlife Sanctuary (stock photo)

The next morning we climb into wooden boats made from the jack tree—the same tree that the instrument Jim hopes to find is made from. It is hard and can be sealed with local oils. These are the villages we read about in "The God of Small Things." In fact the village we stop at is near her village. We see all the children in their uniforms waiting to be picked up by boats to take them to a school made from recycled water bottles.

Kerala has the highest literacy rate in India. The government is communist and school is expected for every child. Health care is also available.

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We climb out of our boats and see that the small village called Manjila is on a narrow strip of land between the backwater river and the rice fields that seem to go forever. The family welcomes us with a weaving demonstration from Gody, the mother. She uses hands and feet to weave the leaves of the coconut palm into a mat. Our guide is Jacob Joseph, a Kerala Christian. The Kerala Christians trace their ancestry back to Thomas, one of the disciples of Jesus. Vasco de Gama also brought Christianity to Kerala and was buried here until they took his remains back to Portugal. Jacob works for a company called Responsible Tours. They say that they are environmentally friendly and that they support local villages by bringing tourists. After the weaving demonstration, we visit their homes, sip coconut water from the coconuts and drink the fermented toddy from the coconut flower, right from the tree. A few try to climb the coconut trees and before we left we gave Gody and her family a CRC blessing. We learn that the local Guru is Naranyan who died 11 years ago and is revered as a social reformer. I wonder if the value on education Ralphy is so kind and respectful of everyone we meet (I wonder if the value he puts on education), it sets the tone for the group to connect in holy ways to all we meet. The next stop is a walk through the lush landscape to a rope-maker. From the shells of the coconut the rope maker spins her rope with ease though it is far from easy. We hear the children reciting in the school as we ride by and return to the resort, take our overnight bags and board four houseboats for a magical ride through the backwaters. The birds and flowers are almost too beautiful to be real. The water is smooth. We have a full Indian lunch and fall asleep talking on the deck of our boat. Just before sunset, the boats pull up to each other and the four become one. We watch the sun set and the Tu Bish’vat full moon rise. Venus is the first star we see as we prepare for our Tu Bish’vat on the water, under this spec-tacular moon, surrounded by lush fruit trees. Ralphy has provided a bottle of red and white wine for the ritual. He surprises us with four cheese cakes. I put flowers on the table to recall the malida and the offerings in Hindu temples. We eat the fruits and say the blessings. Each cup of wine goes from white to pink to rose to red. I feel the four mothers blessing us as we move through the seder. For the fruit with the shell on the outside, edible on the inside I ask if anyone has broken through their shells on this trip. A few people share tender thoughts and our Rachel, Siona's daughter, tells the group that she was afraid to visit her grandmother’s grave and that going in was very difficult but by the time she left she was feeling much better. We finish with the cakes and chocolates brought from Cleveland and we return to our four boats for dinner. The next morning we rise with the sun and do a little Jewish Tai Chi on the deck singing the “Sh’mantra” to prepare for the day.

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DAY SEVEN

MUMBAI Boarding the boat, we learn that Mumbai began as 7 islands. Today land fills the water between them and they are a bustling packed city of 21 million people. The original fishing village to the goddess Mumba still exists. In the 1540s the Portuguese called the place Bombaya which means, "good bay." British influ-ence is everywhere seen in the gothic architecture. There are places that look like Jerusalem. The seven islands of Mumbai and the seven hills of Jerusalem have been filled in and joined by centuries of living. This becomes the most wonderful day. The boat ride to the main land takes one hour. We get off and board a bus that takes us to yet a different India. This is where the Bnai Israel were shipwrecked and landed coming from Northern Israel in 175 BCE. Many died but the syna-gogues and legacy of those who survived are still there. We saw a village with an "Israel Street" and a home with a mezuzah still attached. Our guide,Ralphy spoke of each of the families and towns as if they were his own. In fact we visited the town of Jhirad, Ralphy's family name from the Hebrew word, "yarad," which means, "one who leaves Israel." At the pink, Magen Avot synagogue in Alibad, the hazzan, Mr. Dandekar, who lives in a small house across the way, invited us in and blessed us. I'm not sure what he thought when in good CRC-style we made a circle, put our hands up and blessed him. But he did hear from the hazzan the next day who invited us to come back and eat the fish that Ralphy had brought him as an offering from the group. Our last stop was at the cemetery where those first Bnai Israel Jews were buried in a mass grave. A kind of Indian basil was growing everywhere. Reading the stones, I felt the rich history of this community that continues to emigrate, mostly to Israel. We met two Indian Jewish couples in different synagogues, one that had only been back twice in 50 years. Both said they still felt more at home in India. Today I really felt the strength of the identity of this community. It is rich and beautiful. We arrived back in Mumbai in time to visit the Gandhi Museum, a house he had lived in when he stayed here. He was such a humble man and so great at the same time. I will miss all the Dr. King events this year. My first year to miss Powell Hall and the March since they started the

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formal celebrations. I feel Dr. King and Mandela through their teacher, Mahatma Gandhi, may his memory be a blessing and his legacy grow.

MUMBAI 2 - told by Rabbi James Stone Goodman (January 13, 2014) We take a boat to the mainland (Mumbai is a series of islands) to explore the villages where the Bene Israel first landed, according to legend in 175 BCE. We disembark at Mandwa onto the bus to one of the villages where they washed up on shore. Shipwrecked. Their destination was Ofir where they heard there was trading in sandalwood and spices but they didn't reach Ofir. Some settled in this village Alibad where the pink synagogue Magen Avot is still functioning. There are Jewish houses in this town. Up until several years ago Levy's ice cream was made here; they moved to Israel as has most of the community. It looks as if the family keeps their homes. On the lattice in front: magen david. A mezuzah. They came from the north in Israel; Ralphy refers to their origins as northern Canaan. Most of them have returned, but further south, they tend to live in the northern Negev now. We had seen how in the cemetery of Mumbai their names are remembered by the village they are from: somebody generally in name of husband or wife and at the end the village with the suffix “-kar” signifying place. I recognize the name of one of my old friends from Israel with whom I used to perform: Kolet-kar. At the Magen Avot synagogue in the village of Alibad, Mr. Dandekar, the hazan, blesses me from the bimah of the synagogue. It is painted pink (the color of the hat I am wearing). A new synagogue president paints it a new color, Ralphy says. I chant Adon Olam in the style I have heard here, the text is again a bit different with some interesting additions and emendations; one difference I suspect is a mistake in transmission after so many years.

(Picture courtesy of Marian Rosen who says they see many three-legged dogs in India)

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The pink synagogue in Alibad (taken by Rabbi Jim)

On the way back to the boat, we stop in a tiny village that has preserved the Jewish cemetery. Ralphy and others have preserved the history of this area with a cemetery, built a monument of stone and enclosed the grounds in a stone wall. The village is Navgaon. My teacher taught that the first thing a community does when it establishes itself is to secure a cemetery. Everything else can wait its order. We are right next to the sea where they must have been shipwrecked. Every day there has been an opportunity for service. Mr. Dandekar is 82 years old and he says he will continue to make the prayers at Magen Avot, if G*d gives him strength, to 120, and if not, he will continue to make the prayers at Magen Avot to 120. The privilege for Kohanic acts of service arise daily, more than I imagined. I am not much for sight-seeing but I am seeing most through these simple acts of prayer and blessing that we call avodah, service, like in the holy Temple. Again on a journey of secret destinations.

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Synagogue in Mumbai taken by Rabbi Jim

Last night I chanted the Arbit (evening) prayers in a melody I have heard here, their melody, close anyway and settling deep within me like stone built into the walls of the cemetery, the monument to a faraway adventure that brought our people here. At every synagogue I mount the bimah in the middle of the room, face the holy Ark with the Torahs in their cases, and sing-chant something; transported I am as if I need transportation to anywhere else than where I am planted. Amen.

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(Picture courtesy of Marian Rosen)

(Picture courtesy of Marian Rosen)

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Rich and Poor Ask if poetry and religion are the same The nine jewels nine sets of eyes and Minds Their eyes landing behind your eyes Your counselors Over Eyes and eyebrows

Your teachers will work your miniatures You will practice the line until it is Form

Eyes and gestures and Words Sprung rhythms Rhythm ox-cart loaded with words Bumping elliptical wheels these dusty Roads Hard travel on a beast's back Impossibly full oxen cart of words Tumbling in the mouth sorted By tongue

Colors Rhythm and colors and words Eyes and dung patties Words gathered for heat Tumbling stacks of word dung word patties

Ask again if poetry and religion Are the same thing When history imposes onto myth If our stories are sleepy We invent

And the poor The poor are weak and strong still They do not read

Who will teach them When they ask for alms Send words Better than a banana Better than rupees

After the ceremonies of former kings are exhausted into museums The deadly hierarchies of the past survive Who are your Protectors now When the gods retreat into 3 kilometers of perpendicular Streets With whom will you learn The past cannot be built in the poverty of the present Everybody must know that Nothing will change you as much as school

Maharani you behind the lattice With 563 words you might build a new world Free everyone Every conceivable humanly way

Rich in machines Rich in tolerance Rich in humility Rich in kindness Rich in invention Rich in learning Rich in words Language Eyes jsg Mumbai 2014

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DAY SIX MUMBAI AND MALIDA Maybe the luggage will come tonight. Surely if I break down and buy something to wear it will come!

It is Sunday, a good day to tour. Thanks to the British, Sunday is a day off for most so the traffic is less, but in a city of 18 million (said to be more like 21 million) there is hardly a street or place that is without crowds—most often of wall to wall people.

The first synagogue we visited brought back memories of being in India 12 years ago during Passover. This synagogue was founded by the Jews of Bagdad. They were very friendly and invited us for lunch with homemade matzah, but we waited for an hour and a half for a minyan because, of course, they only counted men. Seeing this rich Bene Israel community through the eyes and heart of our guide Ralphy was wonderful. There are 4,000 Jews in Mumbai and the JDC is active here with many programs to help the poor. In fact the Jewish School at the Magen David synagogue serves mostly Moslem students who all sing Adon Olam before they go home each day.

Jim and I left the group for about an hour today to visit the graves of Siona's parents. Her mother, Sophie, died just a year ago and her father in 1994. Jim wrote about this above. It was holy and tender to be able to do this for my friend Siona and her daughter Rachel. The first name I saw at the cemetery was Baumnolker, the name of a CRC family. Most of the names told of the towns and villages the families came from.

I wanted very much to visit the Chabad house where the rabbi and his wife were murdered during the terrorist attack in 2008. Sandra, the mother of our guide’s assistant, is the one who saved the 2 year old baby Moshe who was sitting crying in the blood of his slain parents. Ralphy told us many stories from that day of those who escaped and those who did not. We also heard that the rabbi made calls for help and that help was on the way, but was detained by police who thought they were terrorists. Though extensive renovations were going on, we saw the bullet holes in the very spot the beloved rabbi and his generous wife were killed. Jim and I said kaddish with the group for the second time today.

The evening brought the wonderful Malida ceremony. After the maariv prayers lead by Jim, when we said kaddish again, this time for our dear friend, Ted Grazman, husband of Marsha (father of Essie Mitchell) we went upstairs with members of the community for Malida and dinner. Hannah, one of the subjects of Siona's Fulbright project, prepared it all for us but many came to help. Malida is offered on any occasion worth celebrating. It is a marriage of the mysti-

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cal Tu Bish’vat seder and havdalah infused with Hindu custom and ritual as well. Verses are chanted over the fruits and the flowers and then eaten like the prasad offered to the Hindu gods. The Melida is a mixture of rice and sweet spices and coconut. It is delicious and we can tell the Indian Jews attach much joy to it. We say "shehakol nihhiyeh b'dvaro." All the prayers were offered to Eliahu HaNavi, Elijah the prophet. We invited a woman from New York named Marsha to join us. I was so grateful to Siona for suggesting this. She remembers the sounds and smells and tastes of the Melida from her childhood. It is delightful to share in her sweet memories. The dinner was my gift to the group . We sang the birkat after the meal. A long moving day.

Tomorrow a boat trip to the place the first Bnai Israel Jews landed in 175 BCE.

Ralphy Jhirad, tour organizer and guide through Jewish India at the Melida ceremony (picture courtesy of Rabbi Jim)

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Ralphy jsg y Kumarakum, Kerala y 16.1.14

Ralphy

Jhirad from the Hebrew

Ya-rad

to go down

when you leave Israel

we use the language

to go down

He speaks most

passionately

about his family

his wife Yael

his two sons

caring for his mother in her

last years

(she is in me

I can wrap a sari)

I was like a daughter to her

he did the same for his father

and about his grandfather

he speaks often

what they taught him

Ralphy knows David Sassoon entrusted

his eight sons with business

and through his sons

his success

to Ralphy's sons

the same

We have no television

my parents

they had no television

that saves us four hours a day

we read

we talk

we interact

this is what life is

now we have invited

Yael's uncle in with us

We are a combined house

this is how it should be

His words drip democratic syllables

his laugh powers up like a

starting engine

ha ha ha ha ha ha ha

his laugh begins to ignite

he is heating up

Now we are getting down

he says

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MUMBAI - told by Rabbi James Stone Goodman (January 12, 2014)

The community of Mumbai: Bene Israel, Tiferet Israel, Magen David, we are visiting the three in one day. The carved figure of David Sassoon looms over the door of his library; the significance of the Sassoon family here. The patriarch David's influence is felt everywhere in Mumbai, though he died in 1864. He came to Mumbai, then Bombay, from Baghdad when one of the pashas imposed anti-Semitic laws on the ancient Jewish community there. His family built some of the most dramatic buildings of Bombay, many homes, the Magen David synagogue on whose grounds he lived so he could make the daily minyan. Though he never learned to speak English, the British favored him as a kind of intermediary business presence and he built a textile empire in India.

Across the street from the Magen David synagogue and school is the David Sassoon library with his head carved in stone over the door. It looks, like many of the classic buildings of Mumbai, as if it is being renovated. Across the street a little girl and a little boy walk a short tight-rope with a brass bowl on their heads. They will never go to school.

At the Chabad House, called Nariman House, they are rebuilding the five stories that the terror-ists from Pakistan defiled when they attacked and killed the rabbi and his wife in 2008. The baby Moshe, two years old at the time was rescued out of the house by his nanny Sandra Samuel whose son Martin is accompanying us on this journey. His mother now lives in Israel. Martin assists our guide, Ralphy Jhirad, one of the leaders of the Bene Israel community of Mumbai. Ralphy is determined to honor the noble history of Indian Jewry in his home country.

We say kaddish on the floor where the rabbi and his wife and four others were murdered.

That night we are hosted by the Bene Israel Indian community at Tiferet Israel, another one of their synagogues, in a ceremony call Melida that the community celebrates on special occa-sions. It is Sunday night. Before the ceremony begins, they ask me to lead the evening prayers, Arbit. I chant the holy prayers in a style approximating the nusach of the East; I hear it and try to mimic it. Somehow, I hear this sound and it's easy for me though the order of prayers is a bit different with a delicious addition of various kabbalistic touches in the prayers.

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Tiferet Israel Synagogue (stock photo)

Susan says something about our old friend T whose wife is with us on the trip and we want to honor his family by saying the holy kaddish. It is the time of his yahrzeit and he was dear dear to us. It feels wonderful to say the holy kaddish for our friend in this beautiful faraway place.

That afternoon we had jumped into a cab and left the rest of the group so we could say the holy prayers at the cemetery in Mumbai for our friend S who is also with the group and whose mother passed recently. She is buried in Mumbai Jewish cemetery of the Bene Israel. Her death has left a great space in S's life. S's daughter has joined us from the States and it is a tender time around the grave in Mumbai. Susan speaks deep feelings about S and her Mom at the graveside.

We say the holy prayers for both the mother and father of S. S will ask her Mom to accompany her. Ask her to be a guide for you, S. Ask for guidance and strength. Make the ask. Memory may not be enough.

We are on a journey of secret destinations.

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DAY FIVE JAIPUR TO MUMBAI Still no luggage. I really don't miss it at all. We left the hotel early enough to be at the front of the line for the elephant ride up to the palace of the Maharaja. Rajastan has many princes and palaces. Our guide is also from a royal family and has palaces used for hotels. The rooms for the queens have elaborate secret pas-sages to the room of the prince. Once again, there are no short cuts taken in carved patterns and inlay of semi-precious gems. The group seems a bit star struck by the shopping and hawk-ing everywhere. I am glad that we make it to Jampur Mantar, a park filled with intricate and elaborate systems of using astronomy to inform one’s astrological destiny. Hindus check with the readers of one’s signs on when and who to marry and make other important decisions. The world’s largest sundial is here as well as the instrument that determines India standard time. The present Maharaja is only 14 years old; his father, named "Bubbles," because of his love for champagne, died a few years ago. The modern state still makes allowances for the princes of the different regions across the country but many of them find their way into the government to protect their holdings. There are many moving stories of leadership in this country. Today, there is a new party in Delhi that is built on non-corruption and fair treatment to a growing middle class. There is the story of the ruler, Ashoka the Great, who after the battle of Callinga in 326 BCE., was so moved by seeing the dead became a Buddhist monk. To this day, the country speaks of Ashoka ethics. Akbar the Great tried to bring all the religions together. And, this is the country that gave us Gandhi. The home he stayed in Mumbai is filled with his books, his story, and his wisdom. On the wall it is written:

To call women the weaker sex is man's injustice to women...If by strength is meant moral power then woman is immeasurably man's superior...If non-violence is the law of our being...the future is with women.

As we prepare to fly to Mumbai from Jaipur I am reminded what a wonder it is that this country of so many different languages and cultures and religions is united. I am looking forward to experiencing the city and areas where the most Jews live and practice today. We arrive late and too tired for havdalah...amen.

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Jeane Vogel and Marsha Grazman (courtesy of Jeane’s Facee book page)

Snake charmer similar to one the group encountered (stock photo)

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Rabbi Susan (and is it Rabbi Jim?) enjoying their elephant ride (courtesy of Helene Frankel)

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DAY FOUR ON TO JAIPUR FOR OUR FIRST SHABBAT Akbar the Great, the 4th Mogul ruler reigned for 50 years. He tried to create a new religion and surrounded himself with 9 advisors from different traditions whom he called the nine jewels. Akbar had no son so he married a Hindu woman after he went to meet with a Sufi saint for a blessing. Sheik Salim blessed him and told him that he would have a son. When he got back to the palace, his Hindu wife was pregnant. Then had two more sons. Akbar was so happy with the holy man, he asked him to live with him in his capital at Agra; but the holy man would not leave the forest so Akbar went to live with him and he built a whole new spectacular city there in 1561 called Fatipur Sikri. There was not enough water so they only lived there for 15 years. The city remains remarkably intact. There were a few in our group who thought this site was even more impressive than the Taj Mahal and were also impressed by the vision of Akbar to unite all people.

Akbar’s city

We continued on our way to Jaipur and arrived at the beautiful palace of the Maharaja turned hotel. Turns out there are many princes in Rajastan who all have palaces, most that have been turned into hotels. Our Jaipur guide was from a royal family and showed us pictures of him with Obama and Clinton at different state affairs. He also had palaces that are now hotels.

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There are no Jews in Jaipur and I knew that we would be there for Shabbat before we left. I asked Swami Chetanananda at our Vedanta Society to set up a visit for us to the Ramakrishna mission there. We arrived just as the evening prayers in the shrine were beginning. The sound of the drum and chanting was much like sephardic chanting in the synagogue. At the end of the prayers and meditation, the wonderful swami gave an inspiring talk. He spoke about finding god within. He described the world’s religions as different vessels dipping into the same water to fill them. His hospitality and joy and wisdom were a great gift and made for a perfect Shabbat. They lit candles and brushed the light over us. I gave a brief teaching and Jim chanted the shirat ha yam, this week’s Torah portion. The monks served us presad and we lit candles and made kiddush and said the motzi over the presad. We sang and as they shared light with us we shared our light with them. This was a taste of the world to come. The highlight of the trip for me so far. Shabbat in the pink city of Jaipur.

Stock photo of Jaipur

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DAY THREE This is the first day we were all together. The last 11 arrived to the hotel after 1:00 am but we still needed to leave by 7:00 am SO the new group would see something of Delhi and make it to Agra and the Taj Mahal on time. (It closes at sunset and is not open on Friday.) In Delhi we saw the ruins of an elaborate Hindu temple that was turned into a mosque at the hands of the moguls. A spectacular pillar sits at the center covered with verses from the Koran and the 99 names of god. The faces and gods and goddesses depicted in the intricate Hindu carvings had been destroyed but Jeane Vogel managed to find hints of a few that survived. As we entered, I noticed a few women of our group posing as goddesses on three stands that may have held statues of them long ago. I remembered that I had read somewhere that there were three goddesses that protected the gates to The Kaaba in Mecca at the time that Mohammed was giving birth to Islam. The Arabs would pay tributes (taxes) to the goddesses who would then allow them into the holy place. As the Koran was being revealed to Mohammed he included these three in suras, or verses, that recognized them as holy, perhaps to gain the support of the people in power who were their devotees (and benefitted from their collections). When the people in power rejected Mohammed and his new religion anyway, he went back and said that Satan had fed him the verses that included the goddesses, these became known as the "Satanic Verses." Too bad, I love the thought that Islam may have had images of god as a woman. I still struggle with the idea that if there was more of a balance between male and female images of god, our world might be less violent and more balanced. Hinduism does this and India is one of the only countries where Jews have not experienced anti-Semitism. On to the Taj Mahal. A long, long, long bumpy and fumey bus ride to crowded Agra. As we drove through this city of 2 million the poverty and slums on the side of the road was painful. Hard to believe that the end of this part of the journey would be a tribute to a perfect love through beauty and balance and symmetry. We drove directly to the site. Nothing is simple in India. The bus parks, you walk, you wait, you take another bus, you wait, you walk. All the while, street hawkers and beggars following with stories rehearsed over and over to perfection. "I am a student," "you are my first customer," “special price for luck." This is not going to be easy but the only way to see this wonder of the world. Shah Jahan was said to be the richest man in the world at the time. He was the grandson of Akbar, the first Mogul king. He spared no expense when he built a tomb for his beloved wife Mumtaz, who died giving birth to their 14th child on the battlefield. She was nine months pregnant, but went with him everywhere. Before she died, he made her three promises. 1. To never marry again. 2. To take care of their children and 3. To create something that would be a monument to their love that the world could see.

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The first thing he did was to build areas for his craftsmen to live and work. He believed that if they were happy they would do a better job. ( I'm thinking the same thing....tell the employers of the fast food workers....) In fact, the same families work on the intricate inlay today as did then. Then, the approach. You look through the gate and the Taj is framed perfectly. The walk through the gardens are supposed to evoke paradise.

Taj Mahal (stock photo)

It is beautiful. Our group had many different reactions. Some cried at the beauty and the expression of love. Others were not moved, too perfect. The exquisite white marble, too cold. The opulence obscene in the midst of such poverty. One artist in the group said that art from afar that is so beautiful often shows its flaws up close. Not so here. The closer one gets, the more beautiful. The detail of the inlay of precious stones and the carvings infuse the sight with wonder. No short cuts here. But the experience of going inside, wall to wall people, much too close pushing through was a sign that as perfect as we humans try to tame the world, there is always something "haser," something lacking. Shah Jahan was eventually imprisoned by one of his sons who killed off his brothers. Shah Jahan died from his prison in the fort with a view of his tribute to his beloved. His daughter had him buried alongside of Mumtaz and, ironically, his tomb is the only aspect of the Taj that is not in perfect balance and symmetry.

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Exhausted we dragged ourselves to a workshop where they showed us how the inlay and carvings were done, tried to sell us everything at the "best price," and returned to the hotel for the welcome dinner we had postponed for three nights. It feels like we have been here for a month, not a day. Tomorrow, on to Jaipur, the pink city..... DAY TWO EATING IN A SOUP KITCHEN We began the day with a bicycle rickshaw ride through the narrow alleys of Old Delhi. Each street had a different specialty, many around all the needs for an Indian wedding. The drivers of our 6 rickshaws soared through the market awakening to the days business without losing each other as motorbikes-cars-small trucks-monkeys-dogs-cats and humans also raced through. Above our heads were hundreds of knotted wires dangling. We learned that when a line died, it was easier to add one than to find the lost connection. Colorful shrines to useful gods were tucked into crevices alongside the poor sifting through sewage for gold flecks leftover from tributes to the gods. Others squatted in front of soup kitchens waiting for sponsors to offer a few rupees for them to eat.

Rabbi Susan and artist Siona Benjamin

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The next stop was a Sikh temple where we left shoes and covered our heads to enter the sanc-tuary where the holy book is kept on a throne and carried to its need at night. Like the Torah, this book is said to be living and is adorned with robes as a sign of respect. The priests played beautiful music as they chanted the hymns and prayers. Just outside was a large room filled with lines of people sitting cross-legged before tin trays. We were rich and poor, all faiths and nationalities, with no distinctions between us. We first walked through the kitchen and helped form the bread and bake it on flat stoves. 20,000 people are fed each day, and all the cooking, serving, and cleaning is done by volunteers. It was the best meal I have had so far, the compas-sion and devotion surely had a part in the gentle and loving flavor. In the evening we visited with professor Rohee Dasgupta of Jindal University. A Hindu, Profes-sor Dasgupta specializes in Post Holocaust European history and welcomed our tired and jet lagged group with refreshments and a seminar on Siona's Fulbright work on cross cultural identities. Wonderful. A professor from Jindal recently came to teach at Webster. The world is small. The last 11 of our group finally arrived at 2:00 am, so glad Jim was with them. Jonathan Goldberg, Marian Rosen and I are still without luggage. Hope it finds us soon. Tomorrow we are off to the Taj Mahal, a monument to love and wonder and the desire for perfection through beauty.

Rabbi Susan and our tour operator and guide, Ralphy Jhirad

with a welcome to Rabbi Susan and the CRC group

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DAY ONE Half of us have arrived in Delhi. The others will arrive tomorrow night, two full days late. I know not to take the storm, all the delays and the challenges of re-routing, personally. In fact, there have been some blessings. One family able to be there for a dying friend, another to nurse a cold and yet another to be there to celebrate an anniversary. But it has been a test of staying in the moment and letting go of what we cannot control. And all of it is journey. I was able to help a blind woman "see" New York as we landed and help her off the plane to her guide. Another helped a drunk stay sober. A few spent a few more sweet unexpected moments with loved ones. Arriving in Dehli was far more peaceful than I remembered arriving in Mumbai 12 years ago. I arrived with what felt like thousands of Muslims returning from their Haj, the sacred pilgrimage Muslims are required to make to Mecca. I remember being carried by a sea of people through the airport spilling on to the street, delivering us to a car that honked its way through crowded streets even though it was the middle of the night.

(stock photo of the Nine Mudras)

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The Berlas and I arrived to the Indira Gandhi new third terminal in New Delhi, with few travel-ers and no lines. Above the international desks welcoming visitors is a colossal sculpture of the Nine Mudras, nine metal hands. The designers say that they are arranged in delicate gestures from yoga and classical dance to symbolize benevolence and reassurance, the oncoming of novel things and the linkage between the individual and the "ever throbbing life force of the universe." I could not help but think of our gentle CRC blessing hands holding these. So far, twelve of us have crossed under these hands. Eleven more will arrive tomorrow night (god willing). The portion this week starts out with the plagues but ends with us singing at the shores of the sea. As soon as we are all here, I will share more of the song!

Miriam’s Song by Arel Mishory