Be'chol Lashon Update 7/27/04
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San Francisco Jewish Film Festival
The 24th Annual San Francisco Jewish Film Festival is the largest and oldest
Jewish film festival in the world. For tickets, call 925.275.9490 after June 22nd or
visit the website: www.sfjff.org
California Premiere: Moving Heaven and Earth
Thursday, July 29, 2004 3:30pm
Rabbi Gershom Sizomu, Leader of the Abayudaya community, will attend
the premiere
Moving Heaven and Earth tells the little-known story of the Abayudaya, an
independent community of Jews in rural Uganda. In a remote village, amidst
conditions of extreme poverty, they preserve their tradition and faith, despite
enormous obstacles. The film documents the sacrifices they have made to be
Jews, including persecution under Idi Amin, and their struggle for recognition
from the institutions of world Jewry, whose definition of who is a Jew is often too
narrow to include them. Even after a formal conversion by Reform and
Conservative U.S. rabbis, the debate persists. Their exclusion exposes a power
struggle within Jewish culture, and the film asks a resonant question about
Jewish identity while celebrating the music, culture, and devotion of these African
Jews.
With Sneak Preview: Awake Zion
Have you ever wondered why Jews and Rastafarians share the same Star of
David and references to Zion? Could it be that dreadlocks are a Caribbean
version of Hasidic earlocks? This film answers those questions and more as it
explores the common histories of Jewish and reggae culture. This musical
conversation involves Jews, Rastafarians, Americans, Jamaicans, and Israelis:
including a Hasidic dancehall star, a ska/klezmer fusion pioneer, and several
generations of reggae artists. Awake Zion will surprise you as it travels through
history and scripture, back to the days of King Solomon, in its journey to
understand the "unsuspecting kinship" between the two cultures. Featuring a
soundtrack packed with vibrant music, this film is a testimony to harmony and
unity between two diverse communities. --Erin Stamos
The LGBT Alliance
Presented by the Jewish Film Festival and Frameline.
My Sister, My Bride,
Chicks in White Satin
The Gil Moti Wedding Project
This year, the Alliance will again sponsor an exciting Jewish Film Festival
screening at the Castro theatre. February's decision by San Francisco's mayor to
issue marriage licenses to gays and lesbians has affected both Jews and non-Jews profoundly.
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Sheba Film Festival
Films featured:
Menelik 12:40-1:40
Foreign Sister 2:00 – 3:30
Outcry 3:45 – 4:15
Video Flour 4:30 – 5:20
Åwake Zion 6:30 – 8:00
With a speech by Prof. Ephraim Isaac of Princeton University & the Semitic
Studies Institute, Arts and cultural artifacts will be on display & Ethiopian finger food to be served.
A,B,C,D trains to 125th St or M# bus to 125th St.
Tickets are available at: Settepani Bakery 917-492-4806; Awash Ethiopian
restaurant 212-961-1416; Queen of Sheba Ethiopian restaurant 212-397-0610;
Massawa Ethiopian & Eritrean restaurant 212-663-0505; Meskerem Ethiopian
cuisine 212-664-0520; Harlemade 212-987-2500
For more information call 212-531-3185, 212-665-7516 or 212-203-2424,
www.binacf.org
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Call for Papers: Yemenite Jewish Women
The Jewish women of Yemen faced a major sociocultural transition upon their
exodus from the pre-modern Yemenite world. Women in Yemen were, on the
whole, illiterate and confined to extremely time-consuming traditional roles in the private domain. Life in their new places of residence, whether in Israel, England, or New York, demanded quick adaptation and initially involved harsh conditions and menial work.
Yet the Yemenite Jewish community has been remarkably successful in adapting
to the conditions of its host societies; its integration with largely Ashkenazi elites provides a unique test case for studying the impact of migration and multicultural relations in the modern Jewish world. Many of its members, both male and female, have risen to influential positions in their new environs and have made signal achievements in fields ranging from education, social activism, art, dance,
and music to scholarship and religious scholarship. The Yemenite case is
distinctive in the extent to which women as well as men have participated in
these attainments.
For example, R. Yosef Kafah, a leading Maimonidean scholar, and his wife,
Bracha Kafah, who heads a vast charity organization and has traveled worldwide
at the request of the Israeli government to accompany cultural exhibits, both
received the Israel Prize (in different years) for their major contributions to
society; no other married couple in Israeli history has achieved this honor.
Issue no. 11 of Nashim will be devoted to Yemenite Jewish women: their
migrations and integration into their new communities; their cultural contributions
and activities in the present and the recent past; and their history in Yemen and
outside. We also invite contributions on gender relations within the Yemenite
community and in its negotiations with host societies. Submissions in all
disciplines, including literature and the arts, are encouraged. The issue's
consulting editor is Nitza Druyan of Hofstra University.
Please send proposals for submissions to the Managing Editor of Nashim by
February 1, 2005, by e-mail (preferably) to nashim@schechter.ac.il; by mail to
Nashim, The Schechter Institute of Jewish Studies, POB 16080, Jerusalem
91160; or by fax to +972-2-6790840. Final date for submission of articles:
May 1, 2005. All scholarly articles will be subject to academic review.
Academic Editor of Nashim: Renee Levine Melammed.
Nashim is published jointly by the Schechter Institute of Jewish Studies, the
Hadassah-Brandeis Institute, and Indiana University Press.
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A Community's First Bar and Bat Mitzvah Since 1958
On a bright and sunny Shabbat in June 2004, Ana, 14 and Carlos, 17 recently
celebrated their B'nai Mitzvah. The teens live in Santi Spiritus, a province town
close to the city of Trinidad, with their parents, older sister and her daughter.
Their B'nai Mitzvah were the first in their community since 1958.
Since Cuba was an atheistic country until 1995 many people lost touch with their
faith, including Jews, and are now discovering Jewish family roots. Ana's and
Carlos' family is among those looking to reconnect to their heritage.
There are currently 15 teenagers in Sancti Spiritus who are involved in the local
Jewish youth group. They participate in activities such as Rikudim (Israeli
dancing), Hebrew classes and Jewish educational games.
Ana and Carlos studied for three months to become B'nai Mitzvah and will now
become involved in Jewish education for others in their community. They would
like to visit Israel through the Birthright Program and are eagerly looking forward
to the first ever National Cuban Israeli Dance Festival, to be held in Havana in
July 2004.
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Alive and Well
Algrave nuptials: Jose and Michelle were the first Jewish couple to be married
here in 500 years
Traditionally, the synagogue has always been the cornerstone of Jewish
communal life. For an itinerant community of holiday-makers and expatriates in
Portugal’s Algarve, however, it’s a cemetery that has assumed this role.
The remote cemetery, which dates back to the burial of Rabbi Josef Toledano in
1838, is located in Faro, capital of the Algarve, Portugal’s southern province. The
restoration of the cemetery, completed in 1993, and the task of maintaining it
since, have given this group of Jews from the United States, Canada, Europe
and South Africa, who are drawn to the Algarve’s perennial sunshine, relaxed
atmosphere and scenic coastline, a sense of unity, purpose and pride.
"The cemetery has also made our community known and is our flagship," says
Ralf Pinto, who has been head of the community since 1991 and leads services
on the major festivals and the occasional Friday night, as there is no rabbi to
conduct them. "We don’t have a synagogue or community center and so we hold
our festival gatherings at Mariner’s Restaurant in Portimao, which is housed in
the last remaining building of the Judiaria (the Jewish ghetto before the 1496
Edict of Expulsion). But we often meet up at the cemetery in Faro and afterwards
go out for lunch."
Pinto, whose parents went to South Africa as refugees from Nazi Germany, has
traced his family tree back to Samuel Levi Pinto, who lived in Amsterdam in
1650. The name Pinto is of Portuguese origin, however, and means "painted," he
explains.
A retired electrical contractor in his 60s, Pinto moved permanently to the Algarve
with his wife Judith from South Africa in 1991. "We bought a holiday home here
in the mid-80s and came on vacation every year for a couple of months. After
about seven years of doing this, my wife announced that she didn’t want to go
back to South Africa. We love the relaxed atmosphere here and the calm
lifestyle, but we also missed having a Jewish community such as the one we had
in Cape Town."
Judith, an active woman who sports a deep tan from daily sun worshiping at the
beach in nearby Praia de Roche, decided to try and connect Jews living in the
region by holding a Hanukkah party in 1991. While six people attended that first
gathering in the Pintos’ home, the numbers have grown so much that each of the
major festivals celebrated since then has had to be held at Mariner’s Restaurant,
with Pinto leading the services and a festive meal that follows. This year 80
people, from as far afield as Canada, Israel and South Africa, gathered around
the Seder table in Portimao, the quaint harbor town an hour’s drive from Faro,
where the Pintos live. Also present was Dr. Pedro David, who was born in
Portugal and claims to be a descendant of conversos.
Last year, a bar mitzvah was held for Daniel Porton, whose family moved to the
Algarve from Leeds — the first since that of twins Joel and Samuel Dreiblatt in
1923. And in July 2000, Ralf and Judith Pinto’s son, Jose, walked with his south
African bride, Michelle Lentin, down the narrow, cobbled Trevessa da Rua Nova
to Mariner’s Restaurant, where they became the first Jewish couple to be married
there in 500 years.
Unlike other places in Portugal where synagogues still stand (Porto in the north
has the beautiful 1927 Kadoori synagogue, and Tomar, a small town 150 km
from Lisbon, has a synagogue dating back to the 15th century, for instance),
there are few testaments to the Jewish presence on the Algarve. Jews were
invited back to Portugal by the Marquise de Pombal to help rebuild the economy
after the devastating earthquake in 1755. These retornados were the
descendants of Jews who had fled to Gibraltar and Morocco after refusing King
Manuel’s order of baptism and conversion at the end of the 15th century.
Due to its mild climate a number of returning Jews settled in Faro, the Algarve’s
biggest city, which became known as "Little Jerusalem." Most of the community
were well educated and multilingual, speaking English, Arabic, Ladino and
Portuguese.
In the 1850s, Faro had a thriving 60-family community, with two Sephardi
synagogues and a kosher slaughterhouse — none of which remain today. The
decline of the community started in the 1940s as the younger generations left
home for bigger towns, such as Lisbon, which today has a community of 250
families. In the span of 150 years a community had disappeared, the only
remnant of its presence, a cemetery.
The old city of Faro is entered through the impressive 19th-century archway of
Arco da Vila, and has at its heart a peaceful square — the Largo da Se — which
is lined with orange trees and is overlooked by the Paco Episcopal, an elegant
18th-century bishops’ palace. But the Jewish cemetery does not lie within this
part of town, neither is it situated near the stylish pedestrianized center with its
shops, bars and restaurants.
To reach the cemetery, one has to go to the northeast corner of town — a
neighborhood of low apartment blocks and stores that is dominated by a football
stadium and a hospital. The fresh white walls of the cemetery and its decorative
green iron gates are set in a Roman style archway — a stark contrast to the drab
surroundings. Inside, the 106 graves, all in pristine condition, are overlooked by a
large alfarobeia tree and a fine oak, which provide much-needed shade in the
warm Mediterranean climate. The atmosphere is one of serenity.
This was not how Ike Bitton found the cemetery when he visited Faro, his
mother’s birthplace, in 1984. Bitton, an Illinois businessman who grew up in
Lisbon but emigrated to the United States at the age of 17, found only neglect
and desecration.
"I was shocked to see grass on the tombstones and rubble and debris. I stood
there for a long time in reverence and silence. How was it possible to reach such
a state? In the span of a single lifetime the Jews of Faro had gone, leaving only
this place to bear witness," Bitton laments in a documentary film he made of the
restoration project, entitled "Without the Past."
On returning home, Bitton put the restoration project into motion by setting up the
Faro Cemetery Restoration Fund. With the help of Jews and Gentiles, as well as
his brother Joseph and then-Sen. Rudy Boschwitz, Bitton was able to raise funds
for the project and prove, as he says "that we are our brother’s keeper."
While fundraising was possible from 4,000 miles away, organizing the actual
restoration was not. Ralf Pinto was appointed to oversee the project. According
to Pinto: "We found 106 graves of which 71 have inscriptions. As is the
Sephardi/Moroccan custom there are no headstones, but marble slabs over the
graves of adults, while the children’s graves are covered only with pebbles.
According to another Sephardi tradition, children are buried nearest the entrance,
women in the center and men at the back."
Restoration work at the site was a momentous task, Pinto recalls. "In many cases
the stones had to be chemically treated to be restored to their former state and
some had to be structurally repaired. The weeds and 30 tons of rubble were
removed." The most difficult task was digging up the 1,000 square meters of
surrounding calcada (traditional Portuguese cobblestones) and resetting them.
The community also set up a museum in the old tahara (purification) house,
which is open daily to the public, and houses Judaica and posters of Israel. A
plaque has also been put up to honor Samuel Porteira Gacon, a Jew who
pioneered printing in Portugal in 1487, and a framed facsimile copy of the Torah
in Hebrew that he printed hangs on the wall.
In 1993, the cemetery was rededicated in the presence of then-president Mario
Soares, who planted the first of 18 cypress trees that now stand along the
entrance to the burial ground. And today, the sun-seeking Jews of the Algarve
may gather for festivals at the Judiaria restaurant in Portimao, but they recharge
their communal identity back at the 106-soul cemetery in Faro.
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Argentine Jews Struggling with Money Problems and Security Fears
Things weren’t always this desperate for Deborah Fischer and her husband
Hector. Until a few years ago, the young Jewish couple sold notebooks, pencils
and school supplies from their own kiosk and lived in a decent two-bedroom
rental apartment in the middle-class Buenos Aires neighborhood of Paternal.
Then the bottom fell out of Argentina’s economy, and the Fischers’ lives were
turned upside down. Today, the entire family lives crammed into a one-room
storefront. Their shop long gone, Hector now peddles off-brand sneakers in the
street, while Deborah — who is 34 but looks 10 years older — takes care of their
7-month-old daughter and hyperactive 5-year-old son. Not all of Argentina’s
250,000 Jews are in such dire straits, and some are doing much better since the
country’s economic situation began to improve in 2002.
But this month, as the Jewish community marks the 10th anniversary of the
bombing of the AMIA Jewish community center, which killed 85 people and
wounded 300 on July 18, 1994, the community as a whole remains deeply
scarred psychologically and economically. The Fischers’ apartment, which rents
for about $78 a month, is barely big enough for two beds, a crib, a TV set and a
kitchen table. The tiny Kelvinator fridge in the corner is practically empty, and the
bathroom has no running water. If not for handouts from local and international
Jewish organizations, the Fischers probably would be out on the street.
"We cannot shower. We can’t move around," said Deborah, who once spent two
years in Israel and still speaks some Hebrew. "I’d return to Israel, but when I lived
there I was a different person. Now I have two kids, and it’s not so easy."
Compounding the economic challenges among Jews here are fears of a third
large-scale terrorist attack on the community, according to Abraham Kaul,
president of AMIA since May 2002.
The AMIA bombing came only two years after a bomb destroyed the Israeli
Embassy in Buenos Aires, killing 29 people and injuring hundreds. "I recently
received an urgent call on my cell phone, and the first thing I thought was that a
synagogue had been bombed," Kaul said. "But it wasn’t that. Someone I knew
had died in an auto accident. The point is, we have incorporated this idea in our
heads that there can be another attack at any time, at any place. This is now a
part of being Jewish in Argentina."
Jews here are deeply frustrated that 10 years after the attack — the deadliest
terrorist strike in the history of Latin America — no one formally has been
charged with the crime, adding to the sense of paranoia among Argentine Jews.
Even inside the community, there is deep distrust between AMIA officials and the
community’s main Jewish umbrella group, DAIA, following reports that DAIA’s
former president, businessman Ruben Beraja, was linked to former Argentine
president Carlos Menem.
Beraja reportedly did not want to pressure Menem to investigate the 1994
bombing because Beraja was afraid of endangering his extensive business ties
with the Menem government. Menem is suspected of hindering the probe into the
bombing because of his ties to Iran, believed to have sponsored the attack. "After
the attack, many people stopped going to Jewish institutions out of fear," said
Alejandro Kladniew, the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee’s
executive director for Latin America. "People are afraid. When you drop your kids
off at a Jewish school, you know something might happen."
The good news, say community officials, is that Argentina’s once-virulent anti-
Semitism seems to have subsided. "I think the AMIA attack triggered a big feeling
of solidarity by Argentines toward the Jews, and an acceptance that the Jews are
a part of Argentine society," Kaul said. "The economic crisis showed that the
Jews are suffering the same as everyone else."
An estimated 60,000 to 70,000 Jews, about one-fourth of the country’s total
Jewish population, live below the poverty line. Some 35,000 Jews receive daily
food and housing assistance. Much of that help comes from Jews in the United
States. The JDC runs a $10 million operation in Argentina. "Without that aid,
they’d be going to bed hungry at night, and some would be put out on the street,"
said Will Recant, JDC’s executive vice president.
Despite the country’s 8.8 percent economic growth last year, the gap between
rich and poor is widening. Argentina now has one of the most unequal
distributions of income in Latin America. In 2003, according to government
statistics, the richest 10 percent of Argentina’s 36 million people controlled 38.6
percent of the country’s wealth and made 31 times as much as the poorest 10
percent.
In 1974, when the government began recording such figures, the wealthiest
sector was only 12 times better off than the poorest sector. "There’s been an
improvement, with only 48 percent of Argentines living below the poverty line
compared to 58 percent at the end of 2002," said Bernardo Kliksberg, an
Argentine Jewish economist at the Inter-American Development Bank, in
Washington. "But one of every two Argentines is still poor, earning less than
$250 a month, and there are at least 2,000 homeless Jewish people and
increasing numbers of Jewish street children. This is unprecedented in modern
Jewish history."
Kliksberg said it is important that Argentine Jews not be forgotten by Jews
around the world. "Help from American Jews has been very important, but we’re
hearing from community leaders that Argentina is no longer on their priority list.
This is a very dangerous impression. If this help to Argentine Jews is reduced, it’ll
be a tragedy."
Dora Berenstein, a 73-year-old widow, lives with her two dogs in the Santa Fe
provincial town of Moisesville. She gets by on $20 a month in food coupons and
$34 a month in rental income from two small apartments behind her crumbling
house. Berenstein has no children, and her husband died four years ago.
"In Israel, I have lots of family, and I’m in contact with them, but none of them
help me," she said. "I haven’t asked them for help, and they wouldn’t anyway.
Everyone is for himself."
Street vendor Oscar Rodriguez, who isn’t Jewish, receives assistance from
Chabad-Lubavitch thanks to his young son, who attends the Morasha religious
school in Buenos Aires. His late wife, Monica, who is Jewish, died in a fire in their
apartment two years ago. His bedroom ceiling is still charred from the fire. "Their
help has been like a shock absorber," Rodriguez said of Chabad. "Sometimes
they invite me to meetings. I know a lot of people from the Jewish community."
While few Jews are among Argentina’s 40,000 "cartoneros" who eke out a living
by picking through the garbage at night, many Jewish people live in slums known
as "villas de miseria." More than 45 percent of AMIA’s $8 million budget now
goes to social assistance, especially to people older than 45 who have little hope
of finding work. AMIA runs soup kitchens, religious schools and other charitable
institutions throughout metropolitan Buenos Aires.
"For people living below the poverty line, life continues as before," Kladniew said.
"Some people have found jobs, but unskilled jobs at very low salaries — jobs that
don’t even pay 500 pesos," around $170 a month. "You can’t buy anything with
that." Chabad, which has 22 sites in Argentina, also is working to help alleviate
Jewish poverty. Earlier this month, Chabad found an apartment for a Jewish
family that was living in a cardboard shack on a piece of land given to them by
the Catholic Church. Two of the five children were sick with pneumonia.
Things have gotten better since Argentina’s economic nadir, said Rabbi Zvi
Grunblatt, director of Chabad’s Argentine operations, but "we really have a long
way to go." Grunblatt said Chabad now has 250 children enrolled in its Ieladenu
center for poor and abused Jewish children. "Three months ago, we received a
child who was somewhat retarded," Grunblatt said. "After eating normally for two
months at our Ieladenu center, the kid went into a normal kindergarten class. The
problem wasn’t that he was retarded, but malnourished."
The crisis has hit Argentina’s Jews especially hard. Many were middle-class
professionals who fell into penury when they lost their jobs and the Argentine
peso lost two-thirds of its value, wiping out their savings. Many now accept
handouts. "My father used to have a pharmacy," said Viviana, a 54-year-old
social worker who asked that her last name not be used. "We always had maids,
and he used to take us to Europe on holidays. Every year, my parents went to
Club Med in Brazil." When Argentina’s economic crisis hit, the pharmacy went
into debt and her father was forced to sell the business. He died of cancer not
long ago, humiliated and psychologically devastated.
"My father never spoke about his suffering, but I’m convinced that when he lost
his economic and social position, that’s when he got cancer," said Viviana,
whose $100,000 in life savings disappeared when the Uruguayan bank in which
her money was deposited went out of business. "But we are fortunate, because
we have work and we’re healthy. Many Jews are much worse off than us."
Deborah Fischer, trying to make ends meet in her tiny Buenos Aires storefront
apartment, now has more modest dreams that she once had. "To get out of
here," she says quietly, then adds: "To have enough water to be able to take a
nice shower."
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10 Years after Panama Airline Bomb, Jews are Pained by Lack of Suspects
Sitting in her impeccably furnished living room on the 20th floor of one of this
city's modern high-rises, Yvonne Attie's petite frame and dignified posture exude
calmness and fortitude. But as she approaches the 10th anniversary of the day a
bomb on a local commuter flight killed her husband, she finds it impossible to
keep tears from her eyes. She speaks of how her five children have been left
without a father. "The way we live as Jews, the father is the pillar of the house,
and that was how we liked it," she says. "My husband was an outstanding
person, but it was only through his death that we could really appreciate it. He left
all his kids filled with such a love that none of them had any complaints."
Emmanuel Attie was among the 21 people on board an Alas Chiricanas flight on
July 19, 1994, headed to Panama City from the Caribbean port of Colon, where
Emmanuel ran the family's men's fashion wholesale business. About five minutes
into the flight, a passenger who called himself Lya Jamal detonated a pound of
explosives, destroying the plane and killing all its passengers, including 12 Jews.
No one claimed responsibility for the bombing, and opinion is divided over
whether it was the work of Arab terrorists or drug lords from neighboring
Colombia. Yvonne Attie was at the airport waiting to pick up her husband that
day; she was the only relative of a victim at the airport when word of the disaster
came in. Emmanuel, 61, had been coming home early that day to help her plan a
family event.
The relatives' grief is compounded by the fact that the bombing remains
unsolved. Unlike the bombing of the AMIA Jewish community center in Buenos
Aires, which killed 85 people the day before the Alas Chiricanas bombing and
widely is believed to be the work of Hezbollah terrorists working under Iranian
sponsorship, there are no known terrorist suspects in the Panama airline
bombing. "We all want this to be resolved because you must put closure to this,
but I also understand this closure is not in my hands," Attie says. The loss took a
heavy emotional toll on Attie and her children, particularly the youngest daughter,
then 9. Attie says support from the country's 8,000-strong Jewish community
helped pull her through the difficult time and come to grips with her loss.
Ten of those that died, including Emmanuel Attie, were among the country's
7,000 Sephardi Jews. Sephardim in Panama generally adhere to Orthodox
customs and have managed to keep up observance of traditions that many in
other Latin America Jewish communities have let fall by the wayside. Attie
reserves special praise for the country's long-time chief rabbi, Zion Levy, who
she says "sometimes has been like a father" to her children. Today, Attie's
youngest daughter is getting ready for her final year of college in the United
States. Her only son has taken the reins of the family business, which now
includes women's fashion as well. Attie keeps pictures of her husband around the
house. In one, they appear wrapped in ski parkas and wool hats in Colorado, a
far cry from the steamy tropical heat of Panama City. The memories of that bring
a smile to her lips, even as her eyes fill with tears. Attie still is haunted by the
idea that she may have taken an earlier flight with Lya Jamal when she went to
visit her husband's business two weeks before the bombing.
She recalls a man on the flight matching the description of the later bomber.
Investigators said the bomber flew the route on several occasions in the weeks
before the attack. What Attie remembers most is that her impression of him was
not as a potential killer but someone whose shirt was wrinkled. Like many Latin
Americans, Panamanians are sticklers for freshly-pressed clothes. Attie's
brother-in-law, Mayer Attie, suffered a double loss. Orphaned at a young age in
Israel, he had convinced Emmanuel Attie to move to Panama in the early 1960's,
and helped introduce him to his future wife. When the plane exploded, Mayer
Attie lost not only his brother but his son Albert, 24, by all accounts a business
prodigy who had earned an MBA from the Wharton business school at age 21.
"Albert was a partner in our family business. He was a part of this organization.
He was going to be my right hand in the business," Mayer Attie recalled recently
in his office at the family's textile assembly plant. "In my life I have a wound that
will never heal, neither for myself nor for my wife, because I loved him so much."
Albert and Emmanuel Attie are buried next to each other at a small Jewish
cemetery off a main thoroughfare, their graves the first in a row of eight graves of
victims from the bombing. Though he is gone, Emmanuel Attie's presence in his
family remains, frequently and affectionately invoked in conversation. "On every
happy occasion we mention him," Yvonne Attie says. "We always say, 'Father
would have liked this.' "
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Ethiopian Unemployment Down
"The common image is that nobody works, which is not correct," said Judith King,
coordinator of a study that surveyed Ethiopian residents in eight Israeli cities.
Conducted by the Ministry of Immigrant Absorption and the Myers-JDC-
Brookdale Institute, the study states that the employment rate ranged from 56 per
cent to 77 per cent of men, depending on the city. The national rate is 74 per
cent.
The survey, released in May, indicates that the employment rate of Ethiopian
men between the ages of 26 and 44 is approaching that of the non-immigrant
Israeli population, and that the situation of Ethiopian immigrants is generally
improving.
"The situation on the whole is not necessarily good, but when compared to how it
started, it's not so bad," King said, referring to the limited resources Ethiopians
came here with. The study was conducted in eight cities, each with a large
number of Ethiopian immigrants. The findings are based on interviews with about
15,000 individuals.
"We are very far from equality," said Shlomo Molla, the Jewish Agency's director
of Ethiopian affairs. He said the number presented in the survey does not take
into account the type of employment, nor the wage. "Even if people are working,
they are getting a minimum salary and are not working in their profession," he
said.
Batia Eyob, director of the Israel Association for Ethiopian Jews, said these jobs
are not stable and do not offer many benefits. However, she said that despite the
negative aspects of this kind of job, it still provides some form of income. Like
Molla, she said this may account for the higher numbers in the JDC survey.
Also, she said she has not seen any improvement in employment rates and does
not think the numbers in the recent survey are accurate. "Unemployment is not
getting better. On the contrary, it is getting worse," she said. "There is an
increasing number of young graduates who are unemployed. As a result, these
students end up working in man power-type jobs."
The survey also noted some more distressing findings, which vary depending on
the city. For one, the immigrants' self-assessed comprehension of Hebrew is low:
18 to 28 per cent of fathers and 7 to 28 per cent of mothers are completely
unable to comprehend or conduct a simple conversation in Hebrew. Also, over
half of the families with children under five-years-old do not have any games,
toys or books.
Furthermore, the employment rate of men between the ages of 18 and 64 - which
varies between 34 and 48 per cent - is much lower than the national average of
64 per cent. While Molla finds it hard to be optimistic about the situation, he said
the Jewish Agency has an initiative that tries to find jobs for Ethiopian immigrants
with a professional education.
King's optimism, however, stems from "where [the Ethiopian immigrant
population] came from and how much they achieved." "It's far from perfect, but
there is ground for optimism," she added.
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South Africans of all Religions Unite to Protect Circumcision
South African Jews joined Muslims and African tribes in opposing a campaign to
outlaw circumcision. The campaign follows the forced circumcision of a 22-year-old man of Xhosa origin in what is regarded as a traditional rite of passage in his culture.
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Klezmer Workshop Jewish Music of Eastern Europe
Workshops Open to All! Courses given in French and English. Vocal and
instrumental workshops, master classes, lectures, jam sessions…
David Krakauer - clarinet
Jack (Yankl) Falk - singing
Josh Dolgin (DJ SoCalled) - accordion, piano, " machines "
Musicians: accessible to anyone with sufficient mastery of his/her instrument to
be able to learn new musical specificities and new approaches in interpretation.
Singers: all singers interested in broadening their knowledge of Yiddish musical
tradition, cantorial music (Hazanut) and the interaction between folksong and
klezmer music.
Amateurs: anyone interested in learning more about klezmer music by sitting in
on sessions with leading klezmer musicians.
Tuition : 320 euros/Student rate (with proof of student status) : 250 euros
Information and Registration: Paris Yiddish Center - Medem Library
18, passage Saint-Pierre Amelot, F-75011 PARIS
Tél : + 33 (0)1 47 00 14 00 Fax : + 33 (0)1 47 00 14 47
www.yiddishweb.com
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Camp Harmony: Kids from Different Income Levels and
Backgrounds Learn to Embrace their Similarities
The fourth- and fifth-graders walk downhill to a clearing, touching bay leaves for
good luck before they enter. As they settle in, a tall, red- haired white man begins
to sing a folk song, but it soon morphs into a rap -- with vocal duties shared by
two young black men.
The children of various races sit close together -- listening, singing, swaying and
clapping to a song they know by heart. "M is for mutual respect," they sing. "O is
for open-mindedness. S is for self-respect. A is for attitude. I is for individuality. C
is for community." The music and lyrics are infectious; and although the rhythm
changes, the kids never miss a beat.
As their week on the outskirts of Napa is wrapping up, they are rapping away to
the theme song of Camp Mosaic, the program that brings together children from
three Bay Area elementary schools: one upper middle class, one middle class
and one lower-income. The children for this particular week come from Park Day
School, a private elementary school in Oakland; Carl B. Munck Elementary, an
Oakland public school; and St. Elizabeth Seton School, a Palo Alto Catholic
school.
Spontaneously, the students form a conga line, and their exuberance is still
evident as they sit on a tarp to listen to Mosaic Project Executive Director Lara
Mendel quote Margaret Mead: "Never doubt that a small group of highly
committed individuals can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever
has." Founded in 2000 by Mendel and Margaret Hodder, the Berkeley-based
Mosaic Project has its five-day, four-night diversity camp sessions from early
May through the first full week of June. Besides getting a chance to learn from
one another, the children get mentored by their cabin leaders, high school
students who have gone through Mosaic's Youth Leadership Institute/Cabin
Leader program.
"I like working with kids because they're not brainwashed yet," says Katiana
Carey-Simms, 15, of Oakland School. "It's the only place where I can feel
appreciated." Renaldo Rodrigues, 19, who attended Urban Pioneer Experiential
Academy in San Francisco, is in his third year as a cabin leader. "The only real,
true way in the world to have peace is to be friends and to teach others about
equality," he says. "But don't just talk about it: Do it. Make it real."
When the kids arrive each Monday, they are divided into cabin groups, who live
together, and share groups, who do activities together. A third group forms when
everyone gathers. "We ask them, 'Why do you think we did that?' And they'll say,
'Because you wanted us to meet new people and make new friends.' And we'll
say, 'Yeah! That's the idea,' " Mendel says. "Then we ask them, 'How can you
make someone feel welcome?' They'll say, 'Smile, introduce yourself, scoot over
to them.' These are the ways you make someone feel included. We ask them to
remember that throughout the week.
"We tell them that your feeling welcome is tied to everybody feeling welcome.
That's what we're about. We're creating a world where everyone can feel
welcome. If we can do it here and start with ourselves, we can bring it out to our
schools ... in our communities ... in the world."
The larger objective is for the kids to forget their socioeconomic backgrounds and
view each other's similarities instead of differences, says Mendel, 35, who holds
undergraduate and graduate degrees in anthropology from Stanford. "We want
them to see that there are no differences," she says, "and for them to love
themselves, because if they love themselves then they will love others."
It is not unusual for the kids to arrive at camp with feelings of prejudice, primarily
because they may not have interacted with others outside their race or
socioeconomic background, Mendel says. One recent class was all Latino, and
the teacher told Mendel that she didn't think the kids had stereotypes against
whites or blacks. "I said, 'Well, ... I can guarantee that they do,' " Mendel recalls.
Mendel knew that one boy in the class had negative stereotypes of blacks. After
a week at the camp, he was asked how he felt. "He said, 'So-and-so in my cabin
(a black youth) is practically my new best friend,' " Mendel recalls. "At the end, he
made tons of friendships with people of all races.
"This happens all the time. We have blacks saying they can never be friends with
whites or a white girl saying she didn't think she could be friends with people from
different races." The games and activities are designed to dispel prejudice.
"Categories" is a game in which each of the kids call out something that makes
each person different. One child may yell out race, another music or religion or
gender.
"By talking about our differences, they see that we are really all the same,"
Mendel says. In "Seat Switching," players learn ways they can help everyone in a
group feel welcome. In "Empathy Role-Play," participants act in skits in which
they switch footwear, so they literally know how it feels to walk in someone else's
shoes.
All week, Mosaic Project staff and cabin leaders wear a necklace of seven clay
beads, with six small beads and one larger one. During one group project, the
children make beads. In the largest bead, they place a tiny redwood seed, but
are not told why. During the closing ceremony, they are each given a redwood
seed, then told to look around and realize that giant redwood trees surround
them.
"The tall redwoods that you see began from tiny seeds, just like the ones you are
holding in your hands," Mendel tells them. "And small individuals can make big
changes."
A Mosaic staffer tells a story about the Mosaic woods. In the story, a small girl
receives a necklace with seven beads from her grandmother, handed to her in a
plain brown paper bag. The woman explains that the necklace means her
granddaughter is a member of Team Mosaic. By wearing it, she makes a
personal commitment toward world peace. The six small beads, the grandmother
says, represent the Mosaic values, while the large, center bead represents the
girl's promise to make the world a better place.
At the story's conclusion, cabin leaders pull out a brown paper bag and give each
student a seven-bead necklace. Then they gather into sharing group circles, a
candle is lit and they are encouraged to discuss what they gained from attending
the weeklong session. "I learned not to tease people or be mean to them," says
Omar Ortega, who attends St. Elizabeth. "I learned to empathize."
Munck student Carla Broadnax adds: "I learned about conflict resolution. I
learned I can stop having a bad attitude and instead have a positive attitude."
"Differences are important," says Sophie Smyer, 11, of Park Day School. "Being
interconnected is important. You can change the world. Respect others and think
about someone else's point of view."
John Robertson, 19, a project intern who attends Menlo College in Atherton, is
overcome with emotion. "You guys rock!" he says. "You are the coolest young
group. You're all going to take back what you learned to your schools and make
a difference in the world." Earlier in the week, the kids were given a set of blank
index cards. Before going to bed each night, the kids were instructed to write
their feelings, experiences and the people they value on the cards.
The cards were collected, and at the end of the week the cabin leader had
compiled the index cards into a Value Book for each student. The book also
includes a list of five steps for conflict resolution, as well as healthy ways to
express feelings when upset or angry. Also tucked in are a couple of blank
pages. The students gather in a final circle and sing the Mosaic song. When the
ceremony ends, camp concludes, tears flow and there are long hugs -- children
who did not know each other when camp began are now close friends.
The students fill the blank pages of their books with each other's addresses,
telephone numbers and e-mail addresses. A bell is rung to show appreciation for
the community that was created during the week. Then, like a giant wave at a
baseball game, one-by-one, everyone quickly turns to their left in a show of
support for diversity. "Eighteen seconds!" someone yells. "That's the fastest
we've ever done it! A record!"
"Take a look around," says Mendel. "You came into Mosaic on Monday, and
remember what you were thinking about, everything you did all week and what
you learned. Go out and share everything you learned and make peace in this
world." A staffer starts playing his guitar and everyone sings: "Building strength
and unity, making a mosaic of our community. Helping the world to live in
harmony ... " And the kids walk arm-in-arm, up the hill to their buses, which will
take them back to their communities.
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