L'hitraot - Leaving the Abayudaya

I leave the Abayudaya in two days and I am by no means ready to go. I know I have done a terrible job of keeping my blog updated, so here is an entry to try and summarize my experience.

I have been living blissfully here, asking all the questions I can think of to all sorts of people, eating well at every meal (and in between meals), moving around, playing, learning. Everyone here tells me to delay my departure, that they are sad to see me go. One of my host sisters told me I’m leaving a hole behind and their next visitor will not be able to fill it. I’m not sure if they are just paying me lip service, or if they are genuine, but it sure is comforting to hear.

The past few weeks have been my happiest in Uganda. Some days, without any reason, I experience this overwhelming sense of giddiness. I just get so excited about where I am, what I’m doing, and whom I’m spending time with. I’m going to miss the dark nights lit by a single lantern, all of the kids singing, playing guitar and teaching me hand games. I’m going to miss philosophical Jewish discussions in the middle of rural Uganda. I’m going to miss the friends I have made, the families I have been welcomed into. I will miss the African melodies during Shabat services, drinking beer for Kiddush instead of wine, sniffing lotion at Havdalah instead of spices.

My first week here I couldn’t get over the Jewish presence in these villages. I thought it didn’t belong. Living such a life in such a setting seemed awkward. But now, now it is completely natural to me. I don’t think twice when kids break out into “David Melech” or when I see men wearing kippot. It doesn’t matter that the founder of this community wasn’t born Jewish. What matters is that people here have been Jewish for generations. They have been Jewish from their birth up to today. They know they are Jewish – what could make them more Jewish? Sure, I feel connected by my lineage, but they feel connected by the Torah. Their existence is therefore no more bizarre than the Jewish populations in Ethiopia, India, or the United States for that matter. We are the same – believing in an ancient religion, upholding old customs, perpetuating a similar culture.
I can’t deny, though, that I have grown up in a different place with different privileges, and therefore will always be different from this community. But still, when I leave Saturday, I will leave knowing that I will always have a place here.

I have been living with the Abayudaya, a Jewish tribe in Eastern Uganda, for over a week now. At the last minute I changed my Independent Study Project (ISP) from evaluating indigenous knowledge in development schemes to examining how Jewish philanthropy has affected the Abayudaya. I could not be happier with my decision. My first few days in their village, I struggled to wrap my mind around the reality of this community. I was initially touched by the community’s spirituality as well as perplexed by its existence here. To me, Judaism is cultural. Can it be cultural here when it is two foreign cultures bottled as one? The Hebrew, the prayers, the talitot are all comforting. Patterns of behavior mimic those that I’m used to at my home synagogue. But why do these people choose to be Jewish? I identify with the spiritual and cultural aspects of Judaism. It is odd to me that they are drawn to the religious ones. Judaism makes sense to me. But I don’t expect it to make sense to everyone. Perhaps that is why I’m surprised that this community, which six generations ago had no connection to Judaism, decided to embrace it.

I’m living with a host family 6 km or so away from the main Abayudaya village. The family has a large and successful farm, so I’m stuffed full of fresh mangoes, avocados, pineapple and bananas. I love the drastically different pace of life in the village as compared to life in Kampala. I can sense myself getting antsy every now and then while I sit in the shade of a tree for hours with one other person for company. Or when I’m walking at a snails pace from point A to point B with my Ugandan companion. But I remind myself there is something to appreciate in these (painfully) relaxed moments. And when I am conscious of my own restlessness I remind myself to be grateful of where I am and what I’m doing at that moment (even if I am doing nothing at all).

Passover was great. I was a bit homesick (there’s nothing like having a familiar Seder with those you love). But there’s also nothing like cooking for 300 people without electricity. I spent six hours Wednesday sifting through a 100 pound bag of rice! Both men and women were involved in the preparations. When I arrived in the morning, the men were slaughtering and skinning goats and the women were koshering the plates. The first night’s Seder was about twice as big as the second night’s, but the service was nothing alien. Quite similar to what Jews do in The States (minus the goat).

The people here are wonderful. Some of the community members have truly taken me under their wing. I don’t know if they do this for all visitors, or if they are trying to make a good impression for my research, or if I’m something special. I’d love to say the latter, of course, but I think it is probably a mix of all three. Nonetheless, it has made for an extremely meaningful experience. In less than a week I found my niche in this community. It definitely took effort on my part, and was aided by the people’s open demeanor. But I feel comfortable now. I feel at home.

My entire study abroad experience has made me question where I belong. But for the time being, I know that I’m right where I should be.