Some thoughts thus far...

More teaching (including some--limited--male participation! yay!) and some ample time to ruminate over what is I'm doing here, what it is I came to discover and what I have actually found. Just to note--if some of these seem negative, that in no way indicates I'm not immensely enjoying my time here and learning valuable things constantly.  These are merely what comes with much time spent in one place, with much opportunity both to explore and to reflect. A few of these reflections:
1) The romanticization of this community, of which I am certainly guilty as are many of the visitors who come here and those who hear about/from Abayudaya in the States, has really started to bug me.  That is not to say I have stopped appreciating its uniqueness among Jewish groups, the intelligence and ingenuity of its members, and the singular challenges it must meet.  It is rather, perhaps, a sort of distaste for the veneer of awe that is smacked across one's face upon soaking up the superficial oddities--Oh look, there are Ugandans praying in Hebrew! I feel myself still thinking this, and it's easily sensed in visitors who come for a short while.  And this is coupled with the fancy speaking tours community members regularly go on to raise money, in a way continuing this mythical image. It is somewhat deserved, for sure, but nonetheless it makes me somewhat uncomfortable, now that I've gotten used to them being, well, just a community of people.
2) I'm increasingly struggling with what I can bring back with me to share, what I can record, transcribe, and maybe use.  I just had a long discussion with the one other muzungu (foreigner/white person) here about recording etiquette, and I'm still trying to pin it down.  Often, I'll sit down with someone, pull out my notebook and a recorder, and everything's clear and open--this is an interview, and I'm recording our voice and taking notes.  But other times, I'll be talking with someone and I realize how much I want to capture the exchange, so I'll pull out my iPod (which acts as my recording device) and press record, not realizing until after that they may not have realized what was going on, not sure whether I can justly utilize, in any way, what I've learned.  My instinct now is to go back and ask, though I fear the awkwardness that may bring...
3) The weird intersection of higher levels of observance than their American counterparts with a largely lower level of knowledge is a continuously bizarre one.  Also, I've often been thinking about what it means to define oneself as so strongly aligned with a denomination when the others are not around to contend with (except for that one Orthodox bugger, with whom they are of course on tense terms).
Essentially: This faith--which came first from the Torah and then from foreigners--where can it trace its authenticity?  What makes it unique, if we know it, think it to be so?

Teaching Hebrew, English and everything in between...

Today was all about teaching (and learning about teaching...and learning...and learning about learning, for that matter).  I had three Hadassah classes today, and every time I step into the classroom I wonder anew what would be the best way to instruct these kids.  Many seem to recognize a few basic words, but when asked to sound out other, similarly simple ones, cannot do it.  And if we happen upon a word whose English translation is difficult in and of itself to understand (as happened occasionally with brachot) then another layer of explanation must take place, along with many other chances to completely miss the meaning.  Because of this, I've started to scale back to simple words which the students would recognize in Englsh, though I fear going to far astray from the prayer-related goal of the headmaster... In addition, and this may be the most educationally obvious statement to those in the business, but I find it both interesting and frustrating that in every primary school class I teach there is a small group of girls always engaged, always giving the answers and participating, while there are maybe three boys across the four classes who come close to their level of understanding and motivation.  I have no doubt that there are very smart boys--they perhaps  just haven't caught the learning bug yet--but I still find the gender segregation disheartening.
The one semi-practical I am gaining a renewed skill for is block Hebrew letters--while any printed Hebrew text has them, I hadn't written them since first grade, but as the Abayudaya kids (and I think most of the adults as well) are never exposed to written script--and considering their current goals of following the prayer service and reading the Torah, it isn't really necessary that they be so exposed--it's back to block for me.  While I sometimes still draw them wildly large, and have some issue remembering all the vowels which I have not encountered for quite some time, I am making quick strides in my penmanship.   
On the more informal side of teaching, I spent many hours over the past couple of days helping Aaron, the high school principal, fill out a visa application for the U.S.  I have to say, my heart goes out to all you non-Americans who've ever had to encounter it--that application is brutal. My Ugandan visa app took about five minutes to fill out--this took 60x that.  It also contains entertaining questions such as "Are you a terrorist?" (I swear, it's there.)  I am certainly curious who answers yes to that one...

My Time in the Principal's Office...

Today I spent a lot of quality time with Aaron, the primary school principal, in school and at home, helping him with his visa and investigating a potential receiving opportunity from a Canadian donor.  In addition, I got to sit back and talk with him about the birth of the Nabugoye community and its two schools, Hadassah Primary School and Semei Kakungulu High School, where I have been teaching for the past two weeks.  The two schools began in 2003 and 2001, respectively, after Abayudaya students were already getting help from the US (mainly from Kulanu) to send their kids to school.  It was decided that, instead of sending these kids to public schools, they could build their own schools, where Jewish kids from different communities in Uganda (and even sometimes elsewhere) could gather for regular education, as well as the study of Hebrew and some Jewish subjects in a Jewish-flavored environment.  Aaron told me these new ventures have given even the smallest children, some of whom board, at the primary school the opportunity to meet and go to school with other Jewish children in an unprecedented fashion for Uganda.  Both schools, however, have non-Jewish populations--Hadassah's is quite small,  but SK's is quite large--about 3/4.  He said he is hoping to have more Judaic studies in the future, at least at the primary level.  The main problem now seems to be that most of the Jewish education at the school comes from volunteers, which is problematic on a sustainability level and a linguistic level.  We talked about this, and he seemed to agree with my suggestion that if a local teacher could be trained to do this (who could teach the kids not only more regularly, but in their own language), this would provide a potential solution to the situation.
Aaron also told me the story which J.J. began, of how after the fall of Amin, he and other young Abayudaya came together to rebuild and regroup the community.  For several months, they went from village to village, investigating who had assimilated/converted during the Amin oppression and who hadn't, getting a sense of who was left, as well as having organized activities for the youth.  They then set up a committee and the Kibbutz I mentioned earlier and moved to build the Synagogue on Nabugoye Hill, land they had gotten from Semei Kakungulu back in the day (it was made community land).  In order to build the synagogue, they told the government is was going to be part of a school, but when the local Christian authority realized this was not the case, they vehemently protested.  In the end, after some jail time served by several of the major players (including Aaron...kind of weird considering that he's a jolly, not-hurt-a-fly, play-guitar-to-nursery-kids kinda guy!), the district recognized that is was their land and allowed them to complete what became the Moses Synagogue.  And today, Nabugoye and this synagogue serve as the center of the Abayudaya.

P.S. A fun fact to those of you who are or have ever been in high school: classes at SK (and I believe secondary schools all over) can start as early as 6AM, sharp.

Bringing Halacha into a New Cultural Context?

Teaching continues to bring small steps forward and larger steps back, as I realize the extent of 1)what the kids have yet to learn and 2)how amazingly hard it is to teach/learn a third language in a second.  Last class, we had talked about brachot (blessings), and the meanings of the words, and today, as we were reviewing I realized--wait, they don't know what these meanings are in English.  Some had memorized the meanings, but few knew what these meanings referred to.  Perhaps I should have realized this before, but as no indication had been made I hadn't even thought of it.  It certainly set me back a bit, but hopefully my definitions of definitions have helped give them the understanding they were lacking, and later this week we will begin to learn the months of the Hebrew calendar, another of the large gaps in the kids' knowledge.

Following my class at Hadassah, I got my first taste of the Yeshiva here, coming in for the last hour of discussion (the classes, such as they are, only run until noon).  A small group of African Jews (from small communities in and outside Uganda) study with Rabbi Gershom so that they may go back and lead their own communities.  When I got there, the Rabbi and four students were discussing "love," certainly not the first topic I was expecting from the group, but it was later revealed that the original discussion had been about the whether a man should/could have more than one wife.  This is actually a particularly interesting question in a Ugandan context (though it's almost moot in the U.S.) as polygamy is rather common here among Muslims and some Christians--last year I met several wives who were some of 18, and many others who were one of four or five.  The question seemed to have taken a different turn and they spent a lot of time discussing different kinds of love (romantic, filial, etc.) and the differences between them, which honestly seemed a bit beside the point but interesting nonetheless.  In the end, the rabbi brought the discussion back to the question of wives, and the halachic view was brought up, along with specifically Ugandan considerations--that a wife might refuse to leave if a husband wants a divorce because the house belongs to the husband, and he is not required to give her anything in the case of divorce.  Therefore, the solution he proposed was that one should have only one wife, but if such a case arose as a woman refused to leave the home, the situation would have to be attended to in a way that may allow for another marriage.
It was certainly an interesting question to hear discussed here, and in a very atypical way, at least in regards to my own education and my understanding of the workings of rabbinical school studies (though I admit I have less familiarity with Conservative and Reform ones).  The Talmud and other sources could only be approached in the abstract--minimal familiarity with Hebrew, Aramaic and Jewish texts in general makes the text a bit too lofty for most except the rabbi--but the core of dealing with questions in a cultural context very different from that of most practicing Jews was certainly eye opening.

Father of Many, Keeper of All

Today, after a botched venture at Hadassah--all the kids I was supposed to be teaching were taking some sort of exam--and endless walking, I had a fascinating meeting with J.J. Keki, brother of Rabbi Gershom and Principals Aaron and Seth (of the primary and secondary schools, respectively), at his home in Nangolo.  Coffee interfaith co-op founder, internationally known musician, tireless farmer, father of 25 (his own and adopted), master crochet artist...there seem to very few things this man can't do.  And with all that, all I had to do was call him up and he told me to come over any time during the day that I pleased. When I did, he gave me over two hours of his time, telling me stories of Semei Kakungulu, the Abayudaya's founder, of the community's development, and of its struggles, both external and internal.  While some of the stories were ones I've heard or read before (in the 1 book I could find on the Abayudaya, by photographer Richard Sobol), many included parts I didn't expect, like the line "Idi Amin wasn't all bad..."--this is because he was the one who scaled back the religious requirements at schools from conversion to merely a subject among many, freeing Jews who had decided against education in the face of forced conversion to Islam or Christianity to finally attend school. (The problem with this was that he also wasn't so into minority religions, and in fact forbade them, which J.J. conceded.)  He described the plans to use his sizable amount of land to make a large sum from coffee and eventually cocoa, much of which would be used to help strengthen the struggling schools and the largely poverty-stricken community.  Given the success he has already had with the co-op, which has attracted the attention of a documentary filmmaker*, and is sold quite poshly in the U.S., I found it very believable that he would achieve his lofty goals.
There was so much to learn about all facets of the community--how they struggled to learn Hebrew (at first teaching it to themselves quite badly, until some cassette tapes from Israel helped set them straight) how they got their psalm translations into Luganda used during services (old Christian bible translation) and how he and his brothers revived the Abayudaya community, combatting some of the same obstacles the Jewish community in America faces in quite fascinating and sometimes amusing ways. To tackle intermarriage, for instance, young people from the different Jewish communities were gathered at Nabugoye in a sort of "kibbutz" and it was there that many, including  J.J. and his brothers, met their spouses.
What I found most amazing though, was how candid and open he was about the community's struggles and issues, not just past but present as well.  Many of these problems resemble those of communities in America, while others are linked to the experience of many poor rural Ugandans.  In many ways, it seems, he is fighting a lone battle, investing personally in the community in ways few others, even other leaders, do.  J.J's vision for a self-sustaining Abayudaya community that does not have to rely on so much outside support was not just a dream, but a reality he is actively pursuing, if not single-handedly, way ahead of the rest of the pack.
There were many more amazing things to be heard--my audio nears 3 hours! If anyone is curious about anything specific, please feel free to ask! I'll probably post more bits tomorrow, and he purposely withheld some stories so that I'd have to come back, so there is plenty more of this fascinating man's perspective, insight and knowledge to come!
*If you do watch the trailer, J.J. is the "main character"--the one playing the guitar and doing a lot of the speaking. Enjoy!

Shabbat #2

Shavua tov!  My second Shabbat here was lovely and restful (a perfect time for recovery after Friday's excitement!), and another fascinating window into this community.  This week, I noticed certain things I missed during week 1, and I'm sure there is still so much I haven't caught yet!
First, walking in late to Kabbalat Shabbat to the only open seat being in the front, I noticed that the candles were already lit (it was still Kabbalat Shabbat, complete with musical accompaniment).  A bit confused, as I explicitly remembered the lighting happening after Kabbalat Shabbat and the storing of the instruments, I pondered this during the rest of the service until it was completed, at which time the rabbi called the women forth to say the bracha.  So, it seems, the order is this: the candles are lit before the service begins, the Kabbalat Shabbat service takes place, and then the blessing is said (after which maariv, the evening prayer, begins).  I am curious about this practice and will certainly ask the rabbi for the reason behind this practice, be it halachic, merely convenient, or something else entirely.
It was interesting as well to see the extent of the sermonizing in the rabbi's sermon.  This week's speech was about the influence one's wife can have (based on a commentary on this week's Torah portion which talks about a wife's good influence on her husband's choices), which he extended to one's friends and issues of drinking and marijuana.  And he proceeded to pick out certain people from the audience, saying things like "you--you probably have friends who smoke marijuana!" and "You need to be an influence for your husband!" The audience took this naturally, and it was refreshing in a certain way, though the thought of that occurring in any synagogue I've attended back home is...well I honestly couldn't imagine it!
I also noticed something interesting about the reading of the Torah portion--while the readers would use a chant which resembled the cadence of the trop (the defined tonal markings attached to each word in the Torah), they did not actually follow the trop.  I am curious to see if this is done as a rule, or merely as a stepping stone until the appropriate chants can be learned (or, understandably, if there are many other ritual challenges which must be faced before this one is tackled).  As the rabbi got a full rabbinical degree from a U.S. seminary (and seems generally well-versed in most major areas of Jewish practice and ritual, based on our conversations), I am close to certain he would have been exposed to the modes of Torah chanting, though he likely would be the only community member to have had such exposure.

And last of the things (I can remember right now) that I failed to mention last time--the haftarah (shorter portion from elsewhere in Tanakh read after the main Torah portion) is read in Luganda, not Hebrew.  This makes a lot of sense considering the Hebrew skill levels of most, though the rabbi does do a good job of explaining the key plot points and ideas of the story in the Torah portion before it is read.

I have yet to find out what the meaning of the inter-aliyah chant (which I mentioned last week) is, or how the choices of which psalms to say in Luganda were made, and who did all this impressive translating, but it is one of my week's goal's to find out!

All I can force from my brain at the moment--shavua tov!

Ugandan Health Care 101

Today, I almost went native...which is to say, I woke up feeling sick, and the general opinion was "Oh...I hope you don't have malaria."  (To allay fears I will tell you right now I DON'T HAVE MALARIA.)  So instead of helping with the spelling bee and taking part in the Shabbat sing-a-long at Hadassah, as I had planned (along with getting a start on my interview transcriptions) I headed over to the Tobin health clinic, which was founded by the Abayudaya community.  You may recall I was there briefly on Sunday, but navigating it as a patient was a bit different.  It was certainly a different experience than attending an American doctor.  When I arrived the guy at the reception desk informed me his name was Dr. Mark, and ushered me into an "office" off the waiting room (where many others were waiting--when I said I'd be happy to wait for those already there, he said "No, no, you go first," probably because he knew I would pay.)  After a short conversation, where again I heard "Hmm...I hope you don't have malaria," I was lead by a nurse to a room labeled "Lab," a room which, it turns out, is not only where your blood is tested, but where you get blood drawn (with a new, clean needle), and where you wait for the results of the blood tests, and where the lab technician gives you a slip of paper with a diagnosis which he doesn't inform you of.  He, again, helped solidify my malarial fears, when he asked, while looking at my blood sample through a microscope, "so have you ever had malaria?" Yet when I finally brought the mysterious diagnosis sheet back to Dr. Mark, I was informed that I did not indeed have malaria, just some "stomach anxiety."  The doctor gave me two types of pills (which I checked out with an International SOS doctor), which brought my total, for test and pills, to a womping 3,000 shillings (about $1.25).  For that price, I certainly can't complain!
Anyways, I'm sorry there isn't much project-related to report today.  I'm sure Shabbat will be full of discoveries and hopefully restful and recuperative!
Shabbat Shalom!

Spelling, Wine and a Rabbi

Today brought more spelling and more Hebrew.  I worked with S3 (third year of secondary school, or high school) on spelling, in preparation for the inter-year spelling bee tomorrow.  I have no idea if this will actually resemble anything like an American spelling bee, but the teacher I work with really wants to have a "competition" for spelling, and has heard of the film Akeelah and the Bee, so I'm assuming it will be something of the sort.

As for Hebrew at Hadassah, I worked with the oldest and youngest Hebrew-learning groups today, and had my first big culture shock with the oldest group.  Continuing our focus on the meaning of prayer and ritual actions, we learned the meanings of some brachot (blessings), including boreh pri hagafen, which is the blessing said on wine, because it is blessing "the creator of the fruit of the vine."  Trying to explain the connection between the bracha and the action to the students, I asked "What is wine made from?" 

The unanimous answer: "Mangoes."  

Upon prodding, I also got apples, but never got a mention of grapes--which it turns out, most of them have never heard of, because they aren't grown here.  In retrospect I should have realized that or at least considered it, and it was certainly an unexpected challenge to have to explain a blessing in terms of a commodity they had never encountered, though the rabbi does have some kosher wine that he uses for the communal kiddush on Friday nights (which I'm guessing they had no idea comes from grapes).

On the interview side, I had my first extended chat with the rabbi, and it gave me some interesting insight into his life, personality and his motivations for serving his community and his country.  He told me how he came to study at the the (Conservative) American Jewish University for rabbinical school (after a stint  at the (Reform) Hebrew Union College and a possibility of study at (modern Orthodox) Chovevei Torah) and how he thinks he found a happy medium in the Conservative movement.  He described the unique challenges that his community faced in following certain halachot, such as simply not being able to obtain all of the arba minim (four types of plants used on the holiday of Sukkot) because they weren't available in Uganda, and how the mikvah (ritual bath) set up by the community has fallen into use by locals as a well. He also told me about the efforts he's made to improve his community and his country, both by serving as a spiritual leader and communal leader (thus his heated run for Parliament).  Perhaps most interesting was the revelation that he had not only embraced relatively progressive ideals of Conservative Judaism in relation to egalitarianism in Jewish practice, but that he did seem to see importance in extending that egalitarianism to non-religious life as well.  This helped address one of the questions I have been pondering for a few days now--the question of how much the Judaism here is a transplanted American breed that has a lot of foreign elements perhaps unfriendly to Ugandan soil.  While I'm not completely convinced yet that this is not the case, it was good to have confirmation that the Rabbi recognizes these challenges and is really interested in tackling them.

Teaching Frustrations, Interview Revelations

Today gave me some serious empathy with teachers who spend hours in front of a classroom everyday (albeit probably doing something way more advanced than attempting basic Hebrew instruction) and sympathy for the students who sit through it.  While the teaching has certainly been reaping some rewards, 40 minute periods turned into two hour stretches of Hebrew review--for some reason, the next teachers keep failing to show up--can be a bit much.  The classes also start inexplicably late--there is a timetable which everyone refers to, theoretically, but when I ask one teacher why fifteen minutes have passed without class beginning they simply tell me that the bell has not yet been rung (the bell is a literal bell by the way, waved around by hand, done by whoever chooses to do it), so class hasn't begun yet.  One teacher told me that it had...at which time I walked outside to see every single student still enjoying a lunch break, with teachers doing the same, and none showing any signs of migrating toward a classroom.  This idea of Ugandan time (or even African time, as I've heard it referred to) is one I am quite used to from last year, but it makes it hard to create any semi-accurate schedule.  I'm hoping that at least the 2 hour stretches will end--Aaron told me that I should just be sure to leave after 40 minutes, and he'd make sure another teacher would come.  Fingers crossed! All in all though, I hope that my being at the primary school is helpful, and that the kids are picking up some useful vocabulary and skills.
In other, more directly rewarding news, I engaged in a fascinating interview today with a secondary school student here named Samson.  Samson is Kenyan, from a small community in Ganduthi (about 100 miles north of Nairobi) who broke off from a Messianic group (who called themselves Jewish) after a visit from some Nairobi Jews and now practice as Jews.
For more on his community, check out this Tablet magazine article. 
Samson gave me the history of his community and told me about how Rabbi Gershom (the rabbi of the Abayudaya community, who lives just up the hill and is going through the trial I've mentioned in a few previous posts) and a couple of other community members visited their town after hearing about their practices, and encouraged them to come live and study with the community.  8 kids from the community, including Samson, came here to study in 2005, with some leaving and others coming since.  Samson also described how he and the others, which include two of his siblings, take what they learn here back with them, and hope to create a community that is similar in many ways to this one.  We also got into an interesting discussion of denominations and Jewish obligations, wherein he informed me that he and his co-religionists in Kenya consider themselves "just Jews" (unlike the Jews here, who consider themselves Conservative) who want to follow the laws of Judaism "as they are commanded." Our conversation took many unexpected twists and turns, and I can't wait to transcribe it to relive again the many amazing and insightful things he said.  What I probably found most fascinating was the discovery that the Abayudaya were not only building their own communal and religious identity, but that they had already become a beacon for another group over the border.

A Day of Testimonies

So, in the end I decided to play hooky and go to court today. I only had two classes today, and being as Hadassah is on a weird exam schedule at the moment anyway, I thought I might as well take advantage of the day (but don't worry I didn't actually play hooky--all relevant parties were notified and approval was obtained :-)).
Court was...bizarre.  Picture high school mock trial with all the sensible bits extracted, translated into your second language and stuffed into a room about two and half times the size of your bedroom, with two barely moving fans, loud traffic flowing through the open windows and people pushing through the door to see throughout the three hour blocks of questioning.  The judge wore a wig that was a vestige of British colonialism not only figuratively but likely literally as well.  All the lawyers wore robes, and all spoke in English, which was great, because it meant nobody was comfortable.  (A translator was present for witnesses, though it was an often botched effort that left the lawyers, the judge and the witnesses quite frustrated.)
Just to review--the rabbi has brought a petition against his opponent in March's parliamentary elections, claiming that the opponent was only elected due to corruption such as intimidation and ballot stuffing on election day.  Today, 19 of the rabbi's witnesses (chosen by the opponent from some 120 who submitted affidavits) testified.
Some highlights:
The Judge (to the rabbi before he was questioned): So you swear on the...Old Testament? (This was probably the first Jew he ever encountered in his courtroom, if not ever.)

Much of the questioning of the cross examining lawyers, of which there were three (to the rabbi's one) centered around what the distance was from this place to this place and how long it takes to get there--in essence, much of the questioning could have been replaced with a Google maps search.

The witnesses are cross examined only, pretty much, by the opponent's lawyers, and there's no limit on how long (and how ridiculous) this could be.

Finally, after each lawyer had a chance to question a witness, they would sit down...at which point the next lawyer would take over and ask even more inane questions.

At lunch, there was a break and I came back to Nabugoye with one of the yeshiva students who had also come to watch.  We came back after lunch, but unfortunately the room was full then, and we could not get inside to hear the proceedings, so we returned to Nabugoye for the day. (There were some other gems which I can't recall now because I'm falling asleep, as seems to be the usual for 10:30PM nowadays, so if I think of any I'll include them in my next post!)
This early return gave me the opportunity to have some really interesting conversations with local people, including some of my first recorded ones.  I first talked to the teacher with whom I spell at the high school, who vented to me about his problems with discipline at his institution.  I then went to visit Naomi, the wife of Principal Aaron, and I sat and talked with her and her nephew Esau as she worked on some beaded necklaces and oversaw weeding by her own kids and those of the neighbors. She told me about the Jewish community she was from, a smaller one called Pallisa, as well as an Orthodox community which didn't really interact with the other ones because of their differences (Western denominational splits making their mark on even new, far flung Jewish communities!)  Esau, who is waiting to hear which university he will be attending in the fall, described the services that are held in Kampala for Jewish students on Shabbat, which I did not previously know existed.
Much was learned, and I look forward to relistening to the audio and condensing it into meaningful testimonies.
That's all for now--back to teaching tomorrow! (The trial continues, but I think I will sit the last day out.)

Shavua Tov...!

With the end of Shabbat came the beginning of a so far restful week for me, but a tense one for the community.  On Sunday, I went with my Israeli friend to the primary school, where we taught a small group of students of all ages who dorm at Hadassah (thus the captive Sunday audience!)

We taught them the meaning of the shema prayer, discussing the definitions of the words and ideas such as "who is Yisrael referring to?" (it took a while to drill into their heads that it was not just Yaakov (Jacob), who they correctly identified by his alternative name but who they didn't realize wasn't the sole addressee for this centerpiece of Jewish prayer).  I still struggle with the fact that kids seem to really understand nothing even of the Hebrew terms they use on a regular basis--when I asked today's P6 class what they say when Shabbat ends they all eagerly answered "Shavua tov!" but not one could tell me what those words meant (now, hopefully, they can!) The queasy feelings of Hebrew School teaching and near-missionizing still bubble up every so often.  I know, in the end, I am teaching only what I've been asked to teach, but I don't know if this discomfort will ever fully go away.

After teaching yesterday, I made my way with several other visitors to the community to the clinic which is sponsored by the Abayudaya (or more accurately built in their name by their donors) but which serves the larger Mbale-area community.  We visited a couple of people we knew there, including a young girl who had been in one of my spelling classes last week and had fallen mysteriously unconscious during the night on Thursday.  Luckily, she seems mostly recovered, and when I saw her today, back in Nabugoye, she said she would be going back to school tomorrow.  Following our Tobin visit I took an unexpected trip, with the two Israeli girls, to a small Mbale recording studio, where they recorded a song they wrote from the the Old Testament book of Song of Songs with Rachman, a community member and Yeshiva student who has a passion for music.  I've never been in a recording studio, period, so I can only guess that this one was somewhat smaller and dingier than the average USA model, but it was a very interesting experience nonetheless.

Today brought more Hebrew and English spelling instruction (which I'm struggling to find meaning in, though the teacher seems to think its of the highest importance).  At the same time, the rabbi began a three day trial during which he is up against his opponent in the Parliamentary elections, which he lost (the claim is) due to ballot stuffing, intimidation and other forms of corruption on the part of the government.  From my understanding the trial got off to a slow start today and is not proving to be the most exciting of proceedings, so while I may take off a day to go witness this unique event I may end up refraining. Also an issue, like many things in this country (including almost every class I'm asked to teach) nothing starts on time, sometimes ridiculously so.  The trial was scheduled for 9, delayed to 2:30 and then did not begin until 4:30, when the lawyers spoke for 15 minutes and that was it.  Tomorrow the witnesses begin to testify, so hopefully that will go more efficiently, but who knows...

As for tomorrow, my teaching schedule is pretty light (though it may spontaneously grow, who knows?) but I'm hoping to get in my first interview or two.  I've started having some interesting conversations with people, so I'm excited to get some documented!  By the end of the week I'm hoping to have my first  (of several, if possible) conversations with the rabbi, should he not be too exhausted from the week's proceedings.

That's all for now--hope you enjoyed this somewhat lighter account than yesterday's! (Don't worry, many more weird thoughts to come :-))

(P.S. Shabbat menu, as per the request--tilapia, rice, chapatti, mixed sauteed veggies, avocado.)
Update: The guesthouse keeper just walked in with three locals.  When we asked him if they were staying here, he told us that they were trial witnesses for the rabbi, and that they were having them stay here so that they wouldn't get bribed during the night before they testify tomorrow.  Well there's some fun insight into the Ugandan court system...

And then there was Shabbat...

Hello--sorry this is coming a day late! I was pretty tired last night so I put down some bullet points and saved the actual post for today--I'll post about today separately but shortly.

Where to start, where to start...

There are so many things about Shabbat here that are bizarrely different, and still others that are bizarrely similar, to those that I've experienced in America.  Shabbat also gave me the opportunity to gain a stronger understanding (surely still basic, but constantly growing) of the kind of Judaism the Abayudaya practice, and has complicated prior notions and ideas I have had about denominations, theology, and halacha (the system of Jewish living).

The service begins, a bit earlier than Shabbat, with Kabbalat Shabbat (the special prayer service which welcomes Shabbat) in the synagogue.  The siddur (prayer book) that is used is the traditional Conservative Sim Shalom, and while men and women sit separately (likely a result of Ugandan cultural norms more than a throwback to more traditional Conservativism) there is no mechitza (physical partition between men and women).  During Kabbalat Shabbat, there is festive singing in familiar and original tunes complete with instruments, after which the instruments are put away and candles are lit in the synagogue to mark the commencement of Shabbat, and the service continues with the traditional Shabbat maariv (the evening prayer).

The service, both at night and on Shabbat morning, contains both the usual prayers and some in Luganda.  Some are psalms, designated as such by an announcer at the front  (this, I just found out, is JJ Keki--the rabbi's brother, skilled musician, local politician, coffee co-op founder, among many other things) who also translates the rabbi's English sermons into Luganda.  My guess is a lot of the translations are his own doing, but I'll try to find out for sure soon!  Other Lugandan additions include a short prayer that is recited between aliyot (sections of Torah reading)--I don't know the words yet, but I'm hoping to find them out from the rabbi when I speak to him.

Participation by women is another interesting aspect of the service.  Aligning with Conservative custom, women participate in Torah reading and aliyot equally with men, and are counted for a minyan (a quorum of 10 needed to pray).  I do not recall, however, any women participating in other parts of the service, which may not be by design, but that is something else that I will need to investigate.

Following the evening service, the rabbi holds kiddush (customary blessing made before the Shabbat meal, usually on wine) in his house for guests, and after a few of his neices offer water for handwashing to all present, Hamotzi (the blessing on the bread) is made and challah is served.  The rabbi uses precious kosher wine brought over by various guests over the prior months, if he has (otherwise he makes kiddush on challah).

Shabbat morning services are followed by a more formal schedule for the whole community.  First, a class is held in Luganda pertaining to a different issues of alcohol or other substance abuse, and is attended largely by the community's men.  I didn't bother attending this, as it was for the community and given by the rabbi in Luganda, so I thought it would make most sense to sit it out and talk to some community member who had decided to do the same.  After that, however, the rabbi gives another short class, this one in front of his house, about an idea from the parsha (the weekly Torah portion read in synagogue) connected with a lesson for the community--another sermon, one might say.  This is a very interactive "class" in which he poses questions to those gathered, and guests and community members alike are invited to add to the conversation.  Following the class, the rabbi and his wife serve lunch to the whole community, coming from what are possibly world-record sized pots of cold rice and beans.

Shabbat becomes less formally structured after that, until havdalah (the ritual performed at the closing of the Shabbat), which is recited together by the community with all the relevant accoutrements, bringing a uniquely Abayudayah Shabbat to a close.

This is the basic outline of Shabbat--a couple of side observations:

I found it interesting how for some prayers the middle was clearly being skipped--like in America the first verse would be said aloud, then the last, but with only a few seconds in between, perhaps believable in a minyan trying to make its way as quickly as possible to Shabbat chulent, but less likely in a crowd where services are prized and vital and Hebrew literacy is iffy and certainly not that quick.  The emphasis seems to be mostly on the communal following of the service rather than the stating of all of the words.

I also found myself wondering how much the Abayudaya actually fit into the denomination which they have adopted, largely, it seems, because their rabbi was able to go to rabbinical school at a Conservative institution.  It is one which members of the community have claimed proudly to me, perhaps only because they think I, as an American, will find it meaningful, but it is also attached to misconceptions about the denomination--for instance, I was told (referring to weekday prayers)--"We only pray once a day because we're Conservative." Yet while this may represent an expression of Conservative practice, I am almost certain it does not reflect official Conservative halakha (which calls for the same 3 as Orthodox Judaism).  I do not mean to detract from his belief in this notion and its claim on practice--in every denomination, there is quite a span of practice--but rather that due to the Abayudaya's isolation from the Conservative community at large, they may not come from a pure American religious tradition but are rather Conservative-inspired, and are in fact embarking on their own, unique embrace of Jewish practice with intertwined roots of self-elected Old Testament tradition, local inspiration and a modern American paradigm.  (It also seemed somewhat unfortunate to me that the religious splits which define American Judaism had to so easily find their way here, but in an era of globalization I suppose such an occurrence could not be avoided.)

Other thoughts bounced around my head, as other observations made marked impressions on me, but I think I've kept your gaze long enough for this sitting.  Sorry that was a bit long (I'll try to keep them short from now on--but to be honest it could have been longer!)  

Thoughts about Sunday to come probably tomorrow, unless I get a second wind.  

Good night and happy Father's Day!

Erev Shabbat!

It is only minutes before Shabbat begins so I can't share much, but today's adventures proved less morally challenging than yesterday's--the children of Hadassah gathered (ALL of them) to sing songs before Shabbat, and it was quite amazing how many they knew and how quickly they learned new ones.  They sung many which I had learned during that same age (as well as some original tunes--if anyone is interested in their original music I'd be happy to try to get it to you!) and easily caught on to the few new ones we taught them.  It was pretty adorable, and pretty surreal to hear a room full of Ugandan children singing "Lecha Dodi."
Now off to Kabbalat Shabbat (yes, parents, I'm actually going).
Shabbat shalom from Nabugoye!

Hungry (f)or Hebrew

Today was the first time I stood before a class of Abayudaya children alone.  Not merely lacking people, but preparation or any real idea of what the kids should be learning.  I had gone again with my Israeli friend, and we had expected to teach one class--but it turned out that, due to some rescheduling, two classes had Hebrew slots at the same time and were both lacking instructors.  So I said goodbye to my friend, and made my way to P7, the oldest grade of primary school students (who I had, in fact, encountered the day before).
Trying to follow the guide of "relevance to the service and the Torah"--Principal Aaron's sole piece of advice going in--I decided to discuss vocabulary of Shabbat.  I asked the students what they do in preparation for Shabbat and on Shabbat, and their answers guided our new vocabulary (with occasionally subtle prodding along the way).   We learned Shabbat-specific terms like hadlakat neirot (lighting of the candles) and kriyat hatorah (reading of the Torah) as well as words that had broader relevance, but which had special resonance for the students in connection with Shabbat, like kevisah  (laundry) and bishul (cooking).
I'll admit--these are terms I'm sure were drilled into my 5 year old head, with pages of colored paper covered in our horrible depictions of a Torah and candles serving as visual aids and tangible proof of our studies for the parents.  They were terms that I was sure, Shabbat being as important as it is in the community, the students would know, but many were either foreign or known only as words, whose meanings were never learned.  This did not apply to everything however--when I asked them about the prayer service on Friday night, they all readily named Kabbalat Shabbat and could even translate it for me.  They also mentioned kiddush, chalah and many of the kabbalat shabbat prayers, including Lugandan prayers which I'm itching to have them teach me (though I'm sure I'll hear them tomorrow night!)
In talking with my friend, she mentioned how she thought it must be possible to have someone sponsor a teacher for a year, one who could actually come and teach Hebrew to the children and community members.  (Even Aaron knows little, and he teaches the Hebrew class when there are no volunteers.)  But my first reaction was--is that really the most important thing?  Especially in this part of the world, funding for Hebrew lessons when basic needs are often left unmet seems to make little sense.
Yet at home, funding for religious education and endeavors are often ranked as the highest priorities, despite the presence of poverty both domestically and abroad.  I am in no way discrediting this practice (here or at home), and realize its importance and value, but it is certainly an issue worth thinking about and with which my current experience constantly challenges me.

Back to school!

I spent a lot of time in the classroom today, probably double what I spend on a typical day at school (college that is...senior year of high school's 9 straight hours probably takes the overall award in this category).  I accompanied an Israeli girl who has been here since before Shavuot to the primary school and mostly observed as she taught a couple of classes Hebrew, joining her when we deemed it helpful or necessary.  Mostly, I wanted to get a sense of where the students were at, and what the best way to instruct them in Hebrew might be.  We taught P6 and P7 (~ ages 12-13) and a couple of things struck me quite strongly:
1) The main focus is on reading, and understanding is very limited throughout.  Aaron had explained this to me already, but it was interesting to see it in action.  This is mainly because they want kids to be able to read the tefilot (prayers) and Torah, but transmitting a third language (Hebrew) from a second language (English) already breeds enough difficulties, making it nearly impossible to teach children spoken Hebrew. All classes, including Hebrew, are taught in English, though actual knowledge of English, especially at the primarily level, is usually not very advanced.
2) Even with classes at Hadassah being smaller than regular public school classes, the varying levels of the students in each grade is immediately evident within the first few minutes of beginning a lesson.  As in schools all over the world, it's a huge challenge to contend with--some students are obviously bored (they are usually the ones answering the questions) while other struggle, and still others simply space out.
3) It feels WEIRD to teach Hebrew, especially in a Jewish context, at a school in Uganda.  As my Israeli friend expressed to me, it almost "feels like we're missionaries."  We both put emphasis on teaching what the principal tells us, and we are obviously not there to impose anything upon the students or the community (if anything, we are there to learn, not to preach), but when discussing prayer and Torah it is a feeling that is hard to shirk.
There's certainly more to say and muse, but that'll have to be all for now--apparently, I'll be teaching English spelling at the high school tomorrow morning, so I best attend to that!
Layla Tov,
Nava
P.S. To oblige my first-ever comment, a request for a gastronomic account of my day: an omelet, mango, pineapple, avocado, stir-fried vegetables and too much rice. I hope you all found that enlightening. :-)

And we're (a)live!

Greetings from Nabugoye! Finally, after 24 hours of air travel (and trying to stay awake in airports), 3 countries, and 6 hours of driving, I arrived here at 2AM this morning.

As I couldn't sleep very much anyway (body clock is a bit confused at the moment) I rose at 9:30, ate a quick breakfast and made my way to Semei Kakungulu High School where of course the first adult I came upon happened to be Seth, the principal (and brother of Rabbi Gershom Sizomu, the rabbi and effective leader of the community--but more about him later).  We talked for awhile, and he told me about his school, the students (who are Christian, Muslim and Jewish and who can choose which religion they want to study, which is not necessarily their own) and himself.  The conversation was fascinating and I most appreciated how he was open to answer anything and everything--he kept prodding me to ask more.  The conversation also prompted the first of many difficult questions that will undoubtedly arise as I pursue my project, one that had crossed my mind even before I set foot on Ugandan soil--what is OK for me to share for the purposes of my work, and what must be personal?  Personal information was related to me, a newcomer, openly,  and I think it could be fascinating in a testimony, and a testament to character and strength, but what am I allowed to share, even without a full name? Seth was so open in our conversation that I felt comfortable already, as I made my way from the school, asking him if I could record the next time we spoke, and he gave his hearty acquiescence.  I guess I will let what he says then guide me and, if I would like to utilize his story, ask for his permission.

After the visit to the school and lunch, I walked the twenty minutes to Hadassah Primary School, where Aaron, another brother of the Rabbi, seemed to be expecting me at the gate despite having no warning  of my imminent arrival.  He identified me straight away by name, which he had learned from the Rabbi due to our correspondence in the past few months.  He showed me around the school, which runs from nursery to P (primary)7 (~ages 6-13), and showed me the timetables, tacked handwritten on an office wall, that showed when all the classes were scheduled.  He pointed out the Hebrew slots, when I would be teaching the students P4-P7 the basics of Hebrew and prayer.  Laid out in individual blocks, each holding two classrooms which in turn each held a different aged class (classes often consist of an entire year in Ugandan schools), it seemed quite new and lively.

Topped off by an exhilarating trip to town (Mbale) to pick up a few necessities and take a few steps down memory lane, my first day here was wonderful, if exhausting.  Already I know there will be much to learn, though I fear not being able to contribute as much as I hope to.  Already there is so much that I can't include here, because there is simply too much to say and my brain will only stay functional for so much longer today.

But if you want to know more or anything specific, please let me know! If I don't know already, I will try my best to find out for you.

Shalom from Nabugoye,

Nava

(PS Sorry about the lack of photos--they take forever to load with my super-sluggish internet!)

Off with a (delayed and rerouted) bang!

[Warning--this doesn't have any substantive relation to my project...it's mostly just a travel update, so feel free to ignore! I promise, on the whole, to keep this blog as substantive as possible.]

In retrospect, I'll probably be happy that within the first few minutes of my journey things already seemed to be going off track.  Craziness at the beginning only trains one to remain calm in the face of future obstacles.

This was me...but not as cute.

A two hour flight delay shouldn't have been a big deal, but closely scheduled flights and a pre-arranged ride from the airport to Nabugoye (by someone coming specially from the village to pick me up) meant a full schedule of some thousands of miles of air and ground travel had to be reworked.  This process started off insane, with a likelihood of an overnight stay in a London airport hotel and an arrival sometime Wednesday, when someone may or may not have been able to pick me up.  As it happened, I chose to take a somewhat unconventional and illogical (but, as luck would have it, faster) route to my final destination of Entebbe: through Johannesburg, South Africa. Cons: 14 HOURS. Majorly overshooting my destination.  DID I MENTION 14 HOURS? Pros: Get to say I've been to more than one African country? Some interesting views from the window? More time to catch up on sleep? Beat my longest flight record?
In any case, while this morning brought me to the edge of crazy, I have now returned to a calm and collected (and slightly delirious) state.  Lesson? Traveling can suck, plans can fail, and you've got to just regroup and hope you can put the pieces together to the best of your ability. Usually, hopefully, you can. I'd best remember that for the next 7 weeks...

My future home (for five hours)!

(PS Credit goes to Allen Friedman (my lurvly Pops) for helping me clean up the mess and keeping me sane. And staying calm. And answering my 6 AM frantic phone calls. :-))

What exactly will I be doing?? (2 days till blast off...)

The question I am most often asked (after the whole "JEWS IN UGANDA??" curiosity is taken care of) is: "what exactly will you be doing there?"  To this I answer, quite evasively: "Researching and volunteering in the community!" No, this doesn't say much. But it does attempt to sidestep the long speech that a self-created summer project requires for actual explanation.

If one does decide to dig, this is essentially what I will tell them--
I am going on a special program/grant for independent projects through Princeton, and I have two main missions for this summer. One is to serve the Abayudaya community, which I will hopefully do by assisting in the teaching of Hebrew.  As of now, I'm not sure whether I will be serving the primary or secondary schools, or even the small Yeshiva housed in Nabugoye (or perhaps all three!), but I will work this out when I get there. I hope to be of use to the community in other ways as well, in any way I can be.  But this is half the fun of volunteering in Uganda, and I'm guessing many places abroad--as I've been told time and time again, it does all work out when you get there, but planning ahead rarely does much good.

Students at the Hadassah Primary School (Uganda's only Jewish primary school) in Nabugoye.

The second prong of my project, the research, is not quite as traditional (assuming you consider teaching Ugandan children Hebrew a traditional way of volunteering).  The goal is not so much academic as it is explorative in nature.  I am most interested in spending time in the community, with both the individuals at the head and the laypeople.  I want to learn their personal perspective on the Judaism they practice--the rituals they have taken on and find most meaningful, how Judaism interacts with their day to day lives.  And I hope to come out with a series of testimonies, not a composite of their perspectives which forms an ethnographic assessment of their community as a unit, but rather a series of individual accounts of life, Jewish and secular, in Nabugoye.  Voices, not concrete conclusions, are what I seek.
In the preliminary research I have been doing, this kind of ethnographic work has proved immensely fascinating.  Looking at testimonies of people, the actual words they speak, with their diction still intact, their perspectives palpable in what they say and what they omit, can give a much needed humanity which is often lacking in academic research.  And since rigid research is what I am expected to complete during the academic year, I thought this summer, during which I am expected by my university to partake not in academic but in personal discovery, gave me the perfect opportunity to pursue this different approach.
I ultimately hope to have a series of monologues that can be shared with others, perhaps even performed--providing a window and a connection to this community halfway around the world which shares so much and so little with American Jews. I can't promise success, or even the final form this quest will take, but I do hope to do as much as I can to transmit the essence of my experience to anyone who may be interested.