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?
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
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...
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...
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, June 27, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
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!
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!
Saturday, June 25, 2011
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!
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!
Friday, June 24, 2011
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!
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!
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