There was a weird mixture of familiarity and strangeness about the congregation: a couple of hundred of well-dressed Ashkenazi Jews very much like the congregations Judith and I knew when we were young - but they were all speaking Spanish.
After even a day or two in Peru, you realize that European-looking people are the distinct minority there. Most of the people you see on the street are what the Peruvians call "indigenous" - dark skinned, black haired, almond-eyed native Americans. There were a couple of indigenous Peruvian converts to Judaism among the others, but most of the people could have been relatives of ours, by their looks. We didn't exactly feel at home, because we are used to Israel by now, but it was a memory of home, and it was impossible to forget even for a moment why we were in a synagogue in Lima and not in Jerusalem.
If we'd been in Jerusalem, we would have had to face a Yom Kippur eve without the beautiful singing of our friend Gerald Cromer, who always used to lead the congregation in the haunting "Kol Nidrei" prayer, and who died rapidly of cancer last March. Sadness there, sadness here.
We took a plane from Lima to Arequipa, Peru's second largest cities, high in the Andes, the day after Yom Kippur.
Our son Boaz, who works as an attorney in Washington DC, flew in and met us in the airport on our way to Arequipa. It was wonderful to see him, especially since we had just seen him in America a couple of weeks ago. Boaz had joined our son-in-law Ofer in the search for Asher last year, and he had gone back to Peru after the body was found to help expedite its transfer to Israel. Understandably, Boaz was not anxious to return. He had no surprises to anticipate, only reminders of the dreadful time he had spent there before.
But it was good for us to have him with us. He has a calm, mature presence
1 comment:
I'm crazy about Boaz for similar reasons. I'm also crazy about how obvious is your and Judith's love for each of your children. It is so wonderful and affirming to witness.
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