Shana Tova

The evening started off normally enough, considering it was the eve of Rosh Hashanah and I was sitting in the basement of Keneseth Eliyahoo, Mumbai's oldest and possibly most dilapidated synagogue, surrounded by dusty sidurs and the faint sound of cows and taxis trickling in through an open stairwell. The 14 of us - myself and 13 peculiar looking gentlemen (there was one European-looking guy at the beginning, but he gave up and left halfway though) - sat around a wooden table covered with a cheese-themed tablecloth; me, sneaking peeks; them, staring shamelessly. Two hours of mumbled prayers, made all the more unintelligible by the thick Hindi-accented Hebrew of the rabbi leading the services (i'm assuming he was the rabbi, as he was the fattest, loudest, and had a peculiar style of wild curly hair vaguely reminiscent of a pigeon's nest after a storm). Afterwards, we were served sweet fuzzy fruit with chai, and in my infinite wisdom, i decided to socialize by striking up a conversation with the young-looking guy sitting next to me. Wearing a dark, Sephardic kippa and diligently following all of the Hebrew, he had been engrossed in his sidur the entire time and had therefore managed to be the least creepy of the bunch (he also had teeth - that's a big plus).

After brief introductions, an awkward conversation, even by Indian standards, ensued...

Johan: So, what do you do?
Me: I'm a medical student, working with an NGO
Johan: I'm in the medical field also, I work for an Aloe Vera distributor
Me: Oh, how interesting. What do you do with them?
Johan: It's really a great job, you know, it's a very unique company. And I can work anywhere.
Me: Oh, great, ok.
Johan: ... and i really like it, you know, we do such great things with it, we sell it everywhere...
Me: Right... ok, that's nice... (i look away)
Johan: ... and we don't have cubicles, and it's really great, aloe vera can be used for anything...
Me: Mmmhmm (shifting uncomfortably)
Johan: So. Are you married?
Me: Um.... no.
Johan: Neither am I. You should give me your email.
Me: Oh, yeah, uh, sure, ok...
Johan: I can show you around Mumbai. We'll go out together.

At this point, we had left the synagogue and started our walk towards the "Gateway to India" where we (or, really, the loud rabbi-like creature) would say some prayers over the water. On the way, Johan and another congregation member, Samuel, competed for my attention with such stimulating questions as "what's your sign?" and "would you like to get married soon?". Luckily, my well-honed survival skills didn't fail me and I was able to inconspicuously sneak away into the crowd, email and marital preferences undisclosed. Taking a long walk by the water, my beaded salwaar glistening in the fading sunlight (ahh), I breathed a sigh of relief. Walking past, a middle-aged man in a kippah commented, "you look great in the Indian costume! Where are you from?" and proceeded to stop as I hurried by.

So, my impression of Jewish life in India thus far? It's a great singles scene, if you go for the awkward and toothless! On a serious note, although there are an estimated 5,000 Jews living in the Mumbai area, I saw very little sign of a bustling community; even on Rosh Hashana, one of the most festive and celebrated holidays, only a few random people showed up for services; granted, it's probably a higher percentage than we get in New York, but it's obvious that Jewish life, in this area at least, is a dying tradition.

There is another thought in my mind tonight... going to a synagogue in an Indian dress, it struck me that 'identity' is really just the mishmash that you throw together, the relatively random set of values and traditions that make you feel comfortable. The obsession with "Indian or not" and "Jewish or not" that surrounds me every day is irrelevant if you look at the bigger picture - who you are has been shaped by everything you've experienced, and so much of that has been out of your control. So you are who you are, partly due to your own choices, and mostly thanks to the randomness of the universe. Who ever thought I'd be celebrating Rosh Hashanah in Mumbai? And who ever thought it would be the most perfect day, peculiar proposals and all? Identity, in my opinion, is largely a state of mind, and so is deciding how you feel about it. I have always been deeply troubled by own lack of roots, by not feeling that i'm truly a part of something in particular... but the longer I spend in India, the more I understand that the best identity isn't the one you fall into by birth, but the one you choose in the great sea of experiences available, waiting to be savored. Tonight I celebrated a Jewish holiday; Saturday, I will be celebrating the beginning of Maharasthra's major Ganesh festival; all around me, women in black robes are observing Ramadan. Slowly, my goal changes... it is no longer a quest for firmer footing... i'm learning to savor the waves of being an international citizen, making my own path through the uncharted waters. It isn't an easy journey, but it's certainly worth it.