The StoryListener

After a night of editing....

2008-05-08T10:55:00.001-07:00

Wilma and Ernesto Reich (1980s)

2008-05-05T14:20:00.000-07:00

Above are two recently dug-up photographs of my maternal grandparents (Oma and Opa), Wilma and Ernesto Reich. Unfortunately, my Opa died when I was still a young girl. I was extremely close to my Oma and hers was the first oral history I collected. She died only 3 years ago in 2005 at the age of 91.

After a whirlwind two-week courtship with Ernesto Reich, my Oma (originally from Berlin) moved to El Salvador from Amsterdam in 1938. With the majority of her family killed in death camps only a few years later, she never saw her mother, brother, sister-in-law, nephew, and niece again.

Hers was a hard life...but she always lived it gracefully, inspiring me to no end.

You can find her complete story in an anthology edited by Marjorie Agosin, entitled "Taking Root: Latin American Jewish Women Writers."

Many thanks to Ruth and Paul Feldman for the photograph.

May 16, 2008: REVERB. Salt Institute for Documentary Studies. Spring 2008 Show

2008-05-03T16:34:00.000-07:00

One of the nuns from my radio piece. Sister Mary Emmanuel Masson, 91 years old, rides her exercise bike for "five minutes every day."

Tempus is fugiting! -Walter the Seltzer man's favorite customer.

2008-04-04T10:33:00.000-07:00

Before launching into my update, I want to share a great piece with you. Joe Richman, producer of “Radio Diaries” did a piece for the “NY Works” series, profiling those jobs that are being phased out by computers, changing tastes, automatic delivery, industrialization, and globalization (among other things). This one is about Walter the Seltzer man. It is a great ditty; short and sweet…something that definitely merits your five minutes.

Check it out at: http://www.radiodiaries.org/newyorkworks-home.html

In other news, my recording with the nuns of Waterville has come to a close. I am now writing and re-writing scripts (up to version eight at this point) and working hard to keep things suspenseful, interesting, yet tightly edited. Wooo! On my last day with the Sisters, I had two very intense interviews--Sister Mary Emmanuel Masson was one of them. The eldest of the nuns at age 91, she joined religious life in her early twenties. Sister Mary Emmanuel wakes up every morning and spends five minutes on the exercise bike in the convent’s basement. Then she sweeps the basement and walks off to early morning prayer. When I asked her about the 1996 double murder, she didn’t want to speak about the actual event.

“I was in the Chapel when it happened,” she remembered. “I hid in a pew.”

When prompted about forgiveness, the Sister looked at me. Her answer was simple yet incredibly poignant.

“How can we hate him if we love him?”

I responded in disbelief. “Sister: You feel like you must love him?”

She smiled, “I never met anyone I didn’t love.”

When I left the convent that day, she made the sign of the cross on my forehead (as she always does) and prayed that I should have a safe journey. The journey didn’t really end with my arrival back in Portland. I listen to the Sisters every day….editing and trimming, making painful decisions such as which quotes to exclude and which details to integrate. I’ve been given six minutes; I must try to do this group of women some serious justice in that space of time.

In the middle of this task, I must also begin work on my second story. I decided to focus on female truck drivers and found my subject in Debbie Seelow. Born in Farmington, Maine and living in Jay, Debbie has been driving for 19 years. A single mother of one daughter, her first haul was to New Hampshire. Now she travels as far as California. We leave this Monday morning and I’m already starting to mentally pack my bags. Besides many tapes and back-up batteries, I’ll need flip-flops for showering in truck stops, a pillow for my bunk in her cab, and serious fortitude for those long days on the interstate. I want to take the listener through her daily experiences but also want to focus on the women of this industry. What are their interactions like? Do men welcome them? Shun them? Harrass them on the CB-radio? Who knows, but after five days in an 18-wheeler, I should definitely have some answers.

That’s the latest from Maine….where it’s supposed to snow tonight. I’m looking forward to some sun and hope this long haul takes us south. Debbie asked me if I had a dream destination for the trip.

“Some place where it’s not winter,” I said.

Laughing over the phone, she said “Oh girl, I’ll try. I’ll definitely try.”

No Praise. No Blame. Just So.

2008-03-05T16:49:00.000-08:00

It's rainy. It's snowy. Yet, the work continues here
in Maine.

I've been spending quite a lot of time up in
Waterville at the Convent of the Blessed Sacrament,
interviewing sisters one at a time. Last week, I
spent a good afternoon with Sister Elizabeth Madden.
We sat for a few hours recounting her past with me
inquiring about her decision to join a religious
order. She invited me to lunch and I enjoyed my time
at the long wooden table, getting to know the other
sisters. One older woman, Sister Mary Emmanuel (who
must be around 90), sat hunched at the end of the
table. I had to scream in order for her to understand
our conversation (reminded me of my dear Oma). She
remembered to me that she once had a "lovely Jewish
friend" and asked whether I was religious. I
mentioned to the sisters that my mother used to
encourage me to sample different religious services if
I was curious. I used to go to Spanish mass with my
good friend Andrea and her mother (one of my other
mothers, I like to say) Ligia. My only instructions
were: "Don't kneel. Don't take communion." Sweet
Andrea used to sit in the pew with me when the rest of
the Church was kneeling. I'll never forget those
moments and I thank my mother for encouraging such
exploration. If anything, it helped me to better
understand my own traditions and my own religious
identity. The sisters were amazed by my mother's
openness and noted that "she is quite a woman." Of
course, I agreed. :)

We enjoyed chatting and at the end of our lunch, I was
not sure how to say goodbye, A handshake? A hug? A
kiss on the cheek? I decided an affectionate grab of
the shoulder would be most appropriate. As I lay my
hand on the bony Sister Mary Emmanuel, she grabbed it
and lay it across her cheek, kissing it before finally
releasing.

Very moved, I knelt down to speak face to face:
"Sister Mary Emmanuel, I'll see you next week."

"You never know dear. You never know."

Her smile was radiant and I couldn't help but nod.

Sister Elizabeth and I spent our last hour together
discussing "the tragedy" of 1996. She was in the
other North American convent in Pueblo, Colorado at
the time of the murders. She remembers being
interviewed by an ABC affiliate reporter who asked:

"Don't you hate this man? This man who killed your
sisters...Don't you hate him?"

She responded: "How can I hate him? I don't even know
him."

She looked at me after recounting this story,
obviously concerned about the young reporter: "He must
have been very young, dear."

My last question for Sister Elizabeth rounded out our
late afternoon conversation about forgiveness. I
wondered if she had a verse or a saying or a mantra
that she visited when experiencing trouble forgiving.

Within three minutes of my asking, she responded: "I
actually love this Buddhist quote...and I cannot
remember the writer. It is very simple. She sat up
straight and cleared her throat before saying....

No praise. No blame. Just so.

No praise. No blame. Just so."

She repeated it three times and I think I must have
been holding my breath. After she finished, I let out
a huge sigh and pushed stop. An incredible interview
to say the very least.

Instead of attaching a radio piece this week, I want
you to explore one of my favorite new websites.
Mediastorm.org is a phenomenal site that blends
photography and audio to tell stories. With pieces
ranging from issues in Africa to drugs in NYC, this is
a website you should visit often.

I have signed up for a "soundslides" workshop here at
Salt which will teach me the software to create such
pieces as these; a new and very exciting webtool that
I hope to be able to use in my work.

Check it out at:
www.mediastorm.org

Let me know what you think when you have the chance.

Don’t knock the weather. If it didn’t change once in while, nine out of ten people couldn’t start a conversation. -Kim Hubbard

2008-02-23T16:45:00.000-08:00

It's been a week and much has transpired in Portland, Maine.

On the way to collect my car from the King Middle School parking lot
(where it was parked during the citywide snowban), I watched a young
woman a few feet in front of me slip and fall on a piece of ice.
Careful not to give the neighborhood a repeat, I inched slowly across
the sidewalk. Boom. Fell exactly in the same place.

Embarrassed but not to be stopped, I stood up and immediately felt a
sharp pain in my left arm. No good. Did I mention that I fractured my

right foot TWICE this past year? This was not going to another
fracture. No.way.sirreee.bob.

I walked to my car, massaging my elbow; hit the closest CVS and packed
on the ice and advil. By noon, my elbow had ballooned into some sort
of foreign looking limb. I decided to hit the emergency room. After a

few hours of bandaging, x-rays, ooohs and ahhhs, it was declared..."a
fracture."

Bummer.

Well, so much for wishful thinking. I am wondering whether I'm
supposed to receive a higher message from this incessant fractur-ing.
Too bad I'm not getting it... but at this point, the whole mess is
starting to get funny.

Despite the bruised bones, I am hard at work...developing my stories
for Salt.

One story takes place in Waterville, Maine at the convent of the
sisters of the Blessed Sacrament. I met with Superior Sister Mary
Catherine this past week and explained my interest in their
"contemplative community."

She looked at me smiling: "Well, dear....you are welcome to spend time
with us....although I don't think we are very interesting."

I beg to differ. The sisters are mostly above 55 and some came to the
order after becoming widows. A total of nine live in the convent but
the story doesn't end there.

"Dear, you know we are a traumatized community," she continued.

In January of 1996, Mark Bechard, a young Waterville man who was in and
out of the Augusta Psychiatric Institution for much of his adult life,
broke into the convent and attacked four sisters during prayer. Using
a knife, religious statues, and one of the sisters' canes, he murdered
two and severely injured the remaining two. A tragedy on both sides,
Bechard was acquitted of all criminal charges in relation to the event
and institutionalized indefinitely in a Maine psychiatric facility.
His story is the story of many mentally ill....lost in the gaps of the
system, many are left to suffer in silence or to act upon
hallucinations precipitated by their devastating diseases.

Despite the horrific crime, the sisters issued official forgiveness just days after
the crime was committed.

The then Superior Sister spoke to a journalist of Mr. Bechard at a mass being held a year after the murders: "He's certainly deserving of our prayers. Our stance is still forgiveness. We stand by that."

Whatever nature do, this house do. -LeAlan Jones, 13. "Ghetto Life 101"

2008-02-13T16:41:00.000-08:00

It was a rough morning. I woke up to a beautiful snowy day and slowly got dressed. I am now the resident blogger for Salt and needed to report to work pretty early. As I was signing out for the day, I received an email:

“SNOW DAY- NO WORK.”

Well I’ll be damned………a snow day………………and in MAINE?

Wasn’t as pretty as I thought it would be. There was also a snow BAN which means all cars need to be off of the streets (including mine). I trudged out to the Toyota only to find it completely plowed in by walls of white stuff. I had my boots on but suddenly, I could feel snow on my thighs as I stepped through the barricade to open my car door.

Frozen lock…………

Figures.
I borrowed a shovel from a neighbor and started digging. It was enormous; I felt like an ant on Mt. Everest. Where would I put it all? What is snow etiquette? I sure didn’t want it near my car but then again, should I shovel it onto the barricade of another? Forget Miss Manners. I tried to shovel it neatly between the front of my vehicle and the back of the next….but I’m not sure I did such an honorable job.

A big truck drives by and honks. A nice looking guy tips his hat. Next thing I know, he parks off to the side and runs out with a shovel. This dude shoveled more in 3 minutes than I had just done in 45. Definitely seems like the moment to spend time on developing my biceps. He instructed me on pulling out and I did the job (with a bit of smoke and noise from my car….but she made it out OK). What a trip.
But then I had to find parking.

That story is much less exciting but let me just say that it took me another 45 minutes to walk back to my house from the free lot at the local high school. Despite my three layers of socks, these toes were definitely frozen by the time I arrived home. Decided I’m not leaving the house again today. Enough is enough…..and my hot tea is waiting.

But to more substantive matters. Our weekend in Gardiner proved fascinating. As I wrote in my last installment, we were dropped off in this random town near Augusta at around 7:30am last Saturday. We hit the A1 diner and proceeded to peruse the local paper. There was a “Baby Parade” where people’s baby pictures compete against one another. An odd concept in my mind and one I thought we might look into. Vetoed by the rest of the crew. We piled into my car and found Staples Funeral Parlor. Knocked….knocked again….hmmmm…..and again. No answer. From the tire tracks it looked as if someone had left earlier that morning. We hit the road again. Found some funky buildings outside of town but no one was interested in speaking with us. Eventually, we were back on Main Street and I decided to drop in on the local tailor. Originally from NY, Amber told us to head down to Moda Bella, the local dress shop. I thought “a dress shop?” and in Gardiner, Maine? We walked down the street…..feeling somewhat demoralized but at the same time determined to find something.

We walked in and within five minutes we met Miss Maine 2004, 1st runner-up Miss Maine International (whatever that pageant is) 2007 and Mrs. Maine 2005. Mrs. Maine is accompanied by her husband Marty and together they make up “Crown Consulting,” a stylist/etiquette team that prepares young women (as in over 18) for pageants. They ARE the pageant people of Maine.

And what the hell are they doing in GARDINER???

RaeAnne Seubert was determined to find the gown of her life. She tried on six and I felt exhausted by the end.

Too prommy. Too cheap. Too red. Too white. Too virginal. Too…too.

She settled on my personal fave…a cocoa-colored long gown embellished with more silver sequins than I know how to count. Very pageant, in my opinion.
Moda Bella is the dress shop to pageant competitors in Maine. People come from all over the state, even from across the border to sample Diane Tucker’s style. Cannot say I’ve ever seen this type of inventory before…..but then again cannot say I’ve ever competed in a pageant.

Our group got some great pictures, great info, great audio. I recorded Heather (the coach and also Mrs. Maine 2005) explaining how running in pageants was like running on a soccer team.

“Both are sports, both require training. I mean, they definitely need good shoes……so do we!”

Beautiful.

Definitely a fun afternoon and one that left me thinking about the coaches. What do they feel after one of the mentees has won? Or lost? Is this simply about making a living or do they really feel some social/emotional investment in this type of work? You may be scoffing as you read this, but some of the moments in that dress shop really blew me away. I never expected such depth from Mrs. Maine 2005. Guess my own prejudices shine through when it comes to too many sequins and stilettos. Of course, those ladies would tell me there is no such thing.

As for the future, I’m meeting with Superior Sister Mary Catherine at the Blessed Sacrament Convent come a week from tomorrow. I may contact Heather and Marty to discuss their coaching roles and my search for a jump-rope team continues. The maternity home people and child pageant leads remain at-large but I’m on it. A prelim competition for little Miss and little Mr. Sunburst is slated for Feb 24th….and I’ll definitely be there.

For today’s audio doc, I want you to listen to Dave Isay’s “Ghetto Life 101.” It’s a powerful project spearheaded by a man who once envisioned himself an M.D. On the way he fell in love with radio and has been doing it ever since. He is the pioneer behind StoryCorps, something you may listen to on the way to work in the mornings. This particular piece is incredibly moving…..two young boys (one living in a project and the other living down the street) reveal their lives and experiences on the South Side of Chicago.
Take a listen.

http://www.soundportraits.org/on-air/ghetto_life_101/

I've used media to shame people into proper behavior. -Tony Schwartz

2008-02-08T16:38:00.000-08:00

It is the end of a typical day here in Portland, Maine. Many of you call and leave messages, wondering how things are going and often I find it very difficult to produce succinct and revealing answers by phone. For some reason, my descriptions cannot describe the week I have just finished, my first week here at the Salt Institute for Documentary Studies (www.salt.edu).

Located at the end of Congress Street, Salt is about a 30 minute walk from my little rented apartment on the third floor of a Victorian home. So far, I walk with my flatmate Tommy, another Salt student, and we recap our days in the darkroom (tommy) or in radio class (jessica). We flesh out story ideas and reveal insecurities….it is a cathartic way to start the day.

This week has been cold.

My water bottle's contents froze on the way to school this morning and I lost feeling in my right hand (despite two layers of gloves). My face is covered in a ski-ish mask and together the two roommates push through the wind, heads down and backs arched. The coffee run is always required and the heat of Portland's tiny cafes (of which there are many) breaks up our 30 minute trek. We continue the walk, enter our four story building, and eventually part ways. I head to the radio room.
We start each class with a good listen. "Some of the best audio you'll ever hear," according to Rob Rosenthal, one of our radio teachers. Rob's humor is sometimes acerbic, always pointed, forever honest. He wants us to learn to listen actively but mostly, he wants our ears to distinguish new sonic elements. We discuss sound (today we talked about "nat" or natural sound) and Rob explains the best way to record waves from a local ferry. We discuss the tones of different situations: popcorn popping, someone swallowing. We debate the challenges (and brilliance) of recording conversations with very young children. Eventually we break up into even smaller groups and reveal our story ideas (all of which must be about the state or the people of Maine). My classmates are playing around with myriad concepts: nighttime coyote hunting, drag king shows, the cloning of beef, record (as in the kind you listen to) collectors, female herbologists, and Chinese acunpuncturists working in rural areas. My story ideas are many and currently I'm playing with the following: child pageants (specifically for boys), Evangelical Christian maternity homes for pregnant teens, elementary-school-girl-jump-rope-songs, cloistered nuns, and insomniacs. By May 19th, we must create two 6-minute pieces (one narrated and one un-narrated). It is amazing what people can do in 15 weeks; I just hope I can do it too.

I think I may have found my niche in this big, wide world. We talk about documentary all day. About stories and the people who tell them, about arcs and climaxes, clichés and leading questions. We discuss our goals and the possible pitfalls, realistic expectations and likely disappointments. What does it mean to tell a story through sound? It includes an entirely new interaction with street noise, ambience, nature, ambulances, trees falling, buses whizzing, snow crushing under feet encased in enormous rubber boots…...I've never heard the outside world so sharply as I do after class.

I hope to send you occasional emails with updates on my stories (whatever they may be) while also including links to some of the best radio docs we listen to in class. Know that there are many each day but I will include only a few for your listening pleasure. I hope you might take some time to stop your day whether you are studying or tax-paying or researching stocks or cooking or cleaning or even reading (!) to listen to the ones I recommend….not only will it give you a better idea of the craft I am learning, it will also increase your documentary listening-literacy (something that never hurts, right?).

Tomorrow we head to Gardiner, Maine. Leaving at 6am, we head into what Rob Rosenthal calls "East Jesus." Basically we're driving into the middle of nowhere to find a story and document it within an eight-hour period. Each group has one writer, one radio person, one photographer. We'll have to negotiate storylines and space….we'll have to walk down Main Street and look for that story waiting to be told. I think we'll hit the funeral parlor first…I really want to chat with the resident make-up artist.....

For today's clip, I want you to listen to the work of the incredible "Kitchen Sisters." Working as a duo, Nikki Silva and Davia Nelson are based in California. They started a series called "Lost and Found Sound;" some of you may know it very well but some may not. No matter where you fall, check out this fantastic story they did on sound pioneer Tony Schwartz. It will blow your mind and make you think differently about all things audio..

You'll need to download real player (www.real.com) in order to listen to this. It is free so there is no excuse. Let me know what you think when you have a chance to listen (even if it is in 12 months).

Link:

http://www.npr.org/programs/lnfsound/stories/990226.stories.html

Once you download "real player" you may need to click on "G2 Sure Stream" in order to get the clip to start.

The air is salty.

2008-02-01T13:08:00.000-08:00

It has been since July! Insanity! Just so you know, I am now blogging from my new home away from home, The Salt Institute for Documentary Studies. I am studying radio documentary until mid-May and you can check out what I'm up to (when I manage to post) at:

www.saltinstitute.blogspot.com

Saludos from Maine!

It's been awhile

2007-07-09T19:51:00.000-07:00

....since I've written. And I mean really written. Needless to say, graduate school has zapped a significant amount of my creative energy. I feel as if I am recuperating, though. Somehow, the flow is returning.

I definitely have some loyal readers on this blog and I thank you for your continuous feedback and advice. Many have asked what I am doing, why I'm not publishing my oral histories, what exactly I am spending all my time thinking about. The truth is, I wasn't so sure until just a few weeks ago.

This year, I spent quite some time thinking about Germans and German Jews in El Salvador, specifically pre- and post- WWII. Max Paul Friedman, noted historian, scholar, and professor at Florida State University, published an incredible monograph on this very topic, highlighting the treatment of Germans (both Jewish and non-Jewish) during the war. I highly recommend it "Nazis and Good Neighbors: The United States Campaign against the Germans of Latin America in World War II." Most importantly, Friedman wrote, explained, and explicated the black-listing of Germans (again Jewish and non-Jewish) by the United States government. Convinced that Hitler was assembling a "Fifth Column" in Latin America, the United States led a massive effort to purge and cleanse Latin America of all suspiscious German agents (including quite a few German Jews), placing many in detainment camps throughout the United States and offering the option of repatriation to others. A fascinating topic to say the very least. I spent months digging through memoirs, speaking to people in El Salvador whose family was black-listed, speaking to my own mother about the black-listing of my Jewish, German-born grandfather Ernst Reich.

Fascinating, yes. But did it grab me? Cannot say it did. Must also admit that a phenomenal job has already been completed by Professor Friedman and in academia...there is no room for repeats (that is, if I could even aspire to produce such an exquisite monograph as his). So the search continued, what to study......what can be original....gripping.....yet scholarly? This may not seem to important to you, but to me and my advisors, it is the world.

Everyone said it was a bit premature to "stress" about dissertation topics but for a kid who started planning her high school course schedule in the eighth grade, stressing about the future, needless to say, was second nature.....

My submission for Public Radio Quest

2007-05-13T19:47:00.000-07:00

Along with 70,000 other hopefuls, I just uploaded my entry to be Public Radio's next star. It was a fun process to say the very least. Here is what I've suggested and why I think my program would get people listening:
************************
My name is Jessica Alpert.

Born in Texas, I was raised by a mother from El Salvador and a father from New Jersey. Interesting to say the very least. As soon as I turned eighteen, I was ready to explore the country and hit New York City first. After college I moved to Washington, DC for my first job and now I am in Indiana, the crossroads of America, recording from a place I never expected to end up. One year into getting my PhD in History, public radio remains my constant, whether I am in Brooklyn or Bloomington.

I’ve lived abroad and spent last year as a Fulbright collecting oral histories from the Jewish community of El Salvador. I am an independent storylistener, it’s what I do best: writing down what people tell me and spreading the word.

While Americans may think we understand each other, my concept for public radio seeks to bridge the gaps that keep us disconnected. I’ve always believed in an inter-state exchange student program. A kid from Westchester County should be sent to Biloxi, Mississippi to see and taste what life is like in the south….while a teenager from Abilene, Texas should spend a week in Eugene, Oregon. What will it take for Americans to start learning about each other? I believe we have a long way to go and my own life lived across the country has given me enough convincing evidence.

While this exchange student program may not be a plausible reality, I want my radio show to make it as virtual as possible. I want to talk to young people across the country and learn about their stories, the lives they’ve lived. What is their vision of America? Rather than tell listeners what young people are thinking, I want this program to give individuals their own voice and most importantly, I want it to be real, challenging, honest.

I hope you might take this ride with me. Let’s do it right, let’s do it raw, and let’s let America’s youth tell us how it is: starting with Alabama and going all the way to Wyoming.

10 Things I Hate About Commandments

2007-04-04T20:04:00.001-07:00

Happy Passover to all.

Heeb Hookups

2007-03-26T12:04:00.001-07:00

Definitely worth a watch. From the "edgier" Jewish periodical, "Heeb," this video is an entertaining commentary on j-dating.

Confessions of a President

2007-02-12T04:40:00.000-08:00

President of La Comunidad Israelita de El Salvador Ricardo Freund, recently shared some of his past year's writings with me. This fantastic editorial is from his recent trip to Costa Rica where he attended a meeting sponsored by the Union of Jewish Congregations of Latin America and the Caribbean. These are his experiences:
************************************

Artículo Kehilatón

Confesiones de su Presidente

Quiero confesarles que por obligación por ser Presidente de la CIES, y por Jack, atendí la Décima Convención de la Unión de Comunidades Judías de Latino América y el Caribe, UJCL, en Costa Rica, desde el 25 al 28 de enero, 2007. Como todos, mi agenda apretada parecía reventar de cosas que hacer antes de viajar y ahora que estamos por motarnos al avión de regreso, la situación no ha cambiado.

Quiero confesarles que de las 10 convenciones de la UJCL, esta es mi primera “y media”. Digo “y media” por que cuando fue la de El Salvador, también por obligación, medio fui a algunas de las actividades. Estaba todo ocurriendo demasiado cerca para poder ignorarlo por completo.

Quiero confesarles que originalmente me justifiqué a mi mismo venir a Costa Rica para la UJCL por el “combo” de ver negocios además de la convención.

Quiero confesarles que yo no sabía que había un representante de la CIES en la junta directiva de la UJCL, a pesar que mi tocayo Ricardo Stanley en varias ocasiones había insistido en hablar de temas relacionados a la UJCL. Tanta era mi negatividad a la UJCL y a toda actividad relacionada a ella, que no tuve ni la gentileza ni el sentido común para darle seguimiento a esas conversaciones.

En la convención del Joint en Mar del Plata en abril del año pasado hubieron servicios religiosos y por no llevar mi bolsa del talit, me tocó la vergüenza de ser el único que tuvo que usar una servilleta de kipa. Como símbolo de rebeldía no traje talit a Costa Rica y nuevamente fui el único usando una servilleta de kipa en el servicio.

Veamos, sigo y confieso que vine predispuesto negativamente para pasarla mal, criticando desde los detalles más pequeños en la organización, hasta la razón de ser de la convención. Por ejemplo, se me había metido entre cejas, que esto era un gasto de tiempo y que las convenciones de la UJCL deberían de ser cada 2 o 3 años, no anualmente. Se me había metido entre cejas que la convención no añade valor y que yo no la necesitaba para “hacerme sentir bien” como judío.

Pero algo pasó.

Pasó que el sábado en la mañana fuimos a la sinagoga a rezar y a leer Torá. A medida que iban subiendo las diferentes Comunidades a las aliyot y un jóven de cada Kehilá leía de la Torá, se me erizaban los pelos y me brotaba una incontrolable sonrisa por que no podía contener la felicidad de ver y sentir lo que pasaba a mi alrededor.

Pasó que participé en charlas, seminarios y talleres de diferentes expertos extraños a nuestra Comunidad en El Salvador que hablaron de temas como que si vivieran con nosotros y conocieran no solo los problemas mejor que yo, pero también las posibles soluciones que a mi ni se me habían ocurrido buscar.

Participé en un taller sobre el tema de conversiones y los problemas y oportunidades que generan. Aprendí que antes en el movimiento conservador un casamiento mixto era el haber perdido un judío, y el día de hoy un casamiento mixto es una oportunidad de ganar una pareja/familia judía. Para trabajar esto se ha diseñado un programa llamado KERUV o ACERCAMIENTO. Tendremos que averiguar más sobre este tema.

Pasó que participé en un taller con el Rabino Yoel Oseran, líder del movimiento reformista, en el cual el habló de la salida del pueblo judío de Egipto y como, a pesar de la falta de comida, vivienda, y comodidades de vivir en el desierto, nunca volvimos a la seguridad de la esclavitud en Egipto. El Rabino Oseran comparó a ese Egipto con el Egipto que tenemos los humanos cuando nos hacemos adictos al alcohol, drogas, o el trabajo. Después del taller platiqué en privado con el Rabino Oseran y le comenté que mi Egipto es no poder decir que no. Después de pensarlo un poco más, he descubierto que tengo otro Egipto: el criticar y alejarme de mi propio judaísmo. Cada vez que me acerco participando en actividades me hace sentir bien, y por alguna razón incomprensible, rechazo las oportunidades que se presentan como esta convención.

Pasó que tuve la oportunidad de platicar con los presidentes de las otras Comunidades y encontré personas que sienten y viven experiencias como la mía. Los problemas no son similares, son IGUALES. Es fabuloso sentir que no estamos solos, y que se pueden aprovechar las experiencias y soluciones que otros han ya probado e implementado. Espero que en el futuro y dentro del marco de la convención, se lleven a cabo foros de presidentes para conocernos mejor y para aprender formal e informalmente el uno del otro.

Pasó que aprendí que en la convención hay recursos especiales que podemos usar en El Salvador. Estos recursos se pescan en conversaciones de pasillos, no necesariamente en los talleres organizados. Hay gente que pertenece a instituciones que tienen recursos de profesionales, dinero, y programas diseñados para comunidades como la nuestra. Es nuestro deber buscar y encontrar estos recursos, así como traerlos a nuestra comunidad para mejorar la vida judía en nuestro rincón del mundo.

Pasó que muchas de las personas que conocí y con quién platiqué me dieron ideas…
1. Necesita un rezo y no está el Rabino, no hay
problema, vea www.ritualwell.com.
2. En Jamaica los niños hacen servicios de shabat como lo queremos hacer nosotros, pero también hacen el servicio de Januka…Buena idea.
3. En Jamaica están montando un programa para acercar a los israelíes que viven en la isla y los mochileros a la Comunidad. Buena idea.
4. También en Jamaica, tienen un programa para traer a niños de escuelas públicas a la sinagoga para dar a conocer el judaísmo y que no nos odien por ignorancia. Buena idea.
5. En Costa Rica hay un MOEL a nuestro servicio !!! Esta es especialmente relevante para mi familia…
6. En Gudalajara duermen una noche en la Sucah !!! FUN JUDAISM, buena idea.
7. En Panamá han comenzado un Noar como el nuestro, en el verano hacen 2 semanas de actividades diarias como una Keitaná, o summer camp. Buena idea.
8. En Costa Rica enseñan una canción nueva cada shabat antes de terminar el rezo. Es lindísimo. Buena idea.
9. En Costa Rica han formado la Confraternidad Judeo Cristiana, muy similar a Religiones por La Paz, para organizar apoyo para Israel. Buena idea.
10. Y como no todo es negocio, con un nuevo amigo panameño aprendí sobre un deporte que me atrae mucho: kiteboarding. Ya navegué en www.machetekites.com , www.wunderground.com y www.intellicast.com . Que buena idea.

Pasó que la experiencia de la convención me transformó el negativismo con que llegué, a un goce de judaísmo acompañada de una tremenda tranquilidad y renovada energía muy similar a lo que siento cuando voy a los rezos de kabalat shabat y shabat.

En la cena de gala para la despedida se llevó a cabo una ceremonia de agradecimientos. De parte de nuestra Comunidad llevamos un libro de El Salvador que le entregamos a David Feingold, el Presidente de la Comunidad anfitriona Bnei Israel. Mis palabras para David fueron: “Hemos crecido, hemos gozado, hemos mantenido la llama milenaria del pueblo judío, gracias por las atenciones y los mimos.”

Cuando esperábamos en cola para la comida un buen amigo con quién me había quejado mucho al principio de la convención me dijo: “Por el cariño que te tengo te quiero decir que fue muy bonito lo que dijiste, pero te quiero preguntar si realmente te crees lo que dijiste”. Siento mucho haber proyectado tanto negativismo para que me pregunten algo así, y es por eso que es tan importante para mi contarles a todos el impacto y cambio de sentir tan significativo que la convención de la UJCL tuvo en mi persona.

El Rabino Szteinhendler, líder del movimiento conservador dio una charla y dijo: “Gmilut Hasadim es mucho más que Tsedaká, por que Tsedaka es dar lo que uno tiene, Gmilut Hasadim es dar de lo que uno es”. Servir en la directiva y en los comités es precisamente eso, dar lo que uno es para que funcione la Comunidad. Estar presente en la UJCL es precisamente eso, hacer que funcione la gran Comunidad judía latinoamericana.

Estoy convencido que es necesario seguir este esfuerzo y mejorarlo, es por eso que les quiero decir con ganas, gusto y placer, UJCL VALE LA PENA.

The Latest

2007-02-05T07:46:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,

I hope this finds you all warm and well. Today is one of the coldest days I have ever experienced: O degrees with a windchil of -14. I actually think it is uncivilized. :)

As I do not post as regularly as before, I wanted to take some time to update you on project and life developments. As for the project, I hope to find funding to spend 2-3 weeks in El Salvador this summer in order to finish a few interviews and poke into some government archives. I am now interested in the treatment of German Jews in El Salvador during World War II. With its Good Neighbor Policy in tow, the United States facilitated (and demanded) the blacklisting of German Jews and non-Jews throughout Latin America and the Caribbean. Some of these individuals were indeed Nazi party members but most were simply German nationals (a complex nationality at a difficult time). Most absurdly, German Jews were also included in these blacklisting efforts resulting in their deportation and subsequent imprisonment in the United States. An excellent book on the topic is written by Prof. Max Friedman and entitled "Nazis and Good Neighbors." It can be ordered on amazon.com and is THE example of a well-written and superbly interesting history book. I was motivated by Prof. Friedman's work and decided to take a closer look at El Salvador's policies during this time period. Let's just say the ride has been very interesting.

While I do aim to spend some time in El Salvador, I am happy to stay in the US for the rest of the summer! I hope to study German and in all my free time (!!) transcribe the remaining Spanish interviews from my year of research. This final task is of the utmost importance.

Finally, in the coming weeks I will announce the launch of my brand new website which will work to keep you updated of all my various travels, projects, writings, etc.

Please keep in touch and for those of you in the Northern Hemisphere, stay bundled....

B'nai Mitzvot in El Salvador

2006-12-01T16:48:00.000-08:00

Below, you will find the words of two young people who recently become Bar/Bat Mitzvah in El Salvador, Eric Freund and Paola Salazar, respectively. Big words coming from the communities' newest adults.

A MANERA DE EDITORIAL
Este shabat la palabra editorial la tienen nuestros jóvenes y flamantes benei mitzva, son ellos los que hoy nos haran pensar con sus palabras acerca de los temas de la Tora. Estas drashot son las que los jóvenes benei mitzva pronunciaran el dia de su Bat y Bar Mitzva antes de la lectura de la Tora. Gracias Paola, gracias Eric por compartir con todos nuestros lectores vuestras palabras.

Drasha para mi Bat Mitzva (por Paola Salazar)
“Y terminó Di’s el día séptimo la obra que había hecho y descanso”
Sefer Bereshit cap1

Desde entonces se descansa en el séptimo día que se llama Shabat.
Todas las semanas los humanos necesitan tener un día de descanso para vivir y aprender nuevas cosas. Asi se van desarrollando en las diferentes etapas de la vida. A diferencia de los demás días, el séptimo (shabat) es el día consagrado al descanso y a la reflexión de nuestro comportamiento y de lo maravilloso que es la creación de Di’s. Es estar más con Dios.
Para mí todo empezó hace 12 años cuando mi mamá y mi papá me dieron la vida. He tomado conciencia que en la vida uno tiene que descansar para poder crecer. Se supone que uno a trabajado bastante y necesita del shabat para reponerse y reflexionar. También Shabat es necesario para detenerse a admirar todo lo que Di’s ha creado y para pensar en él. Hay gente que no toma en cuenta la importancia del descanso para funcionar bien, o descansa demasiado y no trabaja nada. En todo caso hay que tener un equilibrio pero en Shabat descansa tanto el trabajador como el haragán. Esto es ley de Di’s.

Di’s nos dio el ejemplo de la creación del mundo con sus respectivas reglas de los siete días. Esto significa que hay que seguir la ley de Di’s, así aprendemos a vivirlas. Cuando Adán y Eva eran obedientes de la ley de Di’s, sus vidas eran sin los sufrimientos que tuvieron cuando las irrespetaron, esto quiere decir que si rompemos las reglas de las disciplinas sufriremos las consecuencias. Luego a Adán y Eva, Di’s les prohibió comer del árbol del bien y el mal ellos desobedecieron no pudiendo ver todo lo maravilloso que dios había creado y por sus desobediencias desde ese día supieron lo que eran los dolores, necesitaron trabajar y por supuesto descansar de sus labores, necesitaron Shabat

Yo cuando era chiquita y empecé a ir a la escuela nos daban días libres sábado y domingo, ahí empecé a darme cuenta que uno descansa una vez a la semana y fui viendo que uno trabaja para vivir una buena vida. Después empecé a ir a la sinagoga y supe que era el shabat y que en ese día descansamos. Luego seguí asistiendo hasta que llegue a 6 grado cuando empecé a estudiar para mi bat miztbat y entendí por que Dios nos dio shabat. Conocí en el transcurso de mis años como Di’s había creado el mundo, y sus respectivas leyes y me di cuenta de que todo el valor del trabajo se pierde si no descansamos también y le dedicamos tiempo a Di’s y a nuestra familia.

Les quiero agradecer a algunas personas que me han ayudado y me han brindado mucho amor en este camino tan hermoso de vivir.
Les agradezco a mis papas por darme la vida, protegerme, y hacerme un bien. Por su apoyo yo me encuentro aquí. ¡Gracias por hacerme esta celebración tan bonita en la que puedo gozar y aprender mucho! Ustedes me han enseñado a crecer, y a aprender nuevas cosas. También enseñado disciplina, lo cual no me ha gustado mucho pero se que me hacen un bien. Cuando me enojo por veces les contesto mal pero no es mi intención solo es que estoy aprendiendo. Recuerdo que cuando operaron a mi mama en Houston ellos no me dejaron en El Salvador si no que me llevaron con ellos, y lo mismo cuando se fueron a Europa. Siempre hemos sido bien unidos. Les agradezco mucho por todas las cosas que he mencionado y las que no. ¡Gracias mamá y papá los amo! A mis abuelos Kiki, Toto, Julie y Salvador, gracias por su ayuda y comprensión y por cuidarme. Ustedes son los que me consienten, juegan conmigo y me hacen muchísimo cariño. A mis tíos Mónica y Sepi, gracias por siempre aceptarme en su casa y quererme como su tercera hija. Y gracias por las lindos kipot!!!! A mi tío Mauri, gracias por regalarme este hermoso talit que voy a estar usando por el resto de mi vida y por consentirme y hacerme sentir importante. Gaby y Vale, mis hermanas, no tengo palabras para expresarles lo mucho que las quiero.

Rabino Berman, si no fuera por usted, yo no estuviera aquí. Gracias por su dedicación y paciencia. Sus enseñanzas fueron muy interesantes y además usted las hizo divertidas.

Morá Perla, le agradezco su dedicación al Noar y a los niños y el asegurarse de que todos aprendamos de las fiestas judías.

Quisiera agradecerle a toda la Kehilá por hacerme sentir parte de una gran familia. Y por darme la oportunidad de crecer junto a niños con mis mismos valores y creencias.

Y finalmente, pero muy importante, a todos los aquí presentes, mis amigas y amigos, grandes y pequeños, que de alguna manera contribuyen en mi vida y les guardo un espacio especial en mi corazón, les agradezco se encuentran aquí celebrando conmigo este día tan especial e importante.

Paola Salazar
***************************
Drasha para mi Bar Mitzva (por Eric Freund)
“Yaakov era un hombre integro, que habitaba en tiendas”
Sefer Bereshit cap. 25

La Parasha que me corresponde leer es Toldot. Esta Parasha cuenta incidentes y disgustos entre 2 hermanos bíblicos: Esav y Yaakov. La Tora nos relata que, inclusive dentro de la panza de Rebeca, los gemelos Esav y Iaacov ya se peleaban.

Lo que mas me ha llamado la atención de la Parasha es que la propia madre le dice a Yaakov que tiene que lograr que su padre Isaac le de la bendición del primogénito. Me pregunto: por que quería Rebeca que esto sucediera. Ambos eran sus hijos y era a Esav a quien le correspondía la bendición. Además, Rebeca cocino el corderito con la receta que mas le gustaba a Isaac para que Yaakov se lo diera a su padre. En cambio, Esav preparo el mismo, solo, el cordero para llevarle a Isaac. Cuando Yaakov se presenta ante Isaac, este noto algo raro porque dijo: “Estas son las manos de Esav pero es la voz de Yaakov”. Pero de todas maneras bendijo a Yaakov. Cuando llega Esav y se da cuenta de lo sucedido, exclamo: “Pero que ha pasado aquí? Es a mi a quien tenias que bendecir!”. Mas ya nada podía hacer…. No parece esto una injusticia?

La Tora describe a Esav como un hombre violento. A Yaakov en cambio, se le describe como un Ish Tam, un hombre sencillo, que no necesita de muchas cosas para vivir. Entonces, por que acepta Yaakov robarle la bendición a su hermano mayor, como si tuviera la ambición de tenerla? Para que Yaakov pudiera convertirse en el tercer patriarca del pueblo judío, tenían que suceder ciertas cosas. Creo que el haber conseguido la bendición de Isaac, fue el principio. Yaakov escucho y obedeció a su madre, aceptando hacer lo que ella le sugirió. Creo que Rebeca conocía muy bien a sus hijos y por eso supo quien debía recibir la bendición. Ella se dio cuenta que su primogénito era un hombre de acción, de violencia, de cazar animales y permanecer cerca de la naturaleza. En cambio Iaacov, el Ish Tam, era quien podía seguir con el proyecto de establecer al pueblo judío. Fue el quien continuo el camino trazado por Abraham, su abuelo, e Isaac, su padre.

Hoy me comprometo, como joven Bar Mitzva, a seguir con el proyecto trazado por los patriarcas, a ser un nuevo eslabon en la cadena formada por las generaciones de mi pueblo y de mi familia. Aspiro a ser un ish tam, un joven judio sencillo, y me comprometo a estudiar y participar en la vida de nuestra comunidad

Quiero agradecer a ciertas personas su guía y apoyo durante todos los meses en que he estado estudiando para mi Bar Mitzva. Primero que todo, muchas, muchísimas gracias, Rabino Pablo Berman, por enseñarme y dirigirme con dedicación y paciencia; sin usted, no hubiera podido prepararme tan a fondo como lo hice. A la mora Perla, por darme ánimos cuando nos cruzábamos. También le agradezco a mi familia, Papi, Mami, Michelle y Ariella, por siempre apoyarme y no parar de decirme: “Estudia! Estudia!”. Papi, especialmente quiero decirte que aprecio mucho que me hayas dado tu talit de tu Bar Mitzva y la kipa que era de mi bisabuelo Bernardo. A mi abuelita Oma Lea y mi abuelito Opa Ernesto por siempre decirme que “Todo va a salir bien”. A mi abuelita Babi Reina por todo su apoyo. Queridos familiares y amigos que hoy me acompañan, Toda Raba. Además, estoy muy emocionado porque nunca me imagine que tanta gente iba a llegar del exterior, y les agradezco mucho que estén aquí. Amigo Aaron Sztarkman, gracias por alegrarnos con tu música.

También quiero mencionar a las personas quienes van a participar en los servicios, haciéndolos así tanto mas significativos para mi: Gracias tia Becky, Maya, tío Ricardo y mami Sylvia por leer la Tora. Gracias tíos, primos y amigos por participar en los demás ritos de los servicios. Y gracias tambien a todos ustedes que han colaborado con mi Proyecto de Tikun Olam.

Este es un día que nunca olvidare y me siento orgulloso y feliz por haberlo alcanzado.

Eric Freund

Words to Eric Freund on the Occasion of his Bar Mitzvah

2006-11-25T16:54:00.000-08:00

Claudio Kahn, Jewish Community President during some of the toughest years in El Salvador, shared some words with Eric about the community, the Freund family, and being Jewish in El Salvador.
**************************

Por Claudio Kahn

Querido Eric:
Mi esposa me dijo que no comprendía como siendo yo tan refunfuñón, me hubieran pedido tus padres dirigirme a ti, en este día, hasta la fecha, el más importante de tu vida.

Gracias, Eric, estoy muy emocionado, es para mí un honor poder participar de esta celebración.

Me pregunto si serán estos tiempos modernos o será que estamos creciendo; pero el tiempo vuela a la velocidad de la luz...He aquí que llegando el día de tu Bar Mitzva, tú representas la cuarta generación de tu familia en El Salvador, lo cual significa una gran responsabilidad para ti, el continuar con las tradiciones y practicar los valores inculcados por tus mayores.

Eric: habrás oído contar muchas veces cómo tu bisabuelo, Max Freund, junto con otros judíos comenzaron a reunirse en su casa para rezar en Shabat y otras fiestas, habiendo sido tu abuelo Ernesto, el primer Bar Mitzva de esa época.

Tu bisabuela, doña Herta Freund fue una señora muy comprometida con todas las actividades de la Comunidad , facilitando su casa, hasta que finalmente se pudo construir la primera Sinagoga en la 23 Avenida cerca del centro de la ciudad.

Ernesto, tu abuelo, se enamoró de una Brasilera que le presentaron, Lea, y juntos formaron el pequeño Clan Freund con cuatro hijos varones, de donde sale tu papá Eduardo. Lea ha sido incansable para fomentar y conservar las tradiciones judaicas. Nosotros con María celebramos el Seder en dos ocasiones junto a tu familia, en su departamento de Miami, cuando por circunstancias de guerra y ante la inseguridad y el peligro, muchas familias de nuestra Comunidad tuvieron que emigrar a otros países.
Ernesto y Lea tenían que poner a estudiar y sacar adelante sus cuatro muchachos, pero ellos siempre estuvieron ligados muy de cerca con nuestra Comunidad.

Traigo a cuenta, aquí, una pequeña anécdota: La antigua Sinagoga se estaba alquilando a la Universidad Evangélica y quedaba en el Templo la Bimá que era una roca sólida de mármol... ¿Qué hacer?

Inmediatamente a consultar con los Freund en Miami y todos angustiados a consultar con el Rabino Granat que se había trasladado a la Comunidad Kol Shearit de Panamá.

Lo que el rabino nos dijo nos quitó un peso de encima:
“Mientras estemos todos juntos rezando, la Bimá tiene un significado pero al no haber nadie de la Comunidad es solamente una piedra”
Estudiando en los Estados Unidos, Eduardo, tu papá, conoció a Sylvia, tu mamá. Ellos se casaron en la Sinagoga Emanuel de Miami Beach. Nosotros estuvimos presentes y viene a mi memoria el recuerdo de ese lindo Templo y el desfile de familia que procedió al de los novios; y vemos a tu bisabuela, la querida Tía Fanny, nuestra querida Tía Fanny, desfilando divertida y sonriente del brazo de William, tu tío.

Siguiendo con la historia y calmándose la situación social en el país, muchas familias regresaron, en cuenta tus padres y abuelos. Y aquí tenemos a tu mamá Sylvia, criando una marimbita de niños, siendo tú el pequeñito.

Es así como hemos conocido a tu abuelo Josué y a tu abuela Reina, quien ha venido de visita muchas veces para estar con sus hijos y nietos en la compañía de tu abuela Riva, una adorable y sonriente señora hablando yidish. La recordamos en pago-pago, la primera casa del lago de tus abuelos, posesionada cuidando a la “tiernita chelita” que era tu hermana Ariella...

Como ves, Eric tienes mucha suerte de tener una familia muy hermosa y numerosa, muchos de ellos primos y tíos se encuentran hoy aquí para acompañarte en la celebración de tu Bar Mitzva; junto a tus padres, abuelos, y tus hermanas, Michelle y Ariella; sin olvidar a tus amigos, tus grandes amigos. Por cierto estamos muy complacidos de tener con nosotros después de muchos años, a tu tío Roberto y a su familia.
Nosotros, hemos estado algunas veces para el Shabat en casa de Ernesto y Lea y hemos podido constatar la unión familiar y la alegría de esas reuniones. A los jóvenes les parece todo natural, pero quiero hacer énfasis en el “Trabajo de Hormiga” de la madre y de la abuela judías ya que hay que comprar lo necesario, preparar los platillos, tender manteles y pulir candelabros para que la cena sea perfecta; y aunque sea un gusto para la abuela tener reunida a toda la familia, hay que saber apreciar ese trabajo que sirve para conservar nuestras tradiciones.

Tenemos nosotros, los hombres y mujeres de esta Comunidad, una gran responsabilidad en la conducción de nuestros hijos para la continuidad del judaísmo que profesamos; todo lo cual habrá de tocarte también a ti, querido Eric, a su debido tiempo.

Me siento muy feliz de tener un alumno para tocar el shofar, sigue adelante Eric y gracias de nuevo por el honor conferido ...
Quiera Adonai, nuestro Dios, bendecirte y conducirte por los caminos del bien y del éxito en todo lo que tú te propongas.

Mi cariño grande para ti.

En nombre de nuestra Comunidad te quiero entregar este recuerdo del día de tu Bar Mitzva.

Nota del Editor: El Sr. Claudio Kahn pronuncio estas palabras el sabado 25 de Noviembre con motivo del Bar Mitzva de Eric Freund. Agradecemos al Sr. Kahn el habernos provisto del texto completo de su discurso.

Salvadoran Embassy moves to Tel Aviv

2006-11-03T06:17:00.000-08:00

From the website for the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews.
www.ifcj.org

Salvadoran Jews regret decision to move embassy, but understand
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
By: Larry Luxner

from JTA

SAN SALVADOR, El Salvador, Oct. 24 (JTA) — El Salvador's Jews are disappointed that their country has decided to move its embassy in Israel from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv, but say it won't affect their relations with the government or with the country's large Palestinian community.

El Salvador announced the move in late August, only 10 days after Costa Rica did the same thing. Since the early 1980s, the two small, Central American nations had been the only countries that recognized Jerusalem as Israel's capital.

In an interview in San Salvador last week, Foreign Minister Francisco Lainez told JTA that "we thought it was important to be in compliance with U.N. resolutions asking for all countries not to have their embassies in Jerusalem.

"We had actually made the decision before Costa Rica," Lainez said, though he refused to say exactly when that decision was made. "When we announced our decision, we let the Israelis know, and although they would have liked us to stay, we did it with respect to all parties involved."

He added, "We believe that Israel has the right to live within internationally recognized, secure borders... but we didn't want to make the announcement while the war" in Lebanon this summer "was still going on. Our decision had nothing to do with Costa Rica."

Hardly anyone buys that idea.

"It did not happen in a vacuum," said Ricardo Freund, president of the Comunidad Israelita de El Salvador, the country's main Jewish organization. "Everybody knows that the two were related."

Rene Leon, El Salvador's ambassador to the United States, readily concedes that his country closed its Jerusalem mission only after Costa Rica did so. He said it was a "very painful decision" for President Elias Antonio Saca, who despite his Palestinian origins had vowed not to move the embassy out of Jerusalem.

"I think the Israelis understood that it was very difficult for El Salvador to be the only country in the world not in compliance with the U.N., and that we would have been subjected to bashing at the international level," Leon told JTA.

He added that El Salvador's decision was "entirely political," and that "it was not a calculated decision to open up business relations with the Arab world," as some Jews in Central America and the United States have charged.

"Of course I'm not angry with Saca," said Claudio Kahn, a Salvadoran businessman and past president of the Jewish community. "We have about 60,000 Palestinians here, and every time we changed presidents, the government was pressured by local Palestinians to move the embassy."

Kahn reserves his anger for Costa Rican President Oscar Arias Sanchez, whom he calls a "son of a *****" for ending that country's long pro-Israel tradition — a sentiment shared by most of Costa Rica's 4,000 Jews.

"The Arabs financed his campaign in Costa Rica, and the first thing he said he would do was move the embassy to Tel Aviv," Kahn said.

He noted that unlike Arias Sanchez — who shocked Jews at home and abroad with his announcement — Saca met for an hour privately with Jonathan Peled, Israel's outgoing ambassador to El Salvador, before announcing his decision.

According to Freund, 120 Jews live in El Salvador, a crowded, impoverished nation of 6.7 million people.

Most of them are Ashkenazim whose grandparents came from Germany or France, and virtually all of them belong to the Comunidad Israelita de El Salvador. Few Jews here keep kosher; the ones who do import kosher meat and other food items from nearby Guatemala.

Pablo Berman was hired in September 2005 to be the community's spiritual leader. The Argentine-born rabbi said he has yet to encounter anti-Semitism in his adopted country

"I've been here for a year, and nobody ever gives me problems," Berman said. "On the contrary, people come up to me and ask me why I wear a kippah and what it means. There's a lot of interest in Judaism."

Berman said Salvadorans seem to have deeper sympathy for Jews and Israel than for the Palestinians — despite the large Palestinian Christian presence and the recent construction of a "Palestine Plaza" in downtown San Salvador, as well as a monument to the late PLO chief Yasser Arafat along the city's Jerusalem Avenue.

"The Salvadoran people are very pro-Israel, especially the evangelicals. You see Jewish symbols all over the street," he said. "The Salvadorans are very friendly and very interested in knowing Jewish traditions. People call every day, asking if we offer classes in Hebrew and Jewish cooking."

Freund, who was married at the Salvadoran Embassy in Jerusalem in 1988, said the Jewish community still maintains excellent relations with both the Saca government and with local Palestinians — despite the embassy flap.

"If anything it will be good for us, because this has been a constant source of irritation and aggravation," said the businessman, who owns a chain of do-it-yourself home improvement stores. "The Palestinian Arab community of El Salvador had been insisting for years that we move the embassy to Tel Aviv. Now that will no longer be the case."

Ironically, those most likely to be inconvenienced by the embassy switch may actually be Palestinians.

"I was always proud, as a Salvadoran and as a Jew, to have our embassy in Jerusalem," Freund said. "But the ones who used our embassy's consular services in Jerusalem were mainly Palestinian Arabs who lived in Bethlehem. They had it easy. Now they're going to have to travel to Tel Aviv. It will be much more difficult for them."

A short hiatus

2006-11-02T20:14:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,
As many of you can see, I have taken a short break from writing. Graduate school has been very demanding and I've found it difficult to produce quality posts with my current workload.

....but the Storylistener is not going anywhere.

Please check back as I plan to post intermittently until my winter break where I envision having more time to dedicate to the project.

In the meantime, take care and keep in touch.

Golem und Romashka

2006-10-06T17:05:00.000-07:00

Klezmer fusion music is on a high and the people are ready to listen.... This weekend in Bloomington, Klezmer/Rock band Golem (www.golemrocks.com) will be performing at the Lotus Music Festival while on the East Coast, Romashka (www.romashka.net) will open for the Gipsy Kings at Manhattan hotspot Roxy.

What is all this?

Young people take on klezmer almost like a new language, reinventing basic tunes, enhancing and abandoning any improvisational boundaries---basically leaving genre in the dust. Romashka's latest CD brings together musicians with a variety of backgrounds such a jazz, gipsy, klezmer, classical, bluegrass, it goes on and on. Golem has no qualms about breaking out new forms, even transforming traditional lyrics for the 21st century club maven. It's like your grandmother's famous matzoh ball soup but with a kick of tequila.

Check out Romashka's new music video. You'll be hooked before you know it.

://www.thenewpop.com/talents.php?id=48" target="_blank">The New Pop

Isthmus Relations

2006-10-03T19:20:00.000-07:00

It has been awhile since I've written without the assistance of a fascinating oral history interview. Now that I have been away from El Salvador for a few months, it is much easier to view my research with a more critical eye.

As I delve into my graduate work, I realize that this interest in the Central American Jewry extends beyond El Salvador. Costa Rica and Panama would culminate in a trio of phenomenal comparative study. Panama with its strong Sephardic and Ashkenaz populations and Costa Rica with its Eastern European core and now growing religiously progressive population. Amongst these three countries, El Salvador remains the most integrated (amongst Jews). Although my research in Costa Rica and Panama is only in preliminary stages, I hope to be able to report back about Costa Rica's Eastern European shtetl origins in the coming weeks.

For now, news from El Salvador is grim with crime escalating and people taking justice and security "into their own hands." The Jewish community just finished celebrating Rosh Hashanah (Jewish New Year) and Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement). Let's hope that the domestic situation improves....somehow.

Radio Announcement

2006-09-28T15:07:00.001-07:00

Thanks to all who have tuned in to listen to my short piece included in Public Radio International's Jewish New Year programming. Producer by Johanna Cooper of Listen Up Radio, it is a short but powerful narrative piece recounting my experiences in El Salvador.

If you have missed it and still want to catch the program, please log on to the following websites this weekend. Remember: the entire program is fantastic but I am second in line (so make sure you listen right at the beginning!)

Radio New Mexico
www.kunm.org
11AM (Mountain Standard Time)

Radio Indiana
www.wfiu.indiana.edu
9PM (Eastern Standard Time)

One can listen to live audio on each of these websites, simply look for the "listen now!" or "listen online" links. Once you click on those, you should be good to go. The one trick is this: you have to literally listen LIVE so please tune in at the appointed hours.

Storylistener will be back with oral history interviews on Tuesday, October 3rd.

Thanks again for your support.

The Jewish Community of El Salvador

2006-09-15T10:00:00.000-07:00

La Libertad, El Salvador
*****
You may wonder. A research blog on the Jewish Community of El Salvador? Indeed.

The following pages and archives feature excerpts and photographs from the 60-family community based in San Salvador. I also include a significant amount of interviews from those who used to call El Salvador home but now, due to the Salvadoran Civil War or other family concerns, live in locales such as Israel, the United States, Europe, and other Latin American countries.

Each week a different individual is featured and one must scroll down in order to read the story from the beginning (the latest entries are found at the top of each page). To search for a family name, simply enter your query at the top left of the blog and the archives will perhaps surprise you.

I began working on this blog in August 2005 and I welcome you to start at the beginning, in the middle, or maybe just today's entry. As always, I encourage dialogue and welcome your comments, suggestions, constructive criticism, feedback, wisdom, and concern. This is an interactive format where community members or those simply interested can discuss the realities facing every day life as a Jew in El Salvador.

No matter where you begin reading, you will be amazed by the stories of these phenomenal individuals who together make this tiny Central American nation their home.

Jorge Weill: A Conclusion

2006-09-14T12:37:00.000-07:00

Towards the end of the interview, I began asking Jorge about the Jewish community’s future. This excerpt concludes Jorge Weill’s entries in the blog. For more information on his oral history, simply scroll down to begin reading.
****************

(Do you see any challenges now for the Jewish community here in the coming years?)

I think that the Jewish community is doing a very good job at going through different stages. There was a stage in the ‘80s of survival. And now the Jewish community has grown, it’s become more complex, it’s got to become more organized, and it needs to have much stronger involvement. I have a feeling that probably the biggest challenge that there’s going to be is to maintain that togetherness, that unity in the community. It’s going to require a lot of work, a lot of leadership, and a lot of structure to do it.

(Do you ever worry about the future of the community, the young people?)

I don’t think so. If you look at where we’re coming from, they’re much further ahead. There’s a lot of young people who will certainly know a lot more about Judaism than before, who are deeply involved in the Jewish community activities. I’m not talking so much about the parents of the people who are now the 6- to 18-year-olds, but I’m thinking about the 6- to 18-year-olds. They’re the future of the community, and they’re probably going to be in 10, 15 years involved in the leadership of the community. And they’re going to be very well prepared and committed. So I’m very positive about that. I think that probably one of the biggest challenges this community is going to have is a financial one. Even though it’s grown, probably there’s going to be more demands and it’s going to be more difficult. But you know, when the problem comes up, I’m sure everybody’s going to get together and face it. I think that the community as such is more than just a religious association. It’s really a community, and people have socialized within and it’s given support and identity to its members. That’s very important. I think that people have to have an identity to be successful and satisfied in life.

(That makes me think of one more thing. Did you ever feel like the—you were part of the French contingent. Your parents were French. My family comes from the German side. Did you ever feel like there were differences in the two groups?)

Yes, I felt that there was some difference, because generally speaking, the French socialized mostly with the French Jews and the German Jews associated primarily with the German Jews. You could sense, although it was never vocalized, that there was some difference, but not any discrimination. Each one had their own character. Some were more yekke than others. And obviously the people that we socialized with were primarily the French Jews. But there were enough of them to make a mass, and there were enough German Jews to make a mass. And as a matter of fact, a funny story: when I came back to live in Salvador in 1974, they held this FEDECO, the Central American Jewish Federation, convention here in Salvador. El Salvador truly has an Ashkenaz majority and we had never been exposed to Sephardic culture--keep that in mind.
All of a sudden we’re sitting down and one of the couples from Guatemala mentioned that they were a mixed marriage. And I said, “Mixed marriage? You’re not both Jewish?” “Yes, we’re Jewish.” But one was Ashkenazi and the other one was Sephardi, and I didn’t even know the difference.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Jorge Weill V: The War Years Continue

2006-09-13T09:44:00.000-07:00

In this next excerpt, Jorge remembers the most frightening event of the war involving his entire family.
*********************

I was still in Miami when my second child was born, in 1984. Alexis was born in January ’84, and we came back to Salvador end of ’84, approx. But I was traveling every other week to Salvador, and Anny had already come a couple of times to Salvador.

(And she was willing to come back?)

She was willing to come back. She wanted to have a family life where we would be together and I wouldn’t be traveling back and forth. My kids started going to the American school. We made an effort for them to be bilingual and bicultural. At the time we didn’t know what was going to happen in Salvador, and we wanted them to feel at ease as much in the States as in Salvador.

(“Bicultural.” What was the other culture?)

The other culture was American, because they were born in the States, they were American citizens. We revolved around American culture and felt much closer to it. And very often we would send them to summer camp in the States. They speak English fluently, they are very familiar with American customs.

(Did Anny want them to become familiar with France?)

She wanted them to become familiar with France, but she didn’t expect them to be culturally attached or incorporated in France. It was more a matter of them knowing their family, which is terribly important.

(When did your mother come back to Salvador?)

My mother came back about two years afterward, around 1986. She was in the States and she felt a bit lonely. She was in Miami, and my sister was in Bethesda, and she had many friends in Salvador. She came back in ’86. My mother’s a very feisty lady, and she definitely was not daunted by the war.

(Is there one instance or one memory of the war that you have that was particularly frightening?)

Yes. In 1989 we had a very strong offensive where San Salvador was almost taken by the guerilla. We had a lot of fighting around the house, about a block and a half away in the Espino. I remember one night there was a lot of shooting and I remember all of us getting on the floor in our room because we didn’t know where the fighting was, to where the bullets were directed, and we decided not to take a risk, especially because we have so many windows in the house. The next day we started seeing armored cars going up the street and we had a helicopter flying over our house. It was firing a machine gun against the guerrilla about a block and a half away. It was just overhead from us. So I said, “Anny, you know, you’ve got to go.” And she said, “No, I’m not fleeing.” And I said, “You have to go with the kids.” So she went to the States in 1989. They had closed the American school. As a matter of fact, we didn’t know what was going to happen, whether they were going to be able to come back or not. We were able to place them in schools in Miami. Fortunately, in January-February 1990 they were able to come back.

(How did the kids react when they had to leave?)

They didn’t say very much. I think especially Sandra was very impacted because the offensive started on a Saturday, and the whole Noar Shelanu [Jewish youth group] was at Clemente Stanley’s house in Los Planes de Renderos. And all of a sudden the offensive started, and from Clemente’s house they could see the jets and the helicopters firing and dropping bombs. We were very concerned because we didn’t know how to pick them up. At the time, Saul Suster was in the government, and he got some bulletproof cars and went that Sunday to pick up all the kids. As a matter of fact they brought them all over to our house, and they were all excited, saying, “We saw the planes and the helicopters!” It made a big impression on them.

(Sara’s Suster said they were all very strong and brave, and some of them, as soon as they saw their parents, they started crying.)

Sandra didn’t cry but all of a sudden she started blurting it out. As a matter of fact, the time that we threw ourselves on the floor was a couple days later, and I could see that she was very nervous and all of a sudden she started talking very quickly, so I had to calm her down. It was the only time I’ve ever seen Sandra nervous.

(So they came back in 1990. Life marched on?)

Life marched on. They went back to school. Sandra remained active in the Noar Shelanu, what there was of the Noar Shelanu. Not as organized as now, but she enjoyed it enormously. And she made good friends with her companions in the Noar Shelanu. Later Alexis who was younger joined a much more organized Noar. We had a new rabbi, Gustavo Kraselnik, and his wife who started organizing more professionally the Noar Shelanu. Unfortunately Sandra at that time went to college in the States, so she really missed out on that.

(Tell me, how is your life today? Both of your kids are now graduated from college?)

Both of our kids have graduated. Sandra’s working in Washington. She’s a good friend of yours. Alexis is going to start working in New York. So we really feel like empty nesters, so any excuse we have, we either go to Washington or New York so we can see them.

(Do you have any desire to move to the States?)

I feel very comfortable in Salvador. I like my life in Salvador, I like my work in Salvador, and I like the idea that they’ll have to make a decision whether they want to come back to Salvador or not. I think they’re eventually going to come back to Salvador. For some odd reason, Salvador’s like a magnet. Everybody wants to come back. Even the daughters of Salvadorans who were born in the States like to come back to Salvador. [laughs]

(Guilty).

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Jorge Weill IV: The War Years

2006-09-12T23:27:00.000-07:00

Despite the dramatic transition to married life in El Salvador, Jorge continued working and Anny, his bride, learned Spanish very quickly with the help of community member Perla Meissner. This excerpt describes Jorge’s experiences during the war including his kidnapping in 1980.
***************************

(And you had your first child pretty soon after?)

Sandra was born about a year and a half after we got married. She was born October 1980. And at the time, we had gone to Miami because around June of 1980 the situation was getting very tough in Salvador and we decided it was better for Anny to stay in Miami because we didn’t know if there was going to be a state of siege. You are not allowed to leave your house after a certain time. The doctor told her that he’d have to induce her to make sure that she’d have the proper care, because if there was a state of siege, we wouldn’t be able leave the house at night to get to the hospital.

(So she decided not to—?)

We all decided in June that it was better for her to stay in Miami. I was commuting back and forth between Miami and Salvador.

(But she stayed in Miami, then?)

She stayed in Miami. My parents were in Miami. My father had cancer. He was also being treated in Miami.

(Sandra is born in October. Then you decided to stay in Miami?)

And then what happened was, my father was sick, but we were going to come back in January after Sandra was born. And in December Anny called me to tell me that my father was very sick and that he had been taken to the hospital. I asked her if I could come three days later, and unfortunately about two days after I called her, I was kidnapped. I was kidnapped until the end of the month of January of ’81, a little under a month and a half. And then I went back to Miami and we decided to stay in Miami.

(Are you willing to discuss the kidnapping?)

To me, that’s something that—it’s an experience—I’ve gone through and I have no resentments but I’d prefer not to discuss it. It was a very difficult situation because Anny was in Miami and my daughter had just been recently born and my father was in the hospital. Unfortunately he never came out of the hospital. But the good thing is I was able to see him after I was released.

(Does anyone know who kidnapped you?)

Yes, I know who kidnapped me. It was a splinter leftist group.

(Do you think it was—last question—motivated for—?)

It was purely motivated for money, and I was relatively well treated compared to other kidnappings.

(So when you were released, you went immediately to Miami?)

I was released and that same day I flew to Miami.

(And you saw your father?)

And I saw my father, which was very important. They had maintained him alive, and he lived for about a month more.

(Had he known what had happened to you?)

He knew what had happened to me. He was having some troubles, because he had uremia which causes you to lose a certain amount of your consciousness, but he was very well aware of what had happened and we were able to talk.

(And you decided to stay in Miami until the end of the war?)

And then I decided to stay in Miami, and after a year, a year and a half, I started commuting back and forth to Salvador and at one point in time Anny told me we had to make a decision, we couldn’t continue that way. So we decided to come back to Salvador in 1984, which is a decision I don’t regret at all.

(So when you decided to come back, you didn’t have any anger towards the situation, you were ready to come back?)

I was ready to come back. I never had any anger or resentment about the kidnapping. When you go through an experience like that, you can have certain feelings, like resentment and jealousy, which are terrible, and I don’t have any of those.
I came back and I started getting established, again with a little bit of difficulty. And from then I went on and I really enjoyed it.

(How was life here during—until the peace accords were signed?)

As a matter of fact, until the peace accords were signed, there was obviously some anxiety, there was a lot of uncertainty, but probably if you look back, life was a lot less dangerous than now, with the gangs and everything else. I feel life has changed because of the crime rate in Salvador. And there was a tremendous community spirit. There was community spirit within the Jewish community, there was community spirit between all cross-sections of society. There was an enormous sense of comradeship at the time.

(And services went on?)

And services went on. There was a big effort. Everybody made a point of going to synagogue so there would be minyan. And Claudio Kahn had a tremendous hand in it. He was a real motivator, he would motivate people who never came to synagogue to go to synagogue. He used to say that he had a “credit and debit system” whereby when we were more people than necessary for minyan, they would count for the times that there weren’t enough people.

(Who would lead services?)

Max Sztarkman would lead services. And later there was an Israeli fellow living in Salvador who had a very good voice and had come to Salvador for the national orchestra, and he led services. Very often there were people from the Israeli embassy who would help out.

(And I understand that there was an ark on wheels?)

Yes, there was an ark that was on wheels. That’s before we bought Jean Paul Joseph’s house, where the synagogue is now, because at one point in time they didn’t have a permanent place to go to, so they would go from one house to the other and they would take the ark on wheels so they could hold the services.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Jorge Weill Part III: Educational Differences

2006-09-11T00:37:00.000-07:00

After high school, Jorge went to Lehigh University in Pennsylvania and then proceeded to enter an MBA program at MIT. He was only 21 at the time and had already experienced quite a bit during his short life.
********************************

(Did you enjoy it MIT?)

That I must say it probably one of the times that I least enjoyed. It was just so work-oriented, and I was very young. I was one of the youngest ones in the class. I wasn’t 22 when I entered, and I feel I wasn’t mature enough. I still wanted to carouse around and gallivant in Boston and everybody else wanted to study, so I was a little bit out of step. I got back in very quickly.

(Did you go home quite often to visit?)

What I did for vacation, I used to go for Christmas and spring vacation, and then I used to go to Salvador for the summer, except for two summers when I worked. I worked in France, one time when I was in undergraduate school and one time between my first and second year of business school when I worked in Paris in a consulting firm. And I must say I lost contact with many of my friends from Salvador. Most of them did not go to high school in the States, and although we were friendly we were not as close as we used to be, especially the ones who were not Jewish. So I must say I lost a lot of contact with Salvador and my Salvadoran friends.

(And how was your relationship with your parents?)

My relationship with my parents was excellent. I always got along very well with my parents. I used to go on vacation with them. I must say I was never the rebellious type. When I was at school, the only way we communicated was by mail, so I used to write a letter to them every week, and they would write me once a week, each one of them individually. My father would write me these very long letters, about two pages typewritten. He would always bring up a subject and expand on it, weave a little bit of philosophy into it. So it was always very interesting to get his letters. I read the letters I wrote my parents years afterwards when I was in boarding school, and they weren’t very interesting.

(To them they were probably very interesting!)

To them they were interesting, and they were happy to get them. I think that during the four years I spent in boarding school I only got one phone call from my parents, and when I went to college I also only got one phone call in four years. People just didn’t call on the phone.

(When did you decide to come back to Salvador? When you graduated from MIT?)

Then I went to work in New York for two years. And my father told me I had to make a decision—my father was older. This was in 1974. He was 65 years old. He told me I had to make a decision whether I was going to stay in New York or come back to El Salvador. And after two years of being in New York, I think I was very happy to go back to Salvador. So I came back to Salvador. He was primarily in the textile wholesaling business. So I came to work in the wholesaling business, which I must say was a cultural shock coming from New York.

(You lived here beginning in—?)

I came back middle of 1974, and I was very happy because the first year I lived with my parents. And then my good friend Jean Paul Joseph [son of Soeurette and Andre] came back and we rented a house in Santa Tecla.

(You’re working here. How did you meet your wife?)

My father’s business partner, George Salomon, had a nephew who came to Salvador on vacation. We became friends when he was here. He was a very charming guy. He was from Strasbourg. And when I went to visit my mother’s aunt, who was like her mother, in Strasbourg, I went to say hello to him. He had just been recently married, and Anny, my wife, was his wife’s best friend. And by happenstance I met Anny and from the start we got along very well, and we saw each other on vacation during a couple of years.

(So you would go and visit? Did she ever come here?)

She came here before we got married.

(What did she think?)

Well, she liked it very much. She probably didn’t know what she was bargaining for, because just after she came back, the revolution started and the war started. As a matter of fact, the first day she came to Salvador, we went for dinner to my parents’ house which was about two blocks away from the YSU, the TV station. For the first time a bomb exploded and it was placed at the TV station. And we heard the bomb explode only two blocks away. All of a sudden the TV channel stopped transmitting and everybody was calling each other to see what had happened. So she got acquainted with Salvador in a very quick fashion.

(Was it important for you to marry a Jew?)

At the beginning it wasn’t, but in the end I think it was.

(When did you get married?)

We got married in 1979.

(She came back in 1979?)

Yes, she came back in 1979. As a matter of fact, we got married at the beginning of April, and we were in Strasbourg a couple days before our wedding when they told us that Ernesto Liebes, who had been kidnapped, had been killed. So we heard the news while we were still in Strasbourg. Towards the end of April we came back to Salvador, and at the beginning of May, the guerrilla took over the French embassy, and Anny’s friends who had never heard of Salvador, all of a sudden read on the front page: “French embassy taken hostage by the Salvadoran left.” And they kept those French diplomats hostage in the embassy for a couple weeks. So she discovered Salvador the hard way.

Transcription by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Jorge Weill Part II: Growing up in El Salvador

2006-09-08T00:24:00.000-07:00

In this second entry, Jorge remembers his childhood in El Salvador and his first experience living abroad.
************************************
They got along. They had an exceedingly good relationship. They used to go to the office together every day, and they’d take turns driving. One week one would drive to work and the following week the other one would drive. They’d pick each other up in the morning and drop each other off at 12 o’clock, they’d again pick each other up again at 2 o’clock and return home at 6 o’clock. And they had always something interesting and new to talk about in the car. It was a pleasure to go with them.

There were a couple Jews in the business. There were two I can remember. There was Alfredo Klein and there was another gentleman called Luis Margerit, whose children live in Salvador, but I’ve lost track of them.

(Your early years, did you go to the American school, like everyone else?)

I first went to the Echevez, which was a nursery school and then I studied first grade in France. At the time foreigners used to take five to six months vacations every five years, so my parents went on vacation for six months to France and left me with an aunt to study first grade in Strasbourg. I came back and went to the American school until eighth grade, and then went on to boarding school in the states.

(What did you speak at home, what language?)

We spoke French, primarily. But then when I was with my friends I would insist on speaking Spanish with my parents. I didn’t want to be different.

(As a child, did you know what had happened to your grandparents in the war?)

Yes. I knew that from an early age, I would say around nine, ten years old. My mother would tell me her experiences during the war. My mother was understandably traumatized. But I didn’t suffer from it. It wasn’t suffocating, but she would often tell me the story, what happened to my grandparents, what she went through the war.

(So it wasn’t a secret?)

It was not a secret. It was open and I think it was much better that way.

(What about your father’s side? Did he lose anyone in the war?)

My father was very lucky, because his parents were able to escape to what was at the time Free France. They only had to hide towards the end of the war. They almost got caught going from occupied France to what was Free France. I have always wondered and never had a chance to ask my father if he had any contact with his parents. Apparently during the whole period he wasn’t able to communicate with them. I can’t imagine what it’s like living five years without being able to contact your parents, not knowing if they’re alive or not. But they were very lucky.

(When you went to France, how was that? Was that a shock? Do you remember that first trip when you were in first grade?)

I remember that first trip. I didn’t mind it at all. I don’t know, I’ve never really suffered through anything. When I went to boarding school in the States, I enjoyed it enormously. When I went to college, I enjoyed it enormously. I also enjoyed living in Salvador. France, I didn’t mind it at all.

(Tell me about the Escuela Americana. What was it like to be Jewish?)

The Escuela Americana, my children went to the Escuela Americana and there were usually one or two Jewish kids in these very large classes of 100 students. In my the time, there were only 30 students per class, and generally speaking there were about five Jews in most of these classes. So you were not alone and you felt a little bit more cohesiveness in that sense. But at the same time, many of my friends were not Jewish but we got along very well, and I rarely felt any difference. As a matter of fact, my Catholic friends had Catholic classes, and at the time, the rabbi used to come once or twice a week to the American school, and he would also give us religion classes. The only thing that struck me was maybe in seventh grade when one of my friends told me, “Oh, you killed Jesus.” And I didn’t even pay too much attention, because it wasn’t said in a very disrespectful or hateful way.

(So you really never experienced anti-Semitism?)

I never really experienced anti-Semitism.

(Was your family very Jewish growing up?)

I think that my family was culturally Jewish. We celebrated all the High Holidays although we didn’t really celebrate Shabbat at home every Friday. My father used to go to synagogue quite often. Sometimes I would go on Friday nights. When I started studying for my bar mitzvah, I would go on Saturday mornings. And then after I made my bar mitzvah, they’d ask me to go on Saturday mornings. I didn’t like it so much, but I’d do it so they’d have a minyan. I have very comforting memories of the community. I remember it as being a very friendly place. I never really felt too many conflicts. Probably there were more than what I could sense.

(And after eighth grade you were sent to where?)

After eighth grade, in ninth grade I went to boarding school in the States. I went to Worcester Academy in Worcester, Massachusetts.

(How was that?)

I enjoyed it enormously. I felt—especially because, you know, all of a sudden, even though it was very strict, I didn’t have any parental supervision. I loved that. I felt much more independent. I made very good friends at Worcester.

(And the transition to U.S. life?)

It wasn’t too difficult. I had a little difficulty with the language, especially with my pronunciation. Sometimes I’d make some funny mistakes, and people would laugh at me. But I made some very good friends, and I remember being invited quite often for the weekends to my friends’ houses. I loved it because there were sports. We had a lot of personal attention. And I must say, I learned how to study. It was very good for me. It made me responsible.

(What did they think of you coming from Salvador? Were you kind of an exotic presence?)

I was a semi-exotic being, but I got acclimated pretty quickly, and they didn’t see me as a Salvadoran any more.

(Were there lots of Jews there?)

There was a fair amount of Jews, I would say. Fifteen to twenty percent of the class was Jewish.

(Do you feel like you had something in common with the American Jews?)

Yes, I felt it for some odd reason, don’t ask me why, but I always identified more with the Jews at the school. I was very excited, because my first roommate was Jewish, his name was Steve Katz, and my mother said, “Katz? He must be Jewish.” And I said, “Is Katz Jewish?” I didn’t know at the time.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC

Jorge Weill: An Introduction

2006-09-07T05:57:00.000-07:00

Jorge "George" Weill, older brother to Monique, is the son of Raymonde "Raymunda" and Henri "Enrique" Weill. Born in San Salvador, Jorge continues to live in the capital with his wife Anny. They have two children, Alexis and Sandra, both of whom were raised in El Salvador but are currently living in the United States. Jorge was one of my last interviews in El Salvador, sitting down with me on the 26th of June.
**********************
My mother and father were both born in Alsace-Lorraine in France. My father was born in a small town in Odratsheim and my mother was born in Strasbourg.

(Do you have a first memory of childhood?)

I couldn’t recall right now what my first memory is, but what I do recall is playing at my parents’ house, which was on the Doble Via in front of Cidema. We had a small driveway leading up to a cochera (Salvadoran version of a garage), and I remember playing there beside what seemed to be an enormous garden and what I’ve later come to realize was a very small place.

(What was your house like growing up? Can you describe it to me?)

The house, which at the time seemed very big, had red-tiled floors. It was built in the colonial style, and it had an arch with a wood frame carved around at the entrance of the dining room. I remember that in the back of the house we had a place where we kept the chickens. At the beginning, if I remember correctly, we had a wood oven. We had a small refrigerator which I knew well because my mother kept it for nearly 50 years. It was a very nice house, and as a matter of fact, my good friend Bobby Cohen lived right next to us, the Guttfreunds lived two houses away, and the Geismars lived about a block and a half away.

I remember I used to be very good friends with Andres (Guttfreund), and we used to play together a lot. We didn’t pay attention to his sisters and my sister. They were too small, they were at least three, four years younger than we were.

(Tell me, what about the ambiente. What was the community like?)

Well, you know, I always remember Salvador in my youth as being very friendly. Everybody was very friendly. My parents’ friends were primarily from the community, and I remember them being very sociable, people being very very nice to me. I don’t remember having any type of sad or confrontative moment. I remember that people used to go visit each other and I used to go see my friends, whether it was Andres Guttfreund, I used to go over to his house whenever I wanted to, or I would go to—I remember going to the Geismars’ house about a block and a half away. I was young and the maid used to take us. I lived in that house until 1956, when I was eight years old, and then we moved to Colonia Escalón.

(To the house that your mother still lives in?)

To the house that my mother still lives in. And then again, we had the Rosenbergs that lived right around the corner, and we again had the Geismars about a block away and the Salomons, my father’s business partner, that were two blocks away. So we used to just walk over and go say hello whenever we wanted to.

(Why did your father come to Salvador?)

My father came in 1926-1927. At the time, what foreign businessmen usually used to do was to go back to their home town and find some young men who they thought had potential and bring them back as salesmen. There was a gentleman called Lucien Simon who was from Sarreguemines, where my father grew up. He came over and asked my father—who was 17 at the time if he wanted to come to America. And at the time Sarreguemines was poor—France was poor. So my father thought, “America, that’s the land of the future.” So he came to Salvador. He didn’t know he was going to Latin America. But he loved it from the beginning.

(Exactly what year did he arrive?)

He arrived in 1927. And then about two years later, his partner George Salomon came, also from Sarreguemines, to work for the same gentleman.

(What did they do for Simon?)

Both of them were salesmen, and my father told me the first month he came over he had to—he worked in a textile wholesaling business-sleep in the store. After a month they told him to go to a pensión, which was like a little hotel, where he stayed for a couple of months. He used to travel mostly to Occidente, so he would take the train to Santa Ana where he would visit clients, and from there he would travel to the surrounding towns. He had an assistant and they would travel on mules on which they’d load all the samples, the muestras. They would come back with bags full of large silver coins, bambas they were called, which is how they were paid and they would take them either to the bank or ship them back by train to San Salvador.

(And eventually he and Jorge, did they start their own business, or they just continued working?)

And then —and I have the contract somewhere in Miami—about four years later, Mr. Simon offered my father to become a partner in the business, and then George Salomon also became a partner. Mr. Simon in 1945, after World War II, said, “The same thing is going to happen as after World War I. There’s going to be a depression.” So he sold the business to George Salomon and my father. So L.A. Simon & Cia. became Weill, Salomon & Cia. They went into business and remained partners for the rest of their life. The business was called Weill, Salomon. Tey’re both buried in Miami, because both of them passed away in Miami during the war (Salvadoran Civil War). Their tombs are right next to each other, and since my father’s on the left-hand side the tombs read “Weill-Salomon”, so we say the partnership continues.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

The Storylistener Talks

2006-09-06T11:10:00.000-07:00

As many of you know (especially those who follow this blog), I recently returned from El Salvador. Working together with a fantastic producer, Johanna Cooper of Listen Up Radio (www.listenup.us), I wrote and narrated a short piece about my experiences which will be aired as part of a longer program "The Jewish New Year: A Time To Heal," on Public Radio International (PRI).

For more information and local airtimes, please check out the link below:

http://www.pri.org/jnyheal.html

As PRI is received by many affiliate radio stations, it is impossible for me to know when/if your local station will air the program so I encourage you to continue checking out the link in the coming days and weeks for more information.

Many thanks to all for your continued support!

Soeurette Joseph: Final Thoughts

2006-09-05T01:07:00.000-07:00

As conditions in El Salvador worsened due to internal civil strife, many community members decided to temporarily relocate to the US, Israel, or Europe. Some temporary stays lasted a lifetime.

(Why did you leave?)

Well, it was a very rough time in ’79. We had had a lot of threats of kidnapping and so on and so on and it was time to leave like everybody did, like your grandmother left and your grandfather – we all left.

(Who’s we?)

The whole– mostly – almost the whole community left.

(But your family – the people who left. You. Was Jean-Paul living in Salvador at that time?)

Jean-Paul was living in Salvador. He had married and he had just had a baby and the baby was six months old when they left and they came to New York and I followed and I came here.

Ruth Reich de Alpert: So why don’t you tell who Fred was?

Fred was my brother-in-law who lived with us. He was not married and he lived with us all his life. And he died years ago, I don’t even remember what year but before we left Salvador he died.

(Did you get along with him?)

Very well. Until the end then he became very difficult. The last years were awful. He couldn’t take the fact that Andre had died. It was like I was responsible. He made my life absolutely miserable but at the end – I must say that at the beginning he helped me a lot. Andre didn’t have enough time and he had much more time than Andre and he was very nice to me, extremely nice. And at the end only, he was getting old and had health problems and he couldn’t take the fact that his brother had died. That was the end of that.

(How old were you when your husband died?)

48.

(How old was he?)

63.

(63. What year was that?)

May 23, 1971.

(It was a very sudden death?)

No,he had a heart condition and he had been sick since 1962. It was still a very difficult time, yeah.

(So when you moved to New York was it a very fast move – from one day to the next?)

Like everybody else, we decided to leave and that was it.

(Did you move to this apartment?)

To this apartment, yes. Jean-Paul bought an apartment and convinced me in April of ’79 to buy an apartment. I bought the apartment, I wasn’t here so I took somebody to take care of buying furniture and so on and so on. And I said whatever she wanted to do in the apartment I said, “No, I'm never going to stay here, just for a short time. It ‘s not worth doing this or that or rearranging –“ and do I regret it. I thought it would stay here a few months then go back. I never expected to sit here for the rest of my life.

(So Jean-Paul and Jessica had three girls.)

Three girls.

(One was born in Salvador.)

Yes.

(And two were born here in the U.S. Both of Sylvia’s children were born in the States?)

Born here in the States.

(And how often did you see each other?)

Here? I used to go every Friday night for dinner at Jean-Paul and I would go Friday lunch – I would have Jean-Paul in town. I would go to his office and we would sit down and have lunch together. That was the tradition. And in the evening I would go to the Metropolitan [museum] in the afternoon and at six o'clock I would cross the street and go for dinner there. I saw them a lot. I would go in the beginning every Thursday to take Alexandra for the day when she was a baby. Later on they had people to take care of them so I gave that up.

(And Sylvia at that time?)

She lived first in Chicago and then she lived in New Haven.

(So you really had your closest people around -)

Oh, yes. So why would I go anywhere else?

(How was living in New York? That’s a huge change?)

Yes, but I was lucky. I came here, I was 56. That means you are young enough to get used to something new. If I would have to do it now it would be much more difficult but at that time it was a new experience. I knew I had to open a door and not look back. It was easy for me because I knew I had to get used to it. Nobody cares if you are unhappy so you have to do it on your own. You have to decide you are going to make it and take the best of it and meet people,go out and do things, and that was very easy. Now it would be much more difficult but that time it was okay. And who can be unhappy about it? You come to New York, you come to a
wonderful city, why would you complain? Why would you complain? There is no reason to. You make the best of it. Nobody cares if you are unhappy so try to be happy.

(What was Jean-Paul like?)

Jean-Paul was so nice. He was very funny, very funny. He was very nice. He adored his family. He adored his daughters, it was unbelievable. Yeah.

(And what about Sylvia? She also lost her husband at a young age.)

Very young. He was 42.

(Do you think that made you closer?)

Of course....And Jean-Paul passed away in ’98.

(’98. How did that change your life?)

Tremendously. It’s something that you – you can’t get over the death of your child.

(How did your role change in his family? Did you become closer or drift apart? )

First, when Jessica decided to sell the house she came and – she wanted to go to a hotel with the three children and I decided that she would stay here. So they came and stayed here for three months until they bought another apartment. And I used to go every Friday night there but then with the time the children left and there were other things coming up and little by little it disappeared. But two weeks ago I had dinner with Jessica and her new husband. She was in Spain last week and came back Thursday so yesterday she called me and told me about her trip. We get along very well. It’s not very difficult to get along with me. I'm a good girl. [chuckles]

(You’ve been through a lot and you managed to keep a very positive attitude.)

You have to be positive. If you are negative you are going to be miserable and nobody cares if you’re miserable so try to make it. That’s the only way. If you
want to destroy your life it’s easy, you can do it.

Like in the time of Salvador, it was not always so easy… we were never 100% Salvadoran.

Ruth Reich de Alpert: Never. Never.

(Why do you say that?)

Ruth Reich de Alpert: You never are. The Salvadorans don’t let you be Salvadoran.

(They don’t let you be Salvadoran?)

Not really. You never felt you belonged absolutely. I don't know how it is with the younger generation like you, you were born there [to Ruth Reich de Alpert]. But I don't know. But like, say, the children of the Freunds [see entries on Herta Freund and Ricardo Freund] who are already third generation, they must think differently from us.

Ruth Reich de Alpert: Um-hm.

[Soeurette to Ruth] You were already a first generation. I was not a generation at all.

Ruth Reich de Alpert: Yes.

Soeurette: I was an import and that’s different.
It’s very difficult to talk about yourself because you want to avoid believing you are somebody special and so on and so on and then you still want to tell a few stories and you cannot tell about your life in one hour or so. You would need so much more to tell about your experiences as a child and everything, it’s – it’s difficult to say. Some people have a life that’s easier than others. But some people have lives that are more interesting than others and sometimes you wish you would have had much less to tell.

Transcription by Claudette Allison, Word-for-Word.com
Ruth Reich de Alpert participated in this section of the intervew.

Soeurette Joseph Part VI: The Germans vs. The French

2006-09-04T14:25:00.000-07:00

In this section of the interview, Soeurette answers questions regarding some more sensitive topics.

(Can you describe your husband?)

Yes. He was very kind, extremely kind, very much loved by other people, people liked him a lot. He was very sweet. He adored his children. After everybody was so afraid that he would not like children, because everybody said to me they were afraid because he was never interested in children. But once he had his own it was a big difference. He suffered a lot when they left, I didn’t. I took it very well. I was a little relieved, you know. They were in that age where Sylvia went to too many parties and too many things that I was happy she left. And Jean-Paul, with him it was a little more difficult because he was very homesick. He was even homesick when he had to leave home to go to the Escuela Americana. Everything was too much. He would have lived the rest of his life in his room. He didn’t need anybody. He wanted to be in his room. But Sylvia liked to be outside and Andre was worrying much more than I did and very unhappy that they had left.
It belonged to the tradition in Salvador. I don't know if we were right to send them away.

(But they loved to visit?)

They liked to come home, of course.

(What did you do when they left? What kind of things did you –did you take on any new?)

No, I didn’t do anything new. I just went on with my life the way it was.

(Now what was it like coming to Salvador after the war? Did people ask you about what you went through?

Oh, they never asked anything and I was told not to talk about it. I never said a word about all those things ever. Nobody knew anything about me. I was told not to say a word.

(What about your husband? You husband knew.)

Yeah, but he didn’t want anybody else to know it. It was not interesting for anybody. They didn’t care. They didn’t want to hear things. They didn’t want to hear what happened during the war and what – they didn’t want to know.

(Why do you think?)

I don't know. Just “Leave me alone. I don’t want to hear. Why do you speak about atrocities?” People didn’t want to hear anything because there’s a lot more to tell. There’s a lot more visits to the camps and things like this. There were camps in France where they had taken the people that I had to go and visit and very often speak to the people who were in charge to see if I could get somebody out and so on and so on. All these people don’t want to hear about it. They were happy in Salvador. Don’t talk. No.

(How did that make you feel?)

Strange. I must say that sometimes I resented it. Sometimes I resented it. The people didn’t want to hear about anything. They just didn’t want to hear about anything.

(Did you ever think that maybe they were afraid to ask?)

No. They were not afraid to ask, absolutely not. They just didn’t care, that’s the whole reason. They didn’t care. No.

(What did you think of the other people in the community? What were they like? Were the German Jews different from the French?)

Very different but we were – a few of us only mixed with the German Jews. There were others who never mixed with the German Jews. And we were very friendly with your grandfather (Ernesto Reich). We were friends of Herta (Freund), very good friends of Herta. And for me it was absolutely no problem. Everybody was very nice to me and I had no reason whatsoever not to be nice to other people. Tante Paula (Widawer) treated me like a daughter. I had never met, really, Doña Irma (de Liebes) because I was reading your report and I didn’t know her really because I don’t remember having ever been invited to the house. Life was very agreeable. I find – I liked it very much, I felt very comfortable.

(How were the German Jews different from the French?)

They are different anyhow, they’ve always been. It’s a completely different upbringing. Much stiffer, maybe, I would say and different…...

Transcription by Claudette Allison, Word-by-Word.com
Ruth Reich de Alpert participated in this section of the interview.

Soeurette Joseph Part V: Settling In

2006-09-01T14:13:00.000-07:00

Life developed at a "normal" pace for the Josephs...

(You enjoyed being a mother?)

Oh, yes. Oh, yes, very much so. I played a lot with them. I liked to play and I played a lot with the children.

(And when they reached school age did you know you were going to send them to the American School?)

No, I didn’t know anything. Yes, there was no choice but the American School. For later on I didn’t know what we would do.

(So was that the first time, at least for Sylvia, that she was really mixed with Salvadoreños?)

No, we – no. At the Deportivo they always saw children, other children. No, they had friends. But Sylvia had mostly – her friends were Monica Weill, Miriam Guttfreund, Susi Gunn. Those were the friends of Sylvia.

(And were you happy with the Jewish part of your life? Did you feel --)

Yes, I was very comfortable. I was very comfortable.

(How religious was your home? Was it --)

In Salvador? Like everybody else. Like everybody else.

(Your children stayed at the American School until -)

Jean-Paul left after – before getting to high school and Sylvia went on year to high school in Salvador and then left.

(Where did you send them?)

Jean-Paul went to Andover for four years. First they asked him to come to a summer session to get used to the U.S., so he went to summer session and then he went to Andover for four years. Then he went to Penn and then he went on to graduate school. And Sylvia went to Abbott, which is now Andover, which is the same school now, and then she went to Penn, then she was sent to England and then she went for her PhD in Chicago.

(Did you think that you would live the rest of your days in Salvador?)

Absolutely. I was prepared to do it.

Transcription by Claudette Allison, Word-for-Word.com

Soeurette Joseph Part IV: A New Life

2006-08-31T01:51:00.000-07:00

After landing in El Salvador, Soeurette was quickly introduced to her new household including her husband and brother-in-law Fred Joseph. A staff of maids, cooks, and one gardener assisted her in household duties and soon after her arrival, a new member of the family was born....

Yeah. It’s not that easy. I had a easy life, to tell the truth, because when I arrived – Fred(brother-in-law) had taken care of the household so for a few months he got – really took care of it so I was like being in a hotel. I was sitting there, everything was done, and it took me about six months to be able to talk Spanish and then it worked. Those six months helped me enormously. Andre would drop me at the Circulo Deportivo at eight o'clock in the morning, pick me up at 12:00. I go home, the table is ready, the food is ready.

(How did you learn Spanish?)

I had a teacher and it was the worst teacher you can imagine. He was so bad. I don't remember his name. They had taken him because he knew French but he was a miserable teacher. You don’t need somebody who speaks your language to learn a foreign language. It was such a mistake and he was so bad. And you learned with the time. You have to learn. I really had a rough time because we never spoke Spanish, we spoke French at home. And with the maids I didn’t have to say anything, they knew their job, they were there for so many years they didn’t need me to tell them something. It was too easy. And when you went somewhere, your grandparents the Reich's, for example, spoke German, the others spoke – other people spoke English, other people spoke French.
I had no problem.

(What kind of food did the maids make?)

Well, what we always ate, regular food. In Salvador we had very European food. You know, it was always the same things, what we were used to eat, nothing very special. We had Sunday morning frijoles and guineos fritos [fried bananas], things like this. For the rest of the time like everybody else.

(What did you think of Salvador – the people, the country?)

I liked it very much. I had no problem whatsoever. You have so many people who hated it, who were unhappy. I loved it from the first day. I was happy as can be. You know,after what we had lived through everything was paradise.

(What did you love about it?)

That I could do what I wanted. I could listen to music, I could read, I could do whatever I wanted. And I had food three times a day. When I worked I could afford one lunch and breakfast and I never had dinner because I couldn’t go out and have another meal outside and so on and so on. All of a sudden you come and everything is there and you don’t have to do anything. I didn’t have to do my own wash, I didn’t have to do cleaning. I didn’t [chuckle] – you know, it’s very easy to be lazy.

(What about your children? When did you have your first child?)

I arrived in January and he was born the year after in September.

(Jean-Paul.)

Jean-Paul. And that was so wonderful to have a child and so easy.

(Where was he born? At home or in the hospital?)

No, in the hospital, at La Merced. No, that was easy.

(What was he like as a baby?)

Oh, he was beautiful. He was so beautiful when he was born. The maid used to call him El niño de Dios [the child of G-d]. And he was so easy. It was very easy with children. And then I had Sylvia who was difficult as a baby but a wonderful little girl afterwards.

(What was she like?)

Oh, she was a doll. She was so – such a happy child, such a happy child. The only problem I had I could never take her anywhere because the little children on the streets would go and touch her, touch her hair 'cause they had never seen a red-head and all the children on the street would run and touch her and so I could never take her outside our circle. I took her once to the mercado. I was scared to death. They had never seen a
child with that coloring.

(So they were only about a year apart.)

Three years.

(Oh, they’re three years apart, sorry.)

Yeah. Jean-Paul was born September ’50 and she was born January ’53.

(Why did you name him Jean-Paul?)

That was – my sister-in-law decided. It was the name of her parents – Andre’s parents. Jean and Paul and I had to call him Jean-Paul. They didn’t give me a chance.

(Did he have a second name?)

No, Jean-Paul. Jean-Paul, that’s it. I didn’t have a chance.

(And Sylvia?)

Sylvia I decided. I wanted a name that would work anywhere in the world and that’s what I did.

Transcription by Claudette Allison, Word-for-Word.com

Soeurette Joseph Part III: To El Salvador

2006-08-30T00:23:00.000-07:00

Once France was liberated, members of the Resistance began joining the French Army; Soeurette enlisted as soon as possible. She served in occupied Germany until 1945 and then decided to go back to school. The army would only sponsor her education if she studied social work so Soeurette registered for social work school and then interned for three years. She finished her internship at the end of 1947 and started working in the Army in the north of France. As Soeurette had a contract of five years, the only way to leave the Army was to pay them back for her education or to get married.

She was married less than two years later.

(How did you meet Andre?)

I was introduced by a friend of ours who knew his aunt who was – Andre was in France on vacation and he was leaving, actually, two weeks later. And then we were introduced so he stayed a little longer and I didn’t see him. I saw him twice – once the first time and then I didn’t see him until December and in December I saw him and January we were married.

(So you didn’t know each other very long before you got married?)

No, absolutely not.

(What did your parents think of you moving to Central America?)

Nothing. Nothing special, no – everybody has to make his own life, everybody has to decide what they want to do. You know, it was not that easy for girls to get married at that time. First, there were a lot of young men who had died during the war and a lot of people who had disappeared. So it was not so easy at that time. Not that easy.

(Where did your parents move to after the war?)

My father had died in 1942 and my mother came back to the town where we lived near Strasbourg after the war and stayed there a few years and then moved to her hometown of Metz because my sister lived there.

(Which sister is that?)

The older sister lived in Metz. She was a dentist in Metz. She was married there and my mother moved to Metz and she died there.

(And your other sister, where did she go?)

She left for Israel before Israel was Israel. She left with a bunch of young people who decided to go to Palestine, landed on – somewhere on the beach.

(Before you married Andre did you – how did you feel about moving?)

I was ready to do anything, you know. We had had such a rough life that anything was better than what we had so it didn’t make a difference. Whatever we could do was welcome.

(What day were you married?)

We were married – in France. The civil marriage took place on the 6th of January 1949 at the mairie [city hall] and religiously on the 16th of January. I arrived in Salvador on the 31st of January.

(Were you married in Obernai?)

No, in Strasbourg.

(So immediately after your wedding you go to Salvador?)

Two weeks later.

(Did you go by ship?)

No, we flew. And it was very funny because I needed a visa to go through the United States and I was told it was impossible, it would take weeks. So we had already decided Andre had to go and I would come as soon as I would get my visa and that could take four weeks, two months, three months, who knows. And so we went to the American consulate with the idea to tell them that I needed to go with my husband and so on, the whole story. I had a new passport with my new name. I get into the embassy and an American girl comes down the stairs, she looks at me, says, “What are you doing here?” I knew her from the Army because I used to go to the meetings of the American/English/French. They used to take me along and I had met that girl. I got my visa in five minutes. It didn’t take more – the girl said, “I guarantee for her,” and I got my visa. Didn’t even have to fill out papers. And so we left and stopped in New York for a few days and then in New Orleans where we met Alice Liebes who stayed there and gave us Roberto and Raquel to take home to Salvador.

(Did Alice speak French?)

No. Alice spoke German and Spanish.

(So how did you communicate with her?)

Oh, I had no problem. I never had problem talking [chuckle].
I spoke – English with her or – English with her or some German, how much I knew which was poor German. But I got along. It didn’t take me long to – My problem was when I got to Salvador to know what the people talked. If they spoke German, if they spoke French, how do I know what they talked? I once met Jaime Gabay and Gabay spoke French but I didn’t remember that and I made a whole conversation in Spanish and he never said to me that he spoke French.

(So from New Orleans you took Raquel --)

And Roberto and went to Salvador. We were on the plane I think six people and one cow.

(Six people and one cow.)

And one cow. And you arrived in Salvador on the tarmac and everybody came to the plane. You remember that time? Everybody came to the plane and we got – flowers. And they had dozens of roses and now they had the most beautiful ones and everybody came to the plane.

(Who is every – who came for you?)

I don't know but a lot of people. The whole [Jewish] community.

Transcription by Claudette Allison, Word-for-Word.com

Soeurette Levy de Joseph: Part II

2006-08-29T02:04:00.000-07:00

Soeurette's work in the Resistance became more dangerous as the war progressed. Here she describes two very close calls.

…..And then I had another experience that’s so funny that I could tell you. I took an elderly man from one town and I had to take him – we had to hide him somewhere. And we had found a place in a town called Montelimar and I took him on the train to Montelimar and I told him – we don’t talk to one another. Actually, he didn’t speak French, he only spoke German.

He was a refugee of Saargebiet. And I said to him, “We don’t talk to another one. When I get up, you get up, you follow me. You follow me, you don’t know me, you don’t talk to me. You follow me until we get to a certain house. I will touch the door, I will walk away and you get in there and that’s where you are going to stay. But you don’t talk to me and you follow me.” We arrive in Montelimar, I get out of the train, he doesn’t move.

I get out, I am on the outside and I make him a sign, “Please come.” Finally he comes and he starts yelling at me in German in the train station with all the people standing there that I want him to be taken by the police, that I arranged everything for him to be arrested. What had happened was Montelimar is a place where they do nougat.

You know what nougat is?

And it says everywhere “nougat, nougat.” And he thought it was not Montelimar, it was nougat.

Finally he followed me. I had to go into the house to discuss with him what had happened and then I left and I never saw him again. I know that he survived the war and [chuckle] but that was an experience. A lot of things like this happened during the war. There were so many things happening. Then I went to, like I say, I went to Chateauroux I was arrested by the Gestapo on the 9th of August 1944. And there I was for several hours. Those were seven very long hours.

(What happened during those seven hours?)

What happened? I came out with a broken nose, missing eight teeth, burned all over, missing a nail, and very strangely after seven hours they let me go. They hadn’t gotten anything out of me. They had seen me at the train station on a certain day. Actually, the 6th of June, the day of – the D-Day. They had seen me at the station going to a place called La Chatre where there was a very big parachutage of weapons. We had gotten an incredible amount of weapons from the air. That was one of the most incredible things you could see in your life. They had big containers with weapons that came down and they had Jeeps – we got Jeeps out of the air. I was sitting the days before and before for hours listening to hear the messages when they would tell you when you – they would call you and let you know there would be something sent by the parachutage. And it was unbelievable. The parachutes coming down with material and sometimes people even that they send down. Unbelievable.

(Who sent this?)

From England they came. It was unbelievable. No. It was unreal. And they knew, they had seen me and they wanted me to say that I had been there and I wouldn’t talk. And it was – it was hard. When I left they told me that my papers were not in order, I should go to the police. And I went to the police and when I got there the man said to me, “You have to hurry. I --you have to leave as quickly as possible because the man that comes after me I don’t trust him – the policeman. You leave. Go to the hospital and ask for Sister So-and-So. She’ll take care of you.” So I went, took my bike.

When I got into the Gestapo one said to the other, “Take the bike, she won’t need it anymore.”

That tells you a little about what I thought was going to happen to me. And I got to the nun and the nun said, “I'm going to wash you up to see what I can do and I'm going to send you out. You are going to go for the night to somebody. Don’t ask questions, she won’t talk to you.” So she put me – so a carriage comes with a horse with the dirty wash from the hospital.

-- and she said, “You go under the wash and you get out of the hospital.” And the man took me with the wash to a certain place, got me out, got me into that woman’s house. I never saw the woman, I don't know where it was, I never knew the address. I come in, there was a young Jewish boy there hidden by her too. She said, “You can talk to one another and I'm going to give you to eat. She gave us to eat but we never saw her face. She didn’t want to be known. And she said, “They will come for you tomorrow and pick you up. Your bike is going to be delivered later.” Because the bike was in the hospital. They came, actually, to the hospital to look for me and the sister said, “Oh, she came but she was so afraid – she didn’t want me to touch anything in her face and she disappeared. I don't know where she is.” And from there, the next morning they took me out and they gave me my bike and the told me to leave to a certain place. I don't know how many miles, I have no idea. I should look into a map once to see how far it was. And I was told to go and see such-and-such a family, such-and-such an address, and they told me, “They won’t talk to you. You just go in and you rest and then next day they will tell you where you go.” So I took my bike, I left, and I was so sick and so tired that I put my bike down and went to sleep next to the road. What happens? A German convoy comes. I saw the German convoy, I didn’t move and they didn’t say anything. I waited until they had left – until they were far. I took my bike and went on. I arrived in that place near to Saint Benoit du Sault in the middle of France and the people opened the door for me, said, “You are going to sleep here and I am going to bring you food.” I never saw the people, they did not want to see me. But all of a sudden – and that was one of the worst things that ever happened to me – comes in the priest and he said to me that he’s.....I don't know how you call it in English when someone --

(Last rites?)

Last rites.

They found me– I looked so miserable. I was so tired that they thought it was the end and I got the last rites. You are twenty years old and they tell you you are going to die. What do you think? What goes through your head? I didn’t want to sleep, I was afraid I would die in my sleep. I didn’t know. I didn’t even tell him I was Jewish. He didn’t even ask me what I was. It was something absolutely awful because when you are twenty you don’t think you are going to die and they tell you that’s it. So the next morning I was still alive [chuckle] and they told me to go to a certain place and they would take care of me. So I left again – always on my bike ......

Transcription by Claudette Allison, Word-for-Word.com

Soeurette Levy de Joseph: Part I

2006-08-28T00:35:00.000-07:00

These excerpts were originally posted online some six months ago. In order to correct various errors, Soeurette kindly agreed to sit down with me during her vacation in San Salvador in order to perfect this newly improved version.

Soeurette Levy de Joseph was born on April 29, 1923 in Metz, in the French region of Lorraine. She spent the war years in France and later arrived in El Salvador as the wife of Andre Joseph, eventually becoming the mother of Jean-Paul and Sylvia. She has five grandchildren and now lives in New York City. Here is a piece of her incredible story.....one you will want to follow closely.

(Well, what made the family get up and move to the south of France? What was the -)

It was when the war started and the Germans passed through the Maginot Line. They went to Holland, they went to Belgium, they went to Luxembourg, and they came into France and all of a sudden they were there. So we had no other choice than to leave and
go.

(So where did you move in the south?)

First we went to Belfort which is just south of Alsace.

(And this is in 1939.)

June 1940. We left actually the day I was supposed to receive my baccalaureate--that’s graduation. That day we left and we went to Belfort. And then we left – that was too near to Alsace. The Germans were already all the way into that region so we left and went to Dijon, which is a little further down. And then my father had a sister who went to a little town near Avignon in Nyons. They rented a house and we decided to follow them. And we passed that line – there was a line in France dividing the part in France that was occupied by the Germans and the part of France that was not occupied by the Germans. So we went south and went to Nyons following the family.

(So total there were many people in this town from your family. You all --)

No, it was my aunt, her husband, her children, her daughter-in-law and baby [baby of the daughter-in-law]. We were five, six people from the family. And we settled down there and we stayed there until more or less the end of the war.

(What did your father do during this time?)

He was a rabbi.

(He continued to -)

He continued. He was supposed to come to New York as a rabbi at the congregation that is on Lexington Avenue and he decided not to do it. He didn’t want to leave his sister and leave the family and come to New York. We had our tickets. We were supposed to go to Lisbon and then to New York and never did. Which was actually a good idea because my father had cancer and died in 1942. So we would have been miserable in New York. That doesn’t make too much sense.

(So what did you do in this town near?)

In Nyons? There it was south of France. It was a completely different life from what we knew. In the south of France life is much happier than in the north of France. The weather changes the mood of the people. It was nice. We lived there for a while and
then I was contacted in school by people who were followers of DeGaulle and we started with little things, doing things you were not supposed to do. And I got a job.

(What were those things that you weren’t supposed to do.)

Stealing IDs, stealing food stamps to give to people who were in need, a lot of things that we did, little things. And then I started working for the resistance headed by General de Gaulle who was in London. And there I started doing other things, transporting papers for people who were hidden, giving them false papers. We were doing a lot of things. That was part of the resistance. And it went so far that in April ’44 I had to leave. It was too dangerous for me, I couldn’t stay there anymore. I was too known by the police and I was traveling too much and I couldn’t stay there. So I left and went to Chateauroux in the middle of France. In the meantime I had finished my baccalaureate, I had a baccalaureate in philosophy and I was out of school. For a while I was learning how to sew because I had to do something not to be on the street, it was too dangerous to be on the streets. I went on with my work for the resistance and at the same time I was making long trips with children, taking children from one place to another who had to be hidden in some places. We would take them on the train, making convoys for the Red Cross, taking children from one place to the other. That was quite a job.

(Can you tell me more about that? Were they French children, German children?)

German children whose parents very often had already been taken, who had to be hidden somewhere, that we would take and place in villages. And it was a very, very difficult job.

(Can you tell me about one of these transports that you did?)

Not especially. It was always the same. You had the children and you didn’t want them to say their names. If the German would come into the wagon not to have them and have them being happy and telling them that we are taking them for vacations. We didn’t say
we were taking the children to hide them. So we were singing and playing games and being very loud so it would look very happy. It was extremely difficult.

(Did you have any close calls?)

There were close calls all the time. There were all kind of things happening. There were always things happening. One of the funniest stories is I got to a train station in Valence and all of a sudden I see German soldiers walking down and one of them looks at me and says, “Mamsel Levy, Mamsel Levy.” And I recognized the German. He was from my little town in Alsace. As Alsace was occupied by the Germans, the young men were drafted into the German army. He recognized me. I ran so quick and disappeared, got into a train who[sic] was going I didn’t know where and left. Later on – a few years later I met him again and he said, “I was so happy to see you. Why did you run?” He didn’t figure out that if he had told the other soldiers who I was they would have arrested me immediately. I ran as quick as I could. He was not smart enough to close his eyes when he saw me. That was war.

Transcription by Claudette Allison, Word-for-Word.com

KEHILATON

2006-08-25T19:19:00.000-07:00

This week's Kehilaton entry includes a brief excerpt of Eric Bymel's interview. Translated for the Spanish readers of the newsletter, the text has been edited slightly and shortened for publishing purposes.
********************
Miembros que viven fuera y dentro de El Salvador están interesados en las historias de nuestros antepasados así como amigos, vecinos, y familiares. Esta serie de artículos sobre nuestra comunidad estará incluida en la sección “Yo También Cuento” dándonos la oportunidad de conocer más sobre la comunidad israelita. Como les he contado, mi trabajo está basado en la historia oral, o sea, los testimonios de cada uno de ustedes. Con sus historias orales, textos antiguos, y memorias escritas cada día intento entender más sobre la vida judía salvadoreña.

En Agosto 2005, viajé a Israel para entrevistar los individuos que tenían un pedazo de su historia personal basada en El Salvador. Algunos nacieron en la tierra cuzcatleca, otros vivían aquí después de pasar años traumáticos en Europa durante la segunda guerra mundial. Las historias son diversas. En los meses que vienen, quisiera compartir las historias de los miembros Salvadoreños-Israelíes con ustedes, así que mas que nunca, Israel esta en nuestras mentes y corazones.

Eric Bymel, hijo de Félix y Rita, hermano de Dian, esposo de Dassi, padre de Maayan, Ofer, y Yuval, nació en El Salvador. Se mudó a Israel en 1979 para estudiar en la universidad y no ha regresado desde ese tiempo. En estos párrafos, Eric describe como su vida en Israel ha cambiado su manera de ver el mundo y la vida diaria.

***************

Estábamos en Haifa cuando estalló lo de la Tormenta del Desierto y empezaron a impactar los misiles Scud. Allí estábamos, sentados en la habitación de Maayan. Ella era apenas una infante, tenía dos años. Esa primera noche nos pusimos las mascaras de gas, eso jamás lo olvidaré, fue absolutamente traumático. Saddam Hussein, de alguna manera siempre lo bendeciré. Debido a que teníamos que estar escondidos en esa habitación, tuvimos que montar las defensas de las ventanas para que no pudiera penetrar el gas; la habitación ya estaba aislada. Los niños estaban sumamente serios sobre lo que estaba sucediendo. Se pusieron sus máscaras de gas y nos ayudaron con Maayan y yo coloqué una toalla mojada bajo la puerta para que nada se pudiera colar por la rendija. En esos momentos no teníamos televisión y las redes telefónicas colapsaron porque todo mundo estaba haciendo llamadas telefónicas. De verdad que era aterrador. Mirando hacia atrás me dije “mi Dios, pudimos haber muerto”. Uno de los misiles Scud cayó cerca de donde vivíamos, cayó en uno de los centros comerciales. Yo pienso que esto me hizo cambiar mi forma de ver las cosas y me guía todo el tiempo. De repente podemos dejar de disfrutar porque somos demasiados severos y esperamos demasiado de nuestros hijos y no los dejamos estar. Entonces los dejamos estar. Yo creo que eso les ha gustado. Los he escuchado; a veces se tiene que leer entre líneas, sin embargo ellos aprecian mucho el hecho de que los hemos aceptados como son, y que los hemos dejado desarrollarse como ellos quieran.

Maayan ya tiene dieciséis años. El año pasado durante sus estudios de secundaria, como asignatura principal estudiaba matemáticas y computación y a mediados de año me dijo, “esto no es para mi”. Además estaba estudiando árabe. Ella es una estudiante muy seria y muy buena, pero me repitió que quería estudiar otra cosa. A esto le pregunté “¿y que quieres hacer?”. Quería estudiar arte y drama y ya estaba aburrida de estudiar árabe. Y nuestra conversación siguió, cuando le pregunté, “¿Bien, y ya hablaste con tus maestros acerca de esto?”.

Lo hizo y cambió todas sus materias principales; dejó árabe, la computación, todo. A ella no le pasaba que habíamos sido tan flexibles. Ella pensó que nos íbamos a oponer a todo y que le íbamos a decir que las matemáticas eran más importantes que el arte. Y me dije a mi misma, “Saddam Hussein.” Sabes? “Recuerdas el misil Scud, recuerdas la situación adonde de repente toda la familia pudo haber sido eliminada? Claro que ha sucedido”. Y bueno, lo que quiero decir es que tantos miembros de mi familia murieron debido a Hitler. Se tiene que aprender de eso. Se tiene que dejar ir a los hijos, hay que disfrutarlos, y dejarlos…… desarrollarse por sí solos. Esta fue una revelación. Esa experiencia me persigue pero a la vez, me guía.

Traducida por Leonor “Lori” Schoening

Trascripción por Sandy Adler, Sandy Adler Enterprises LLC

Editada por Jessica Alpert con el permiso de Eric Bymel

Spatial Relations

2006-08-24T19:15:00.000-07:00

This article, originally published on Nextbook.org, explores a young woman/mother's experience during the recent violence in Israel. Jessica Apple, a fiction writer currently living in Tel Aviv was born and raised in my own hometown of Houston. In this piece she describes the difference between her own childhood and that of her two sons.
**********************
Spatial Relations

How a childhood in Tel Aviv differs from one in Houston

by Jessica Apple

My best friend, Rachel, is a top-notch endocrinologist at Hadassah hospital in Jerusalem. At her encouragement, in the midst of the war between Israel and Hezbollah, I went to see a trauma healer. The healer, Itai, works through talk, flower essences, and massage. His Tel Aviv office is fully booked, and he gave me an appointment only because he knows and likes Rachel. "I can tell how stressed you are," Rachel said. "Itai will be great for you. He has a gift. He knows things about you that you don't even know yourself."

When Rachel first told me about the healer, I laughed him off. And I still wasn't quite sure why I'd decided to see him now. But I had two good clues: I was barely sleeping at night and I had no appetite. Maybe seeing a healer was a way of admitting to myself that since the war broke out and my husband went to reserve duty, leaving me alone with our two young sons, life had become difficult.

I'd received many wonderful offers from family and friends in America to come spend time with them, but as tempting as a quiet American suburb was when compared to the threat of Hezbollah missiles, I didn't budge. Ten years ago, after graduating from college, I made Israel my home. Though I now felt far from calm here, this was the place I wanted to be, and I couldn't bring myself to leave. My biggest step since the war began was crossing Tel Aviv to see the healer.

At first, I was disappointed. Itai, a small, barefoot man with peach-colored hair, seemed nothing but irritated at me. "Your husband went to the army. You're alone with your kids. These are not reasons to come to me," he said. "This is not trauma."

"Wait. Listen," I said. "That's just part of it. I have had real trauma."

But then I got angry. The war was traumatic. And I was tired of hearing Israelis say, "there's nothing to do about it. In war, there are deaths." I had heard this stoic acceptance from the cashier in the supermarket, from the pharmacist, from my son's camp counselor, and even from my husband. I couldn't swallow it, or go along with the masses who called the war "just" and tolerated its consequences. I would willingly admit to being a kvetch, but I wasn't whining. I just couldn't stop myself from saying this time was difficult, scary, and most of all sad. Every hour I listened to the news on the radio and heard about the dead, the injured, the exploded missiles, the ones in flight. And I feared those still to come.

In the early days of the war, an electrician came to my apartment to fix a broken socket in the kitchen. When I mentioned I was afraid of being home alone with my sons during wartime, he said, "What's the problem? If you hear a siren, stand in the middle of the building, away from the windows." He said it as if he were saying "if you're thirsty, drink some water." And the electrician, like most of the people around me, wasn't really worried about missiles falling on Tel Aviv. Itai, too, was among this majority. "Hezbollah won't send missiles to Tel Aviv," he said. "This is not something to worry about. Now tell me why you are here."

My list of problems and anxieties was long. I decided to start with what I considered the general problem. "I have an imagination of disaster," I said. "I always jump to the worst conclusions."

"Why?" Itai asked.

"I'm sure it has something to do with my mom. She got sick when I was five, really sick."

"Did she get better?"

"No."

Finally, I had said something Itai considered traumatic. "Just a minute," he said. He turned to his computer and looked something up. "Five years old," he said. "Five is the year when children become shy. You must know this. You are the mother of a five-year-old."

My five-year-old, Tom, was anything but shy right now. Since my husband left for the army, Tom had been having tantrums, daily. At his summer camp, where a number of children from the north had come to escape the long days in bomb shelters, I saw boys throwing beach balls at each other and shouting "Katyusha," a sight that made me think of my own childhood in Houston, where rockets were things we went to visit on school field trips to NASA. Tom could find Texas in his atlas, and at bedtime he liked to hear stories about my childhood. He knew all about my dog, George, who liked to swim in the bayou. He knew that my brother and I had a clubhouse in the backyard where no grown-ups were allowed. The stories I told Tom were nothing like the tales he was bringing home from summer camp.

Many of Tom's stories, like the ones about Katyusha rockets falling in Eilat, and the war we were fighting with Egypt, were false. But the scariest stories, the ones about civilians getting killed in their homes on both sides of the border and the ones about Israeli soldiers dying, were true.

And Tom had seen his father put on a soldier's uniform. I explained to him that Daddy was not going to Lebanon. He was being deployed in the West Bank which I called, with great irony, a safe place. I knew Tom couldn't make sense of the geography. He was afraid, like any five-year-old whose father, out of the blue, put on an army uniform and disappeared, would be. And his fear was evident in his behavior. More than ever, he picked fights with his three-year-old brother, Guy. When Guy was playing, Tom took his toys. When Guy sat quietly watching TV, Tom put his feet on Guy's head. One day when this happened, Guy leaped out of his bean bag. His eyes gleamed with revenge. He leaned over and bit Tom on the forearm. The parallels I drew between my sons' fighting and Nasrallah and Olmert astounded me.

"He bit me," Tom cried. "He started."

"I didn't start," Guy screamed. "He started."

I entered in my role as the UN. I strongly condemned both of their actions and told them, as I would have liked to tell Nasrallah and Olmert, "I don't care who started. I want both of you to stop it, right now." I told Tom to go to his bed and stay there. I told Guy to go to his bed and stay there. "If you can't be nice, just stay away from each other," I said.

***************
To read the rest of this essay, copy and paste the following link into your web browser:

http://www.nextbook.org/cultural/feature.html?id=403

Eric Bymel: A Conclusion of Sorts

2006-08-23T06:32:00.000-07:00

In this final excerpt, Eric discusses identity while also describing memories of his childhood in El Salvador.
***********************
(So today, do you identify as Israeli?)

(pause) I would say yes. But I don’t know. People always tell me, you know, “You’re not Israeli.” They look at me: “Oh, you’re not Israeli. You’re something else.” I don’t know what it actually means. I’m against the compartmentalization of people, putting them in little boxes and saying, “You are this and you are that.” I always ask, “What is Israeli? I don’t know. There’s so many different people here, so many types.”

So I have a citizenship that’s Israeli. I’m also Salvadoran, although for many, many years I didn’t have the citizenship. I had this laissez-passer, you know, this special document that I could travel with. It’s awful. I always had to show this at passport control, and they always looked at it like, “What is this?” It’s the weirdest thing, very unpleasant. So now I’m Israeli. But I don’t give it much importance. When people ask me, I talk about it, but I don’t give it too much weight. As also with my Judaism, the same thing. It’s part of me. I know I’m Israeli, and I supposed if somebody would attack my Israeli side, I would take defense. But I don’t make a big deal out of it. I’m not afraid of criticism. I’m not afraid of anti-Semitism. I suppose I would be afraid if it would threaten me physically, but if somebody said something against Israelis or Jews, I’ll just deal with it. As I deal with anything else, you know.

I always want people to live and let live, somehow, to do their thing and let me do my thing and not step on me. I won’t bother them, just don’t put your expectations on me. I think that’s something that bothered me a lot as I grew up, expectations: you must do that, you must go to the synagogue, don’t forget this one, don’t forget to call up that one, bless that one, and so on. I try to keep a low dosage of that in my kids. I don’t know if I’m entirely successful, but it always comes back to, don’t expect too much.

(Your sister lives nearby. I know you’re close, but is it nice to have someone else here in Israel who understands your background?)

Not very, not very important. I mean, with my sister, we talk almost daily. It’s not a big deal in my life to meet with all these people and bring up memories. It’s not a simple thing because memory is a very tricky thing. Like I said, even my memory, you asked me what my first memory is, and I immediately followed with pictures that become your memory.

(Do you have a desire to take Dassi and your kids to Salvador?)

Oh, very much. It would be fun. I would love to walk up to that house where I grew up and see what it looks like. It’s so embedded in my memory. Or go to the school, or show them around; I would love very much to come unexpectedly.

But it’s like it’s not part of me any more. And it used to be so important, this whole thing, the youth movement that I was the head of. I was so busy with that. We did so many activities as kids. It’s like a capsule. Somewhere lying there in my past, almost not part of me. I don’t know how to explain that. Like, we barely talk about it now, and it was very, very important. I was head of that movement for maybe three or four years. I was busy all week long with that.

(What kinds of things did you do?)

Celebrated the holidays, of course, and prepare activities, like Boy Scouts, you know, camps and outing, games. I always think—I don’t know how I dealt with all that. I had school, I had Hebrew, German, I was in drama, I had plays all the time at school, preparing stuff, learning lines, productions. And Noar Shelanu. That was a big deal.

(Is there anyone that you don’t talk to any more that you’d like to talk to? Not even become friends with again, but just have one conversation with again? Any friends?)

Oh, lots, lots. Lots of people from school. Non-Jews. Sure.

(Just an update?)

Yeah, I suppose, an update, looking back on certain things, mend a few things, erase a few things….

(Is there anything that I didn’t ask that you’d like to add?)

What is your purpose? That’s what I ask myself.

(I’m very interested in memory, in identity, in migration. I’m never looking for any one statement or—just interested in how people remember their lives, especially people who don’t live in Salvador any more. These have been very interesting for me. Most people, especially Israelis or people who live in Israel, have really moved forward and embraced this new place. People like Judith [Meissner], who really feel Israeli, it was very important for her to speak Hebrew without an accent, to be fully Israeli. She’s very proud of her children, who are now extremely involved and successful in the army.

Then you have someone like Noemi, who loves Israel, feels like it’s her home, but felt very strongly that she was raised in Latin America and it’s a part of her and she won’t hide it. She has friends from Latin American who live in Israel and that’s enjoyable for her. But she said, “I never felt like I was from anywhere. I always felt like, yes, I lived in Salvador, but I wasn’t really Salvadoran. I came to Israel and I’m not really Israeli. So I wanted my children to have what I didn’t have. I want them to have a language and a home, and they do.” So that was more in the end what she wanted to get across. This is all very interesting, what people decide.)

I speak with my kids in English.

(You do?)

I do. Since they were born. Spanish is very, very mild. They know almost nothing. English is their second tongue, or first, sometimes. I don’t know. Noemi I think speaks to her children in Hebrew.

(In Hebrew.)

And my kids are so thankful that I spoke to them in English. For them it’s a great thing, it’s an asset. And they don’t care. When Yuval was growing up, I remember I used to speak to him in English, and when his friends would come over, I would turn to Hebrew so they would understand. He would always tell me, “No, no, stay in English, please.” But he would refuse to answer in English. He spoke to me for years in Hebrew when I would speak to him in English. And only when he was five or six, then it started coming out, the English.

(Do your kids ever want to go to the States?)

Oh, yes, they have been, of course.

(But do you think they ever would leave Israel and live somewhere else?)

Yes. Ofer would. He wants very much to be in the music scene in New York. Oh, yes, he would do that. Yuval also. Yuval, he’s studying electrical engineering. But one of his fascinations is television. He’s been writing a script with his friends for a television series or something. He’s very secretive about it. We know almost nothing about it. So his friend is now in LA studying movie directing, I don’t know what, and he wants very much to join him. So that could be a possibility. I don’t mind doing it again.
…..Migration goes on.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Eric Bymel continued

2006-08-22T06:39:00.000-07:00

In this excerpt, Eric discusses his son's decision not to participate in the IDF (Israeli Defense Forces) and the family's struggle both before and after.
*************************
(So that [experiences during the Gulf War] probably also guided you when your son decided not to go to the army?)

Yes. Yes, exactly. Ofer came up and said, “I don’t want to go to the army. I don’t want any part of that.” “OK,” I said, “what are you gonna do?”

“I’ll deal with it,” he said, “you let me. I might need your help,” he said. “Maybe not.”

And he didn’t.

He didn’t need our help. He went to a doctor, he went to the army, he did what he wanted. He filled us in once in a while on what’s going on. And I said to him, “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? What about your friends? What do they say?”

“Some of them are against it, some of them are for it,” he said.

It was very mature and open-- not telling him what to do. I mean, I said to him, “Listen, I wouldn’t do that. I would go to the army. Because we’re here, and everybody does it, and it’s important. But I respect your decision.”

Yuval [eldest son] was adamant. He was furious. And they had all-out discussions about this. But I suppose because of the way we dealt with it, in the end, it was sort of like flexibility won at the end. Although, like I said, I think that Yuval is still resentful. He still thinks that we should have forced him to go. But I said to him once, “We didn’t force you to go, either. You did what you wanted.” I reminded him that I told him, “‘Why don’t you defer it as a student, maybe you should study first and then go to the army?’ And you didn’t want to. You chose what you want. He does as well. And Maayan will do the same,” I said to him.

(So what did he [Ofer] do instead of the army?)

Nothing. They let him go. They were fed up with him because he didn’t cooperate. He didn’t cooperate with the interviews and the testing, he didn’t come on time. All the preliminary things that they do. So in the end he got a letter that said, “We don’t want your services,” or something like this. And that was it. He couldn’t believe that he was so successful, that he had got out of it without trouble. Because they could have sent him to jail, and he knew that he could go to jail. Unbelievable how it worked out. So he went to study, and that’s what he’s doing. He’s studying at Jerusalem in the Academy. He’s a musician, a very good one, in fact, and he loves it. He loves his music. He drums and he plays the piano and he has groups. Heavy metal, rock, classical music. He plays classical music on the piano, and jazz. That’s his life. Music is his life.

(Does he ever talk about what’s going on? Is he very political? He’s apolitical? Is that why he didn’t want to be in the army?)

They are involved, more or less. But not too involved. I mean, I always invite them, “Come and listen to the news.” The news is very important, for me anyway, I always want to be up-to-date somehow. I always offer it to them. “Come and listen if you want.” Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t. So they’re sort of involved but not too involved. And neither are we…..neither are we. I miss that somehow. I think I should be a little more involved. But I don’t know how to go about it often. Life is too hectic, too busy. (pause)

I definitely do not trust the political parties, so I don’t belong to any of them, even though I identify more with the left. But I also don’t know which group I would belong to since all these movements that spring up. I don’t know how corrupt they are; I cannot always take at face value what they say. So I keep a distance…..

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Back...but in Bloomington

2006-08-21T17:59:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
Apologies for the lapse in entries. The past few weeks have been absolutely crazy with moving, boxes, and more boxes. Last night, I unpacked my the last one and am happy to say that I am finally settled into my new little apartment in the heart of Bloomington, Indiana. A week from today, I start grad work in Latin American history here at Indiana University and hope to be able to finish my doctorate within the next six years. !!! At the same time, I am thrilled to continue this work and will have some exciting announcements to make in the upcoming weeks regarding the project in the press.

Back to Eric Bymel tomorrow.

You can't prevent death but you can prevent yourself from living....

2006-08-02T07:54:00.000-07:00

In this third excerpt, Eric Bymel discusses life in Israel.
***********************
I think who helped me out was Saddam Hussein.

When Desert Storm hit, we were here in Haifa, and the Scud missiles hit. There we were, sitting in Maayan’s room. She was a baby then, she was three or four. We were with gas masks that first night. I’ll never forget that. It was absolutely traumatic. Saddam Hussein, I always bless him, in a way. Because this situation of sitting in that room, we had to quickly set up all the windows so that no gas would come in. It was insulated. The kids were very, very serious, grave, about what’s going on. They put on their gas masks and they helped us with Maayan and I put a wet towel under the door so nothing will come in. We didn’t know what was going on. We didn’t have a TV at that moment, and all the phones broke down because everybody was calling. So it was absolutely scary. And so looking back on it, I said, “My God, we could have died.” Because a Scud missile hit not far from us, one of the shopping centers. So I think that made me change my whole way of looking at certain things. And it guides me all the time, you know. We can suddenly go and miss out on so many things because of being stern or being rigid or expecting things from your kids and not letting them be. So we let them be. I think they appreciate that. I’ve heard them, you have to somehow read between the lines in whatever is said, but there’s a lot of appreciation there about us accepting them how they are, letting them be and letting them develop whichever way they want to go.

Maayan is now sixteen. Last year, she was studying—majoring in high school——in math and computers, and in the middle of the year she said, “This is not for me.” Oh, and she was studying Arabic. Very serious and very good student, and she said, “This is not for me. I don’t like this. I want to do something else.” So I said, “What do you want to do?” She said, “I want to study art and drama. I’m fed up with Arabic. I don’t want to do this any more.” I said, “OK. Have you spoken to your teachers about it?” She said, “I’ll speak to them. I’ll do something about it.” So she did. She went and changed her whole thing, left math, left computers, the whole thing. And she couldn’t get over the fact that we had been so flexible. She thought she would come against a brick wall and we would say, “No way! You stay with what you’re doing! God forbid! Math is more important than art.” Or I don’t know what we could have said. And we could have said that. And I said to myself, “Saddam Hussein.” You know? “Remember that Scud missile. Remember the situation where suddenly your whole family can be wiped out.” Of course it’s happened. I mean, I lost so many of my family because of Hitler. So you have to somehow learn from that. You can’t prevent death, but you can prevent yourself from not living. You have to let them go, enjoy them, let them (pause) develop. It was a revelation. It haunts me and guides me at the same time….that experience.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Eric Bymel: Two Sons, Two Decisions

2006-08-01T05:48:00.000-07:00

In this excerpt, Eric discusses his (surprise!) traditional Yemenite wedding to Dassi as well as feelings regarding his children's participation in the Israeli army.
***************
(What did your wife’s parents think of you?)

They liked me very much immediately. I liked them also, and it was very comfortable. I liked the food. When you like the food, it’s very easy then, because you don’t make faces. Not only do you not make faces, you want more. So it was great. I think that helps a lot because it’s part of the culture. They are in general very liberal. Even though they’re religious, they don’t force their religion. We had our clashes about different things. But in general it was very easy-going, free. They keep Saturday, they keep Shabbat. We don’t. We mix milk and meat [referring to kosher dietary laws]. They don’t. And so on. But they don’t force it on us. We don’t force it on them, either.

(What about your wedding?)

Our wedding was very special. Unfortunately, my parents couldn’t come, because they had just escaped from El Salvador. They were setting up camp in Miami, so when we got married they were barely there. So they said to me, “Well, either we somehow make it, or we’ll pay you for your honeymoon and you come to the States.” That sounded attractive, so we decided we’d take that offer. So it was special because we prepared the wedding ourselves without all the traditional wedding things. We rented a little restaurant for the evening and we brought the plants ourselves from our garden to decorate it. I wore jeans and sandals and a shirt and Dassi bought a white dress that she found at the flea market and she fixed her hair alone and put flowers on it from the garden. So it was very simple.

We didn’t want to make a big deal. What was even more special was that Dassi decided she wanted to have a traditional Yemenite wedding, but she didn’t tell me about it. Have you seen pictures of Yemenite brides? They wear huge amounts of jewelry from top to bottom. She didn’t know how to go about it, but she wanted to surprise me. So she decided to learn Yemenite dances and songs and joined a troupe. She said to them, “I’ll join you on condition that you come to my wedding and dance.” So she joins them and they help her out. I didn’t know of this. This went on for months, this plan. Then the rabbi who married us, his wife had this traditional Yemenite bride jewelry and all that. So she said, “OK, these are the jewels. Please could you dress me up as a Yemenite bride?” “Sure, I’ll do that.” So all this, of course, clandestinely. Nothing was told. I had no idea, no inkling of what was going on.

So we had the traditional wedding with chuppah and breaking the glass and all that, and then she said to me, “Listen, I have something important to do. I’ll come back in a second.” So she left as we finished the ceremony, she left to the side, and got dressed up as a Yemenite bride, and all the dancers came out in their dress, dancing, and the men also danced in front of me, took me—we have this on film. So it’s special. It was amazing. It was a complete surprise. For all the guests, too. For her family, too.

(What did the family say? They must have been thrilled.)

They were thrilled. They were awed. You can ask Perla [Meissner] about that. She was there. It was amazing. Completely amazing. Of course, surprising, but fascinating. The dances, the songs, the whole thing. I didn’t want it to finish. They did maybe four or five songs, that was it. That was their show. It was great.

This was in 1980. So after that, we—the whole wedding was completely unconventional, the way we were dressed, how we behaved. Good friends of ours got married on the same day, so we finished the wedding, everybody finished eating and left, and so we went to their wedding after that. The whole way we dealt with it was completely different.

And a few days later we left for the States.

(And did you take a tour, or you just went to Florida?)

No, we took a tour. We went to Florida. We went to Chicago, where my sister was living. We went to California. We went to New York. It was fun.

(Was that Dassi’s first time in the States?)

Yeah.

(Was she born in Israel?)

She was born in Israel. She was born in ’52.

(Did they speak Arabic?)

They speak Arabic, but at home they spoke Hebrew.

(Does she understand? Does she speak Arabic?)

Very little. She’s sorry about that. But at the time, there was a lot of pressure on people to speak in Hebrew. And I think they were embarrassed. The children, they didn’t want them to be considered Arabs. If they spoke Arabic or Yemenite, it was looked down upon. So that was a taboo.

(During college, did you go back to Salvador a few times to visit?)

Yeah, a few times.

(How were those visits?)

Not easy. Not easy. I was sort of disconnected already. I felt uncomfortable. I didn’t know what——like a time machine, you know, just meet certain people, see certain things, not too much of it, though, because I had mixed memories, mixed feelings about the school and about the people I knew then, although I know that I missed a few class reunions. I was warned that next time I have to come.

(When’s the last time you were there?)

I left the morning that Ernesto Liebes was buried. A few hours later I left, and since then I haven’t been back, so it’s twenty-five years, more or less.

(And you left on quite a sour note?)

Yeah.

(What about your children? You were married in 1980.)

Yuval was born in 1981, Ofer in ’84, and Maayan is sixteen.

(And the oldest one has already finished with the army?)

Finished with the army and he’s already starting his third year at university.

(So one son has gone through the army. How does that make you feel? I mean, part of living in Israel is—having your children, both boys and girls, join the army. Is it a difficult part of being Israeli?)

Yeah. I accept it. It’s a part of me. I (pause) I used to consider myself a pacifist. But I think looking back, it wasn’t necessarily so. I just thought that the army would be a horrible experience and you should get out of it somehow. But once I was summoned and I went, I didn’t have to deal with army—I didn’t have to kill anybody, I didn’t have to oppress anybody, you know. So luckily, I didn’t deal with it, really. But I learned to manage a rifle and so on. So there was no pacifist there. But Yuval very much wanted to go to the army. I said to him, “Why don’t you defer it? You can study and then go to the army.” He said, “No way. I’m going to the army, where they tell me to go. I want to go into the army, I want to go into attack. I want to do what I’m supposed to do.” He was very convinced.

(What did he end up doing in the army?)

He was a tanker—a tanker, it’s called? He was in a tank. He dealt with it. But he didn’t want to be an officer. They offered him to do an officer’s course and stay in the army for another year. He said, “No, I’ll do what I have to do and finish. I’ll go study. I don’t want to stay longer.” Ofer, on the other hand, refused. He said, “I am not going to the army. I’m not taking part in this. I don’t believe in this. It’s wrong.” He had all these arguments, and it was a very tense time at home. Because the difference between them is two and a half years. So one was in the army and the other one was playing around, saying, “I’m not going.” It was a very difficult time, a lot of tension, a lot of anger and resentment. Yuval, I think up to now… he still hasn’t gotten over it. He resents the fact that we did not force Ofer to go to the army. So we had a lot of arguments, a lot of dinner time was dedicated to that. Our dinners are Friday-night dinners, you know. That’s when we have a lot of time to be together and we talk and——usually have a lot of fun. It’s very easy-going. I remember Ofer once brought a girlfriend from Germany. She had dinner with us Friday. We talked about this and that. It was very nice. And after dinner, she said to him, “I’ve never had a dinner like that. At dinner we always fight. There’s always tension. It’s always, eat this, don’t eat that, don’t forget this, do that. And your parents are completely different.” We didn’t think of it. For us it’s natural. We just talk about whatever comes up, have fun, make jokes. They have a lot of fun making fun of us, the kids, you know, our different mannerisms, what we emphasize, how we cook, how we prepare it, “This came out horrible.” They don’t pretend. Whatever they think, they say. So it’s very good. When I look back on my childhood, you know, it was very different. We had to behave. We had to listen. We didn’t talk unless we were told to talk, things like that. It was very strict. We are completely not strict. We are lenient, maybe too lenient sometimes, but I say, what the hell? We die anyway, so we might as well enjoy ourselves somehow, if we can, and make the best of it. I think that’s one of my basic philosophies now.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Eric Bymel: An Introduction

2006-07-31T09:16:00.000-07:00

Eric, born to Rita and Felix Bymel and the younger brother of Dian, was raised in El Salvador. Now living in Haifa, Israel, he is also husband to Dassi and father to Maayan, Ofer, and Yuval. In this excerpt, Eric describes the transition from life in El Salvador to Israel.
******************
(So by the time you were seventeen, you had Hebrew, German, Spanish, and English?)

When I came to Israel, I came before university started and I went to Ulpan. It was like a deluge, all these memories of Hebrew just washed came awash in my mind. It was fantastic. I knew the language! And I wasn’t a good student. Perla said I didn’t do my homework and all that. But it was all there, sitting there. So Ulpan was like a breeze, just fantastic. Everything came out. I could read the signs. I could talk to people. I could understand. I could watch television, within a couple of weeks. It was great! The same thing when I went to Germany. I was in Germany for half a year. I worked in a restaurant on the highway. So everything was there, available. It was great. Great.

(How was being in Germany? How old were you?)

I was twenty-four, sort of in between degrees. I took a year off and traveled a while. It was a lot of fun. I was always worried about who’s a Nazi and who’s not, who’s an ex-Nazi. I had awkward moments, when, (I worked with a whole staff of people at this restaurant), with some of them who were pretty old, maybe between fifty and sixty at the time. I remember one woman said to me, “Aren’t you going to pray?” I don’t remember, it was some holiday coming up. “No, I’m not Christian.” “What are you?” “I’m Jewish.” “Oh!” she said. She jumped, you know. I always—it was a very embarrassing moment in the way she jumped, probably because she thought, “Oh, it’s lucky I didn’t say anything anti-Semitic.” It seemed like that, because she immediately closed her mouth and then she said, “Oh, we helped a lot of Jews in World War II.” And it seemed false, that she was just covering up something. But since I was not the boss and I didn’t want to have any trouble there, any conflict, I just let it go.

(But it’s interesting you didn’t stop yourself from saying, “I’m Jewish.” That was a natural response for you.)

Oh, yes. I said to myself, “Whenever it comes up, I’m going to deal with it. I don’t care.”

(Were you ever resentful of the fact that you were Jewish? Like, “Oh, this is such a difficult identity to deal with in the world?”)

No. I remember at one point in my teenage-hood, I said to myself, “This is part of my personality, my being Jewish. And I don’t have to deal with it. I don’t have to show it off. I don’t have to go to synagogue and I don’t have to pray and I don’t have to wear a kippah and I don’t have to do all these external things—
to prove that I’m Jewish. It’s just part of me and that’s it. I’m not going to deal with it.” Maybe it was a way of rationalizing my behavior, but I didn’t want to do all these things that are done, like pray and go to synagogue and keep all these rules. I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t identify with that. So that was my way of dealing with it. I don’t want to (pause) be told what to do, and I’m not going to give it away, either. I’m not going to say I’m not Jewish. I just am, and that’s it. Next. That’s how I dealt with it. And when I came to Israel, I was—it suddenly hit me of course that so many people here are Jewish, you know. That is when I said to myself, “That’s it. I don’t have to do all these external things to deal with my Judaism. I just am. That’s it. Next.”

(You were seventeen when you finished high school? And you came directly to Israel?)

Almost directly. About a month later.

(You didn’t want to go to the States?)

I was accepted in the States, in fact. I was accepted in U of Penn. My parents wanted me very much to go. “Oh,” they said, “Ivy League, go there, it’s the best! Go!” And of course the more they said they want me to go, the more I didn’t want to go. And they didn’t get it, of course. The more they didn’t want me to come to Israel, the more I wanted to come to Israel. It was a way to spite them, but yes—although looking back, it’s too bad. Maybe I should have gone, missed out on something. But I wanted very much to come to Israel.

(Had you visited before?)

No, just heard a lot, read a lot.

(You were ready to taste it. So you came here when you were seventeen, and you did the Ulpan for—?)

A couple of months.

(And then—?)

And then started studying biology at the Hebrew University.

(In Jerusalem?)

In Jerusalem.

(And you were studying for how long there?)

I was there for—I studied for about eight years. I did a degree in biology and then another degree in psychology and then a second degree in psychology.

(Wow. So—eight years.)

More or less.

(Did they ever say, “Oh, you have to go to the army?” Did they ever summon you?)

Not at that point, because I was always a potential immigrant. First I was a student, then a potential—I was never a real resident. When I finally became a resident, yes, I got summoned.

(And you—?)

I went. I went for—it was a short while, because I was then already married with kids, so I was there for four months, maybe. Basic training and another short time, a period of service.

(But you stay active for a certain amount of time? You can always be called, right?)

Yes.

(So where did you meet your wife?)

At the university. I met her at one of the cafeterias. That was in ’72 or ’73. It’s not clear in my mind. We always have arguments about that, because she said that she—I was with a mutual friend, and she said to him, “Oh, introduce me!” And he said to her, “You don’t have a chance. He has a girlfriend.” “Introduce me anyway!” So finally he did. And then she came to look for me at the dorms. She came to knock at my door. She doesn’t remember that. She always says, “It’s not true. I didn’t come look for you. I didn’t.” And I always remember that. I have this memory of her coming and this disagreement about that.

(Fight.)

(So you met there and you were dating someone else, though, at the time?)

Yes. She always saw me as a kid. She was going out with older guys, and “He’s just a kid,” you know. It was ’72 or ’73. I was eighteen, nineteen, maybe. She’s older than me. She was then twenty-one, twenty-two, so of course she saw me as a kid. So we only got together much later, a few years later when our paths crossed again. There was a click. She somehow rediscovered me, in a way. She always says that she was too busy talking about herself and suddenly she asked me some questions and discovered me.

(And what is her story? She was born in Israel?)

She was born in Israel. Her parents are Yemenite. They’re from Yemen.

(So that’s very different from your childhood.)

Oh, yeah.

(Did that cause any—not conflict, but I’m sure it made your lives interesting. How was that?)

It wasn’t an issue when we met. It came up somehow. For me, it didn’t play much of a role. I think I was trying to be—like, I always tried to break with conventions, so I also thought, “What does it matter, the background? It’s important who you are and what you do and what you are, not where your parents came from.”

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Ricardo Rosenberg: On Becoming American

2006-07-28T09:47:00.000-07:00

In this final installment, Ricardo remembers, amongst other events, the day he became an American citizen----and why.
**********************
(After you’re married, you’re working for the IMF. You’re living here in Washington. How long do you stay in Washington?)

We stayed a little over two years. We were young and reckless in those days, so when our daughter Carin was born in July, we were already scheduled to go to Bolivia as soon as we could get ourselves together. We went to Bolivia in September of 1975, just about—I guess almost three years after arriving in Washington, but two and a half years after we got married. Carin was nine weeks old.

(You lived in La Paz?)

It was an adventure. It was going back in time a little bit. I sort of imagined that being in La Paz in 1975 was very similar to being in El Salvador forty or fifty years earlier, because things were a lot more primitive. You had to boil the water. There was no bottled water. Electricity went on and off. Water supply went on and off. I think electricity was not great. There were zero, none, supermarkets. We had one maid, and she went to the market once a week and she brought home a side of beef and somehow she was able to do the butcher work herself, to break up the side of beef into the different cuts of meat that would end up on the table. Everything was fresh. I mean, it was just like going back in time in every which way.

(Did you enjoy that change?)

Oh, I mean, I think we both were glad, both Nancy and I were glad, that if we were gonna go somewhere, that we would go to somewhere interesting, rather than going to another big city with a lot of traffic and not much to see. Bolivia had so much to see, in the area as well, in terms of the culture, and the surroundings were incredible. Nancy accused me of taking far too many pictures of the mountains. Being in the Andes was just incredible, the altitude, the sites around there, it was just remarkable. What a place!

(I actually have studied a little bit about the Jewish community in Bolivia. Did you contact them?)

Well, we were in touch—we had some contact with a few of them, and we had the impression that they also were like the community must have been in El Salvador forty years before. People dressed like the pictures that you might have in your mind about the way the Jews dressed when they were in the ‘30s and the ‘40s in Europe. We went to temple once or twice and it was sort of Orthodox, too. That’s about the only contact we had.

(Did you see a lot of similarities between the community in Bolivia and Salvador?)

I’m not sure. One thing that was different was that the handful that we met then, we got the impression that when the kids were born, the first language the kids learned was Yiddish, then German, and then Spanish. And I don’t think that was ever the case in Salvador. In Salvador, there was a lot of multilingual households. But Spanish was not relegated to a low place as it was in Bolivia at the time. And just as a sidelight, one of the interesting things that happened in Bolivia was that the there was an important Nazi there at the time, Barbie was his name, and it was an open secret. I mean, the government knew he was there. Everybody knew he was there. To the point that one of our Bolivian friends said that he was walking down the street with somebody from the US and he happened to see Barbie, and he said, “Hey, look, there’s Barbie.” And he got a phone call about two or three days later not ever to do that again, by probably Barbie’s henchmen. So that was Bolivia in the mid-‘70s.

But it was a fun time, and I was lucky. The IMF representative there had a lot of prestige, and it was almost an ambassadorial position. I was only twenty-nine when I went there. And because of the position of the IMF—not because of me—the IMF had all the key economic data that nobody else had because the country was not stable enough to have developed that kind of thing. So I met with the ambassadors a lot, because they were interested in hearing what we had to say, and routinely met with the attachés from the US, Germany, France, England and all the other countries that had economic interests there. About twice a year I had a one-on-one session with the President of Bolivia, and no other foreigner would have that. So it was a fun and challenging time in that sense, and also with none of the downside. Because luckily, we had just gotten the first oil crisis and Bolivia had a lot of oil and gas, so there was no need for IMF credit. I had a pretty easy time for that reason. Of course, there was hell to pay later on, because their policies were so poor that two or three years after I left they were in dismal shape.

Well, we did have contact with from Jews in Cochabamba and I think that we were a little surprised by the customs. I think they were Sephardic. When we arrived there, there were Egyptian Jews who had left in the ‘30s who had gone to Japan and to their good fortune, they had done some business with some Bolivians who didn’t pay. So they came to Bolivia to try to collect on their debts and that way avoided being in Japan during the war. They had a custom we had never seen before. When we got there for—I think we went for Rosh Hashanah—when they cut the challah, they threw the pieces of bread to everybody around the table, and our understanding was that that was a custom because you hand bread to a beggar, but to others, this is the way it’s distributed. Somehow, that stayed with me. So that was the other contact with the Jewish community down there.

(Your daughter Carin was born in 1975, July 12th?)

Exactly.

(And Adam was born—?)

May 10th, 1978. He was kind enough to wait an hour after my birthday, so we have back-to-back birthdays, and we both love it.

(It’s obvious that you’re very close to both of your children. How did/do they identify with that part of your identity? Do they enjoy it there? Do they feel like it’s a part of who they are?)

I think they enjoy knowing that I have that background. They’ve always been interested in it. I think Adam in particular likes that part of our heritage and has identified with it much more than Carin has. He just seems to be more drawn to it. I think he’s had better experiences just by luck. Carin spent a summer in Spain when she was fifteen and she spent junior semester abroad in Spain again, junior year in college. Adam spent the summer after his junior year in Chile and junior year, or junior semester abroad in Argentina. And Adam had a fantastic time, mostly due to luck, and with Carin, it was the opposite. So I think that probably had some influence.

The second thing is that Adam has a tremendous ear for languages, or almost anything else, to the point that he can imitate just about any accent out there. He’s got to be more comfortable with the language and I think has been more drawn to it.

(How does that make you feel as a parent? Is that an extra plus for you? Is that something you wanted for your children? Was it something that was just a nice surprise?)

Oh, certainly, that’s certainly an extra plus. And I think they consider it, too, a plus.

(Where does the name Carin—?)

“Carin,” with a “C.” Because she was named after Nancy’s mother Charlotte. Actually, her middle name had been Liebes, but I think with her married name she’s Carin Rosenberg Levine. And then Adam was Adam Eugene, still is. That was for my grandfather.

(Right. Of course. Now, you haven’t been to Salvador in a while, but you’ve visited and your sister lives there. Do you feel strong ties now to Salvador?)

No. I mean, I feel it’s part of my background, but I think since I left so early and I was never—I never really lived there as an adult. As time went on, when I was in graduate school, I would come down less and less because if I came down for two weeks, let’s say, my friends worked, so Monday through Friday I had absolutely nothing to do. I could play golf by myself or something like that, but my visits became shorter and shorter, and I’ve never actually lived there. I’ve never had my own place. I never had my own life. I never had a permanent job. So I became more and more distant from it. At the same time, my roots in the US became firmer and firmer, and I eventually became an American citizen.

Becoming an American citizen, I think, had a particular significance. The timing was unintended in the sense that I could not get US residence while I was at the IMF. So when I left the IMF, I became a resident. Then I had to wait—I couldn’t become a US citizen right away. I never was really thinking of it. But I think what really changed my mind was—or not changed my mind, what really accelerated the thought was that Nancy became involved with a gathering of Holocaust survivors that was pretty amazing. She was doing oral histories at the time, and she volunteered—this was before the Holocaust Museum was even an idea—no, it was an idea, but before it was in existence, and so she went down to the hotel where the conference was being held, and just by chance, she was interviewing a man who had the last name of Ain, which is not a common name, A-i-n. And Nancy said, “I grew up with somebody named Ain.” And this man, to his knowledge, had no family. So Nancy called me at the office so that she could get the—to get in touch with one of the Ains who was in town and she put them together, I think kind of reunited that family.

(So they were related?)

They were related, because they came from the same village in Russia, blah-blah-blah, the whole thing. And as a result of that participation, we went to the closing ceremonies of the conference. It really made an impression when—and it still sort of chokes me up—when the head of the convention spoke and told this story about how he had fought as a young man in the ghetto in Warsaw. So he said, spoke about how he fought in World War II, and then he said, “Never did I expect that I would be introducing the President of the US.” Reagan was the invited speaker, and Reagan spoke. That really moved me. It made me put together being Jewish and how welcoming the US was, and that was a very powerful impression it made on me. I think by then I was into probably the third or fourth year. So, I decided that I wanted to become a US citizen. Something funny happened. I went to take my test. You have to study all these things I’m sure that you have to study, too, questions about the Constitution, you have to name all your government officials, who was Governor, who was Senator. Congressmen and all that.

So I went ahead and had my test, and typically, at least then, it took, I don’t know, a month, two months, three months, something like that, to get your citizenship papers. And they said—this was in Baltimore—“You can either go to Rockville (near our home) and get your papers in two months or three months or whatever, or actually on Sunday, we’re having an ‘I-Am-an-American’ Day. There will be parades and speeches and all kinds of things. We’re also going to swear in about twenty or thirty people. Do you want to be part of that group?” And I said, “Sure!” So that’s what we did. We went to Baltimore and there was a handful of us who were sworn in and there were parades and all kinds of nice things.

One of the things that really made an impression on me was how moved people get to hear that, to hear—people gave me gifts. At work they had something with cakes and other people gave me mugs with something on it, all I think because they remembered their relatives, ancestors, who had become Americans. I didn’t expect that.

(Did you have to renounce your Salvadoran citizenship?)

No.

(Do you still have a Salvadoran passport?)

Yeah.

(So you still have—you do have a foot, sort of, not a foot, but you have that piece, still.)

Yeah. It’s still part of me.

(Do you feel Salvadoran?)

I feel more American.

(Why is that?)

The US is a very welcoming country. Its lifeblood has always been people from other parts of the world, and I think I’ve felt that, felt welcome here in just about every sense of the word. I think there was more in common that I felt with the values and the direction of the country and more—you know, I like the feeling of sort of common feelings and values at a certain level with the rest of the population. Not that I have the same values of each and every segment of the population, but I feel that I have—I feel more in common with what this country is about than in Salvador, for a number of reasons. Partly is, I think the Jewish community here is much larger and much more of a factor than it is in Salvador in terms of the community at large. But also, you are invited to feel as an American almost immediately, and I don’t think that’s the case in Salvador. I think that other people, my own friends, don’t always feel the way I do, but I think with a name like Rosenberg, there would always be a feeling that I’m not entirely Salvadoran, that I’m somewhat foreign. That doesn’t happen here.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Ricardo Rosenberg Part IV: Setting Records

2006-07-27T11:49:00.000-07:00

If it were not for his adoring family, Ricardo would never have told me that he was the first Salvadoran to earn a PhD in the United States. In this excerpt he discusses his glorious childhood and his reasons for making the United States a permanent home.
***************
I want to backtrack a little bit, because I want to tell you from somebody who chose to leave—I think that I had a wonderful childhood in El Salvador. Sometimes it was sort of like a Tom Sawyer-Huckleberry Finn-like kind of existence. I mean, it was just great. You know where our house is, and just how much the city has grown is incredible. When we moved to our house was pretty far from downtown, and there was nothing going on in that part of the city. The Colonia Escalón ended only about two blocks up where Plaza Beethoven is now. That was the end. The rest was absolute farmland or brush or whatever. My best friend was Ricardo Poma--we were buddies, he lived across the street when we were born and then later on two or three blocks away and we’d see each other all the time, we were in the same grade. He lived only two or three blocks away. If I remember correctly, I think the Sagregras, Fernando and Eduardo Sagrera lived up the block. And they had horses there. I remember the Sagrera guys riding horses bareback to the American school and hitching them at the American school and riding back home. That’s just incredible. In a place where the climate was wonderful like that, we were always outside playing soccer, baseball, etc or swimming in a pool, a lake or an ocean.

I think another terrific memory was my father’s farm not far from the city, maybe 20 to 30 minutes of so at the time. We would go out there and ride horses every Saturday, take friends, often play cowboys and Indians with real horses. What a great time particularly for a boy to be having that kind of experience. This was fifty years ago, but it sounds like a hundred years ago. I remember the train tracks went through the property, and most of the farm was on one side, but there were five or ten acres on the other side of the train track. And once or twice we took something called the Bala de Plata--the silver bullet. It was a single railcar. It was sort of squared up. It wasn’t kind of a sleek car like they are today. It was one car. I guess it was some kind of electric power. It was like taking a bus on rails. On weekends my parents had rented a house at Ilopango. So we would go to the lake every Sunday and water ski. It was just fabulous. So when we came back during high school and college, it was like instant good times. You’d go to the lake, you’d go to the ocean. It was great fun.

So the idea of leaving, before we get into the idea of leaving, I want to say that it was just a—I mean, what a place to grow up in. Fun!

(Did that ever—I’m just trying to think, it’s so different from life in the US, how people are so divided in Salvador, and life here in the US. Is that something you thought about a lot when you were growing up?)

I’m sure—I mean, I don’t know how I would articulate it, but I certainly would notice a difference, particularly because the difference was very marked when you went to the rural areas in particular and to the farm that my father had. Along the way you saw poverty that is pretty extreme, kids barefoot, barely clothed, not healthy. It was—and then I guess as time went by, you become more aware of it.

(Did it ever bother you, or it was part of the landscape?)

It was part of the landscape. It’s part of what I said earlier, that you sort of absorb these things and later on you start thinking about how things might be different, but not as a very, very young child.

(I have a question about the family business. Was it assumed that you would go into the family business, or were your parents very supportive of you pursuing this other track?)

I think it was sort of expected, but not in a pressured way. I would say there was space waiting for me. I was welcome, but there was no insistence on it. I think as time went on, one thing I remember is my father saying that if I was going to study economics, I better get a Ph.D. It was sort of like, “All right, if you’re not returning to El Salvador, then you better—” It wasn’t in a threatened or any kind of way, which there was no way my father was like that, but in a way of encouraging me to go through with it.

(So your parents were supportive. What about other people in Salvador? What did they think of you getting not just a Master’s but a Ph.D.? How did people react?)

It wasn’t so much to that. I think people were surprised that I would want to leave El Salvador and live in the US full-time. They didn’t understand what it was that I couldn’t find in El Salvador and what it was that drew me to want to be in the US.

(What was it? Can you put a finger on it?)

I think I liked the idea of—I liked what the US had to offer in terms of the environment, in terms of how interesting life was here. It’s probable that as time went on, it became more emphasized because—OK, Putney was an interesting experience. Then I went to Wisconsin, which was a good educational experience. I made good friends. It was such an interesting environment. And then I went to Columbia, and once again, you sort of felt that you were where things were happening, where important things were—you sort of had a front-row seat to what was happening of importance to the world, and that kind of appealed to me, I guess.

(And I understand that you defended your dissertation?)

Actually, I had already come to Washington to start work with the IMF. I was finishing my thesis in ’73. We planned our wedding for a Sunday. I came to New York and defended my thesis on a Friday and we got married on Sunday, so it was a busy weekend.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC

Ricardo Rosenberg Part III: Woodstock?

2006-07-26T11:41:00.000-07:00

In this installment, Ricardo remembers his university days, the upheaval of Vietnam war protests, and the feeling of no one understanding exactly where he was from.
*********************************
(What did you study at Wisconsin?)

Economics. I guess I would add that in retrospect, the whole Wisconsin-Columbia experience was a little bit like the movie Forrest Gump. I mean, I ended up as a spectator of so many events and trends of the times. Wisconsin was the center of all kinds of political activity, I think second only to Berkeley, because Berkeley was really a hotbed of activity in the ‘60s in terms of protest and other new things going on, and Wisconsin was number two. I remember so many things that happened there of great significance. And then I went to Columbia, which became even more of a center and hotbed of anti-Vietnam War activity, to the point that the university was closed at the end of the first year I was there the first time ever that a US university had been closed. It was very interesting to observe all that and to be part of the experience that was happening in the US. The ‘60s was a tremendous upheaval of all kinds, so I really was glad to be able to observe it from up close.

(How did people react to you, your classmates, when they found out you were from El Salvador? Were they interested in knowing more about you?)

Well, they were ignorant. I have a couple of memories: one girl at Wisconsin who heard I was from Salvador and wanted to go out with me just just because of that, never having met me. I had started giving up on saying I was from El Salvador, because nobody knew anything and instead started saying I was from Central America, and until someone responded, “From where, Ohio?” So that made me want to go back to just saying I was from El Salvador. Back then people just had not a clue about El Salvador..

(When you were at boarding school and at college, did you feel the need to go to services on High Holidays or continue your Jewish life?)

Well, Putney was not very geared towards religion, so there was none of that. I also think—I’ve heard a saying that Jewish males more or less disappear from the religion from between their bar mitzvah and their late twenties. And I think I sort of fell in that category. What didn’t help is different experiences we had along the way. I had a roommate at Wisconsin who was Jewish and we decided that it’d be a good thing to go to High Holidays service one year. So somehow we ended up at some temple in Madison, I don’t remember what. I think we were in the first or second row. As often happens, the rabbis were chastising those people who only go for the High Holidays. My roommate and I sort of looked at each other and said, “Well, this is a fine reward!” So I think that was the last time either of us ever did anything. I don’t remember Hillel being that much of a force at Wisconsin. And that was it.

Well, I needed to go to Wisconsin because your mother went to Wisconsin. Then I needed to go to Columbia because your mother went to Columbia. And then I needed to go to Washington D.C.. because that’s where your mother went. So when I got to Columbia, I spent two years there doing coursework and then passed my orals, and then I came to Washington for a summer job which became an eight- or nine-month job. I came for the summer to work for the IMF, and I then the offer was made if I wanted to stay longer, and so I decided I would, because I was having a great time here, and I stayed till February and then went back to New York.

(Did you worry about marrying a Jewish girl?)

No, I didn’t—“worry” is the wrong word. I think the idea of marrying somebody was an issue in itself. I think I more or less gravitated to dating Jewish girls anyway, a lot of the time anyway.

(But that wasn’t a prerequisite for you?)

I think it was preferable. “Prerequisite” probably is a strong word. I wouldn’t have ruled it out, let’s say.

(So you meet Nancy. What year is that?)

1969.

(And then you’re married in—?)

’73.

(And when did you introduce her to the Salvador half of your—?)

Pretty quickly. We met in 1969. I think she came—it was Christmas of 1970. But just a brief detour of 1969: Nancy decided that for my birthday in ’69 that she would get—she got us tickets to a rock concert. So I get in the car and stop in New York and we kind of very casually get up the next morning to go to the rock concert. Well, this was Woodstock, and we were completely unprepared. There was no CNN, no 24-news of any kind. We get up in the morning and reliably Nancy had to stop to go to the bathroom, so we stopped at a gas station. She came out with these incredible stories which we were totally unaware of: twenty-mile backups in terms of traffic, pouring rain, no water, no food, no whatever. So we turned around and went back. Because Woodstock was happening, and by then it was completely out of control, and we just plainly were not aware of it. Somewhere in the attic or the basement are the tickets, which are probably worth of lot of money. But we never did make it.

(You never made it to Woodstock?)

Yeah. So she does owe me a birthday present.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Ricardo Rosenberg: Salvadoran Bar Mitzvahs and Skiing in Vermont

2006-07-25T06:13:00.000-07:00

In this excerpt, Ricardo remembers his adolescence both in El Salvador and in the wilds of rural Vermont.
*******************
(Was your grandfather very involved in the Jewish community?)

Regretfully, the Jewish Community has generally overlooked or has not recognized my grandfather’s tenure and it is something that has always puzzled me, because he seemed to well-like and respected, as I said before. While I have not lived in El Salvador since I left for school in the US, retrospectives I have seen about the Jewish Community’s past or collections of photographs which have been assembled for some reason rarely, if ever, include him despite his long tenure and what he contributed to the Community as its President during those many critical years—World War II, its growth with the arrival of many Jewish refugees and immigrants and the significant transition from a group of Jews in the 30s to an organized and structured Community which occurred during that period. I know my grandfather was a pretty hands-on kind of person, so it seems to be pretty difficult to overlook someone who was President for 25 years of the relatively short history of the Community, but that seems to happen with some regularity.

(What about your bar mitzvah? Did you have a bar mitzvah?)

Yes, I did. It was a cram course bar mitzvah! I guess this gets you into the type of religious education I had My memory is that at the American school there was religious education after school, I remember that there were priests waiting towards the exit just about every day, and occasionally the rabbi waiting for their students. But my recollection is it was very ad hoc, very stop-and-go. During the period that was important to me, the first rabbi, Alex Freund, was I think on his way out. And then another rabbi came that if I remember correctly, and maybe you can confirm it with somebody else, didn’t really work out. He was there only a couple years. And then came Alexander Granat, who was there for many years. Actually, I was the first to study with Rabbi Granat for a bar mitzvah. Granat taught me enough Hebrew to learn my bar mitzvah portion, and I had my bar mitzvah. It was very different from what you have in the US now in the sense that the only celebration was something at our house a gathering of maybe 50 people, but no dancing, no music, just something in the late afternoon to celebrate and that was that.

Well, I always identified, but I am not sure how much that added to the experience at that particular time—maybe later.

(How was being young and Jewish in a Catholic country? Was that difficult at times? Did you think about it?)

You know, I’ve come to the conclusion that as a child you mostly don’t know anything else except what you experience, and I think it was good because you understand that there are differences and you don’t develop the over-sensitivities in that area that perhaps some people may have here, particularly now that very often here in the US there’s a lot of political correctness, in the sense that people are so afraid to be offended by one thing or another. So you grow up and everybody else is Catholic and you’re Jewish and a lot of things happens that maybe give you momentarily discomfort, but that’s the way it is. I don’t think it’s anything that created any pressures in my mind.

(Do you have any distinct memories of anti-Semitism or comments that—?)

Yeah, I do, I remember little snippets and things, but only that things that sort of take you back for a moment, but nothing that created a very deep kind of sense of being disliked or unwelcome in the country. I mean, I remember going to a procession somewhere—down there they have processions for various religious holidays—and I remember hearing, “Look what the Jews did to Christ.” Or, “The Jews killed Christ.” This was before the Pope announced officially that the Jews were not at fault for the crucifixion of Jesus. So that was really important in these countries, when the Pope issued the directive, because there was that kind of undercurrent every so often. And there was a little bit of a feeling of being—“left out” is maybe too strong, but everybody else was having a First Communion and you weren’t. But later on you had a bar mitzvah.

(And how would you say overall—?)

And actually, the other thing that I remember is that you do feel a little left out because there’s some things that you don’t participate in. I mean, we would play soccer in all kinds of competitions, and of course everybody before jumping in the pool would take a little water and cross themselves, or take a little dirt from the soccer field and cross themselves, and these are are rituals that are kind of cool, especially for boys. And so you weren’t participating in that. But it not—it was almost trivial, but it was things that you observed as a young boy.

(Little things.)

Yeah.

(When did you leave Salvador for the first time for an extended amount of time?)

I left just a couple months after my bar mitzvah. My bar mitzvah was in June, and in September I was in boarding school at Putney—with your mother

(How did you feel prior to going? Were you excited about it?)

Oh, I couldn’t wait, I couldn’t wait, in part because I was the youngest and I’d seen my siblings go off, and now it was my turn. I thought it was pretty exciting. I looked forward to it.

(So you went to Putney, Vermont?)

Yeah.

(How was that adjustment? It’s quite a difference.)

Well, you know, adjusting wasn’t too hard. The first couple times when I came home, I really liked being home, so it was a little harder going back, a little lonely going back. But it wa not only was my brother there and your mother, but also Marion Liebes, so there was a little kind of familial group there. The other thing, it was just so much fun to go up and down—I mean, the plane, it was like a charter plane. Everybody went to school and came back more or less about the same time, so there were two or three or four days in January where everybody left. It was practically our plane, just a plane full of kids, thirteen to eighteen or so and it was great fun.

(Was there a part of you that felt more comfortable in one place, or was it just a totally different experience in the States and in Salvador?)

It was a completely different experience in each place. It was—I mean, it’s just two different worlds altogether.

(Were there certain things that were hard to get used to in the US that you found culturally difficult in the beginning?)

I don’t remember. I think probably being at the American school made me familiar with things I Putney being basically a working farm would be very different. As a starting freshman I ended up on the farm work job, which meant that two afternoons or so a week you’d work on the farm. So I arrived there over the weekend and by Tuesday I got to work on the farm for the first time. The first task that I was involved with was being on the assembly line of killing chickens which were to be served as meals in the dining room. It was an assembly line kind of thing, where some older student, probably junior or senior, sixteen or seventeen, got a hold of the poor chicken and axed its head off, and it got thrown into a barrel. It sort of fluttered for a while before it finally died. Our job was to make sure that it was completely clean, after others had done a preliminary cleaning. So that was different and unusual. That was also dinner a day or so later!The travel was actually very different. First of all, there were no jets. Second of all, the number of flights was far fewer.

And so what we ended up doing is, we flew from Salvador to Miami. I think often we overnighted in Miami and then went on to New York. Later on, we would go directly to New York and arrive late at night. We would overnight at the famous Salisbury Hotel and then take the train to Putney, which was another six hours or so. So it was quite a long trip, because it was much slower on the prop flights in the early years it took longer. And then the train was fun, because half or three-quarters of the school was on the train. The others came from Boston, which was a different line. Then once we got to Putney, which had a train station about as big as this room, there was a truck waiting for us. Even if it was early January, we’d just throw our bag on the truck and go up, about a ten-minute drive in the open truck, whether it was sixty degrees or ten degrees. So it was a shock in terms of leaving Salvador, that long trip, particularly in the winter, and then arriving at Putney. But I think one of my best memories of Vermont is the winter. I loved the winter there, and I still do. There’s a lot of pretty places with green grass and green trees, but in my mind I just have really good memories of Vermont in the winter, in the woods, skiing.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Ricardo Rosenberg: An Introduction

2006-07-24T21:01:00.000-07:00

Featured this week is the interview of Ricardo Rosenberg, son of Margot and "Lico" Rosenberg, baby brother to Yolanda and Frank. Ricardo is married to Nancy and has two children, Carin and Adam plus a new son-in-law, Jason Levine. Ricardo and Nancy live in Bethesda, Maryland. I interviewed Ricardo in his own living room, Nancy by his side.
********************
(What is your earliest memory of childhood or life in Salvador?)

Well, I think the first thing that comes to mind is that we lived in a house that was basically across the way from the Salvador Del Mundo. I had the good fortune that my grandparents lived around the corner. As a result, we were always visiting, and I particularly remember that the three of us, my brother, my sister, and I, would routinely have breakfast at their house on Sunday morning. Actually, as a matter of fact---this was when we were very young, and it continued for number of years—I remember that we would have lunch there once a week, because the American school had a two-hour lunch breack. So, my brother, my sister and I would have lunch once a week at our grandparents’, and we were usually joined by your mother, Ruth. We had a great time, particularly because we all made my grandmother have laughing fits. So those are nice memories.

(This is the Liebes [maternal] grandparents?

Yes.

(How did your parents meet? Or, how did your father get to Salvador?)

My father was born in Dominican Republic but raised mostly in Germany, in Hamburg. His father was German, his mother was Dominican. He traveled frequently between the two countries when he was growing up. In the ‘30s he left Germany permanently, went to the Dominican Republic, and worked in a small town called Sanchez, which is where he was born. His job was to meet arriving ships and review the manifest and make sure that it matched up with the freight they were about to unload. This was a port town that fed goods to the capital, Santo Domingo. During the ‘30s two things happened. One is that a good road was built between the port and Santo Domingo, so the town was not as active or as prosperous as it had been in the past, and second, the Depression deepened. He was actually looking to go to Guatemala, where his brother was, and things were not panning out.

I don’t know if you know this little story, but he had already applied for a job in El Salvador with Casa Mugdan, but he then was informed that the job was taken by somebody else. That somebody else was José Baum. Apparently, José Baum was passing through on a ship, and the ship stopped in El Salvador. There weren’t any of the formalities then that we have now, and I’m not even sure you needed a visa. So José Baum got off the ship and stayed. I don’t know in those days how long the ships stayed at port. He liked Salvador, so he stayed and he took the job that my father had applied for.. Casa Mugdan was of course later on Schoening and Falkenstein. So he lost that opportunity, but he later got a job as a representative of foreign lines of business, mainly manufacturers (Gillette and Kellogs, among others) and insurance.

(Did he ever express disappointment in not living permanently in the Dominican Republic? Was there any part of him that wanted to stay there?)

You know, my first inclination is to think that my father rarely expressed disappointment. He was a very optimistic and positive person and not somebody who dwelled on what might have been and what could have been or what should have been. I think he was happy in Salvador and eventually established very profound links with the business community and became very successful as a businessman, not only in the direct activities that he had, but in outside activities: Chamber of Commerce, being on boards in different places. I’m not aware of him ever mentioning any reservations about that, no.

(So as a young child, you started at the American school immediately? Where did you go to kindergarten, the early grades?)

I guess when you get old, you remember the really insignificant factoids. And I do remember the nursery school, Echevers. It was near the old stadium, the soccer stadium, in Salvador, and I remember going there for pre-kindergarten. And then I went to kindergarten at the American school from the beginning.

(Who were some of your classmates that you keep in touch with today?)

Boris Gabay, later on Jack Davidson, Roby Salomon. In terms of staying in touch, I think that that is about it. There were others who were not in my class, but were schoolmates. I was one year behind my brother. So, one year ahead was Bobby Schoening. One year ahead of them was Edward Falkenstein. That was really the core of the friends I had, particularly later on. Then of course the Salomons, Hélène and Andrée, but they’re older. At the time you’re growing up, beyond two years difference, the age becomes just too significant. But later on we became friends.

(Right. So did you participate in any youth activities in the Jewish community? Was there a lot of—were there things going on for young people at that point?)

No.

(What was your relationship to the synagogue? Did the family attend services?)

Rarely. I think, certainly, later on for the High Holidays, but it was sporadic.

(Now, your parents were, I guess, officially a mixed marriage?)

Yeah.

(And that was—I don’t want to put words into your mouth, but I assume that was a bit complex for them at the time?)

I think it was more complex for the community, at least some members of the community.

(Did you feel a direct impact?)

No, not directly. But I later learned of incidents that clearly reflected a lack of approval by certain members of the community. My earliest memories of the community are that there were a lot of older people who emigrated during World War II to El Salvador, a lot of them were pretty Orthodox. I think I would characterize the community back then as equivalent to, in the US, Conservative leaning towards Orthodox. I’m sure you know that at least in those days women sat in the back, men in the front. It was just more Orthodox and Conservative in many ways.

The other side of the coin was that I have very good memories of my grandfather, Eugenio Liebes, participating in the life of the community. He was president of the community from early 1940s until his death in 1967. So it was some 25 years or so that he was head of the Community. I think he had a significant effect during those years. I think he was known as being a very kind and generous person. Also, I believe he was known as being a very intelligent and able person, well respected as a successful member of the business community at large and not only within the Jewish community. My memories of going to the synagogue have to do with going with him—occasionally on the spur of the moment, because maybe when I was ten or eleven or thereabouts I’d somehow find myself in town on Friday evening and in order to get a ride with him, it would involve going the synagogue on Friday evening. So those are the kind of the memories I have.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Lightbox

2006-07-21T19:41:00.000-07:00

Recently, an incredible book was released publicly; "Lightbox," captures the photos and writings of girls in Kibera, Nairobi's largest slum.

Here is an overview from the organization's website: http://cfk.unc.edu

Established in 2001, Carolina for Kibera, Inc. (CFK) is a 501 (c)(3) international non-governmental organization based in the Kibera slum of Nairobi, Kenya. CFK has an office and youth center in Kibera, as well as support services housed at the University Center for International Studies (UCIS) at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. CFK has established a youth sports program, girls' center, medical clinic, and waste management program.

Purpose

Run by Kenyans and advised by American and Kenyan volunteers, CFK's primary mission is to promote youth leadership and ethnic and gender cooperation in Kibera through sports, young women's empowerment, and community development. Additionally, CFK works to improve basic healthcare, sanitation, and education in Kibera.

Philosophy

CFK's philosophy is grounded in the concept of participatory development. Solutions to problems involving poverty are possible only if those affected by it drive development. Concerned outsiders can help by mobilizing communities, advising, networking, and providing resources. Ultimately, however, the community possesses the knowledge and motivation that are necessary to solve its own problems.

The New Jewish Media

2006-07-20T07:51:00.000-07:00

In past postings, I introduced you to HEEB magazine as well as other Jewish media outlets. The Jewish culture boom in NYC leads to many developments in the area of media, journalism, music, museums, academia, and funding.

Today, I want to introduce you to an online magazine entitled: "Nextbook." With phenomenal daily digests on learning and living, Nextbook has become my second bible next to the ever-trusty Jon Kabat-Zinn meditation manual.

Check it out and let me know what you think at: www.nextbook.org

To Israel, with love.

2006-07-19T07:41:00.000-07:00

It would be beyond awkward not to acknowledge the extreme and very real situation currently taking place in the Middle East. Not a politician or a student of international affairs, I do not claim to have any strategic insights.

Those individuals who you have read about on this blog: Perla, Ruth, Erich, and Werner Meissner. Judith Meissner de Assif, Ronit Meissner de Naor, Noemi Guttfreund de Segev, Eric Bymel, Inge and Carlitos Bernhard.....all are in Israel. They send us emails, sometimes layered with a humor that is characteristically Israeli--dry, real, survivor-like. Their children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, cousins....many are in the army. Young people are fighting these battles--very young people. It is my hope that all can be resolved efficiently, quickly, and without great casualties.

In the meantime, we are thinking of you all. and we admire your spirit.....

Anniversary of AMIA Bombing

2006-07-18T07:28:00.000-07:00

Twelve years ago today, the Jewish community center in Buenos Aires was bombed killing 85 and wounding more than 300. In the days after the attack, Israel sent Mossad agents to investigate the attack. Hezbollah was suspected and later a Lebanese terrorist organization, "Partisans of God," claimed responsibility. In the meantime, this claim has been discounted. In 2004, all those in connection with the attack were pronounced "not guilty." No one has yet to be punished for the act.

The following article (in Spanish) features words from President Kirchner of Argentina. For more information in English, check out the American Jewish Committee's website at: www.ajc.org
*********************

De: Clarin.com

Clarin.com 19 de Julio de 2006

Kirchner replicó con dureza a los familiares que lo criticaron en el acto

Les pidió "autocrítica y humildad". Afirmó que la causa por el atentado a la mutual "estuvo entretenida durante años en un juicio que, como les había advertido Cristina, nunca iba a llegar a la verdad". Y puntualizó: "Ellos quisieron seguir con ese proceso". Ayer, en el acto a 12 años del ataque, le reclamaron avances en la investigación.

"Me cayeron lágrimas ayer", dijo en algún momento. Y la reacción que mostró hoy dejó claro que le había afectado hasta el punto de ajustarse el traje de pelea dialéctica que suele usar. El presidente Néstor Kirchner respondió con dureza a los cuestionamientos de familiares de víctimas de la AMIA. Un día después del acto por los 12 años del atentado, criticó la posición de las autoridades judías durante los comienzos de la investigación, durante el menemismo, y los lazos con el destituido juez Juan José Galeano. Y lanzó: "No me ato las manos ante ninguna impunidad".

"Los argentinos deben saber, todos, que la causa de la AMIA estuvo muchos años entretenida con un juicio", dijo en referencia al proceso contra la llamada "conexión local" del ataque terrorista, en el que no se encontraron culpables.

Luego aludió a la postura de la primera dama: "Cristina dijo que ese juicio era para entretener y no para llegar a la verdad. Ellos (por la comunidad judía) no escucharon lo que Cristina decía en la comisión bicameral. Los que siguieron ese juicio, el querer seguir con ese juicio sirvió para entretener, para que pase el tiempo y se tapen las pruebas". La senadora siempre fue una de las voces más críticas contra Galeano en esa comisión de seguimiento.

Ayer, en Pasteur al 600, donde se encontraba la sede de la AMIA hasta el fatídico 18 de julio de 1994, el más duro con Kirchner fue el representante de los familiares de víctimas Luis Czyzcewsky, quien perdió a su hija de 21 años en el atentado.

Czyzcewsky tomó una parte del discurso del Presidente del último 25 de Mayo: "Usted dijo que recuperamos el valor de la memoria y de la justicia. Nosotros queremos corregirlo. Si fuera como usted dice no estaríamos hablando de impunidad y falta de esclarecimiento", le espetó a distancia. Kirchner estaba en esos momentos momento en Paraguay , en una reunión con su par Nicanor Duarte Frutos. Fue la primera vez que ni él ni Cristina estuvieron en un acto del 18 de julio desde su asunción.

Esta mañana, durante un acto en Béccar, Kirchner respondió crudamente: "Me duele, yo dije eso y es cierto, pero llegar a la justicia a fondo después de 30 años de impunidad y 14 años de impunidad (por el atentado a la Embajada de Israel, en 1992) es difícil".

"Estoy tratando de ayudar a las Abuelas, estamos tratando de que haya justicia y se condenen a los que son terroristas de Estado. No soy mandrake, soy un tipo honesto y les puedo decir de corazón que no me ato las manos ante ninguna impunidad", descargó el Presidente. Fue en la Avenida Centenario, al inaugurar un paso bajo nivel de las vías del ex Ferrocarril Mitre.

Pero como suele suceder en las apariciones de Kirchner, el motivo original del acto quedó tapado por definiciones políticas que agitan aguas y plantean interrogantes sobre cómo será de aquí en más la relación, hasta ahora moderadamente buena, del Gobierno con la conducción judía. Entonces en su discurso se dedicó a dar cuenta de lo que, a su entender, habían sido errores de la conducción judía que contribuyeron a los 14 años de impunidad en el caso de la Embajada y los 12 en el caso de la mutual judía. "Yo no participé en ningún contubernio de (el ex titular de DAIA Rubén) Beraja con el menemismo. Ahí se encargaron de tapar pruebas y no participé", sentenció marcando diferencias.

El Presidente señala reiteradamente las que hay entre su gestión y lo que realizó el menemismo alrededor del caso AMIA. Aunque también es verdad que hay al menos un punto de contacto: el hoy ministro de Justicia, Alberto Iribarne, era secretario del Interior en el Ministerio que conducía Carlos Ruckauf cuando estalló la bomba. Y fue uno de los primeros funcionarios en enfrentar a la prensa en esa mañana aciaga.

Kirchner también resaltó las medidas que había tomado desde su llegada al poder. La eliminación del secreto de Estado para funcionarios que fueron convocados a declarar y la apertura de los archivos de la SIDE tuvieron un lugar destacado en el recuento. "Abrimos el Estado de par en par", fue la conclusión.

"Les pido humildad, solidaridad. Y le digo al pueblo que acepto con caridad cristiana críticas que considero injustas. No puedo encontrar lo que pasó totalmente hace 30 años como no lo podemos hacer ahora, porque se trabajó para borrar las pruebas. Dejemos de imputar a los que no tenemos y vayamos a las cuevas a buscar a los que tienen responsabilidad", concluyó.

Back in Full Effect

2006-07-17T08:54:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I am back after a brief vacation and wanted to update you on the latest happenings.

First of all, my work with the oral testimonies of the Jewish community continues and I am doing my best to locate additional funding to create an interactive website as well as finalize the community's electronic archival plan. I also hope to broadcast some of these brilliant testimonies via public radio here in the United States. That remains to be seen and any/all developments will be posted on the blog.

In the meantime, I will continue to contribute daily writings on this site and look forward to starting up communications with all of you again.

Hasta...

On Vacation: July 10-14th

2006-07-14T06:25:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,

I will be traveling from July 10-14th with limited access to the internet. I will be back posting and writing come Monday, July 17th.

Until then!
******************

Queridos Lectores,

Estare viajando entre el 10 de julio hasta el dia 14 con minimo aceso al internet. Favor de visitar el sitio cuando regrese el dia lunes 17 de julio.

Hasta pronto!

Being Jewish Abroad

2006-07-07T10:46:00.000-07:00

In this final excerpt, I ask Paul if and how his Jewish identity changes each time he gets off the plane.
*************************
(You belong to a Jewish congregation in Dallas and you belong to a Jewish congregation here. What are the differences that you feel or see or observe between the two places?)

Perhaps the most glaring difference is that in Dallas there are several congregations, and so one can pick and choose if they’re Reformed, Conservative, or Orthodox. You can pick and choose which congregation is most suitable to you. And then you can break it down into other choices. Do I want a smaller congregation, a bigger congregation? Is it closer to my house, not closer to my house? There’s other little things you can get very picky about. In Salvador, we have one congregation and a group of people that are a blend of Reform, Conservative, and Orthodox. There’s a choice: do we want to get along or do we not want to get along with our different personalities and religious needs? Gratefully, this congregation has decided that we’ll embrace everybody. “Just come to services. Do what you want. Do what you can. Just be part of the congregation.” And it works, because we all understand that all we have is each other.

(So you feel like an integral member of the Jewish community here?)

Oh, yes, yes. I always have. I was fortunate in that I came into a community where my father-in-law was a very active and beloved member. But I see that anyone that comes into the Jewish community that doesn’t know anybody is very much welcome. So it wasn’t because I had the happy accident of having my father-in-law being one of the old-timers here for the reason that I was feeling so well accepted. Everybody’s well accepted here, and that’s a very nice thing.

(What do you think of the conversion trend that’s happening right now in this Jewish community?)

Ruth and I happen to belong to a synagogue in Dallas whereby the rabbi welcomed and taught those in the community that didn’t feel very comfortable with the idea, he welcomed people who wanted to become Jewish. Never campaigned for people to become Jewish. But those that made a studied decision, conscious decision to want to throw in their lot as a Jew in a world where sometimes it’s not the handiest thing to be, he gave them all the help he could. And they became integral members of our community, sometimes even more involved religiously and more learned religiously than many who were born Jewish and just know how to eat bagels and lox. And they consider themselves Jewish.

Here, this community has a different personality. We wouldn’t be a community if we didn’t accept the converted Jews. I understand that during the war, if it wasn’t for the noble efforts of the converted Jews, we wouldn’t have even the Torahs that we have today. We wouldn’t have the community that we have today. And I have found that people who convert to Judaism find it more meaningful than many who are born Jewish and just take it for granted. So I don’t see any reason why any community would not accept its converted Jews.

(Any final words, anything else you’d like to add, any questions I haven’t asked or stories you’d like to tell?)

Probably just to add a little bit more color to what we’ve discussed before, our kids, when they come back for the few weeks they can spend each year here, and they try to spend part of their vacation each year here in Salvador, they bring their kids, our grandkids, and they throw them into the activities at the synagogue. They feel very much at home here, very much at home. In fact, our little grandson from San Diego, Joel, he was telling his mom last week that one of the reasons he likes Salvador is because he has so much family here. Sandra, his mom, asked, “We do? Who is your family there?” And he mentioned Ruth and I, mentioned the cook and her helper, he mentioned the people he comes into contact with from the Jewish community. This is part of his family. That’s a beautiful thing. He comes into Salvador and he feels very much at home. Still has a lot to learn with Spanish, but you know, you can say an awful lot without words. The heart can read an awful lot more—especially the heart of a child can read an awful lot more than we can.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC

Raising Salvadoran-Americans.

2006-07-06T10:40:00.000-07:00

Three young children in El Salvador? An agrarian reform? What about the Civil War? Paul discusses these issues below.
********************
(So your three children are born here. They go to school here. Was it ever a concern to you that they weren’t in the States, that there were having such a different childhood?)

Actually, I was very happy that they were here. Because a lot of the values that I disliked in the States, such as the overimportance given to tests in schools in the States, the dependence on having things as opposed to development of the mind, and the quality of the education was always first in my thoughts. Because the education the kids were getting here was far superior to what was being given in the public schools at that same time in the States. I was from New York originally, and the New York public school system was excellent. But given even that, the quality and the level of education at the American school was superior. If there were any children with special needs here in Salvador, they were not pushed to the side because of the number of children that had to be taken care of. The number of kids in the classroom was very good. The teacher-student ratio was excellent. Our kids weren’t numbers. And they weren’t taking care of our kids any different than they were anybody else’s kids. It was just a very nice, personal, caring and—I thought it was a big plus coming to the American school here.

(Did you speak English with your kids?)

We spoke English most of the time at home. We might go into Spanglish occasionally. They got their Spanish, which is much better than mine, from school and from our cook. That’s where they spoke most of their Spanish.

(So what happened fifteen years after you arrived to make you have to leave the country?)

There was agrarian reform put into place here. The farm was sold to the government and I no longer had anything to keep me here. I didn’t have a job. I needed to earn a living. I had three children, and I realized that I had not worked in what I was trained to do for fifteen years in the States. And I imagined things had changed more than a little bit, and I guessed that it would take me a good three months to find a job. And having three kids and having to find where to live, the States is kind of big. My first impulse was to go back to New York, where I knew people. But then I began to think, where would it be more effective to go back? And I started doing some research at the consulate. In those days you go could into the consulate and use the library. So I found that the three places that had the best economic opportunities, the best growth pattern at that point were Denver, Colorado, Houston, Texas, and Dallas, Texas. That was in 1978.

And since Ruth’s sister was living in Dallas, Texas and we knew some people because Ruth had gone to SMU, which is in Dallas, we thought we would try there first. She came up—Ruth came up with Lisa to look for a house, spent about a week or so and came back with a house that she liked and she asked me to go up and take a look at it and if I liked it, to go ahead and put a deposit on it. She liked it because it had certain characteristics that we look for. It had all the bedrooms on one side that could be locked, still thinking of our life here in Salvador. It also had some tropical plants and it had a banana tree growing in the back yard.

So I came up and looked at it and it also was about six blocks away from where her sister Susie was living. So I thought, “This looks as good as any.” And we didn’t have a lot of time to think about it. So we put a deposit on that house. And while I was up there, during that brief, four-five day visit, thanks to a friend of Susie’s, I was able to have an interview arranged with the owner of an advertising agency in Dallas, ostensibly to see what was going on in advertising in that day and age, just to get some orientation. He promised me that he only had a half hour, but he’d give me a half hour free. I wound up speaking to him for close to two hours, and when I walked out he offered me the job of production manager of the agency. I said, “I’m really overwhelmed, didn’t expect a job offer from this. But I am committed at least for three more months in Salvador, because we’re closing up our affairs there, and I’m committed to my current boss.” I said, “If you’ll allow me to call him tonight and answer you tomorrow—” ‘cause he needed my—this advertising agency, he needed me at the beginning of the month, which was August 1978, and that was about three weeks away, and I couldn’t commit to it until I spoke to Ruth’s dad. And when I spoke with him and told him what the problem was, he said, “You’re relieved of any responsibility. If you need to be there on the 1st of August, be there.” And so it was.

That left poor Ruth to close the house down, this house, and to make any arrangements that needed to be made to bring the kids up here. She came August 18th with the three kids to our new home in Dallas. And during that time, I had started working. I had purchased the beds and had them installed in the bedrooms. We didn’t have a dining room table yet. We didn’t have a dinette table. We were eating off cardboard boxes. I was waiting for Ruth to come to pick out what she wanted. That’s how we started our adventure. We ate on suitcases for the first few days, (laughs) but we did it together. And we managed.

(You mentioned the agrarian reform, but the war was also really—the civil war had begun at that point.)

Right. And one of the things we did discuss was that we have three young kids. Our oldest then, Lisa, was eleven or twelve, and we had the two younger ones that were seven and five, respectively. And I told Ruth that, “If we want to stick around and see if we can find something to do here, that’s great. But we have three kids that we have a responsibility to be around for and to raise, and I think we’re better off going to the States.” So we decided to go to the States, at least until things calmed down, and we stayed fifteen years. No, I’m sorry, we stayed from ’78 until right now that we started spending more time here.

(So your kids, how did they adjust to the transition?)

They cried for about a year. They left everything. They left life as they knew it behind in Salvador. It was a tough time for them. They made a miraculous adjustment. Salvador’s still their home, and they consider it such. When they come back to this house and spend time here with us, you can see their minds reverting back to when they were kids here. And now they’re bringing their kids here. And the cook that we had, who’s not really the cook, she’s a member of the family at this point, she began with us when our oldest, Lisa, was just an infant, and she’s still here. She raised all of our kids. She lost fifteen pounds after we left. She never stopped letting us know that we took her kids away from her. She feels very maternal towards them. And it still moves me a lot when I think about it.

(Amazing. So you moved to Dallas. What did you miss the most from Salvador when you moved?)

I missed the people. From the first day that I was here, the people as they are always made me feel at home here. There wasn’t a day that I felt as a stranger here, not a day. The Salvadoran is a very different person, a very friendly person, from people in the States. We have many friends in the States, and it takes a while to have them warm up to you. But in Salvador, it’s immediate. People wear their emotions on their sleeves. They can’t do enough for you. Friendship means something much different here in Salvador. Friendship in the States in many cases means acquaintance, while here friendship has a much deeper meaning.

(OK. Tell me—now, when the land was being sold, was forcibly sold, did Don Chepe really want to sell the hacienda?)

If the agrarian reform had never happened, I’m sure the property would still be in the hands of the family. There were too many emotional ties to that land that this family could never have thought of selling it. It was a very emotional thing. Ruth grew up on the farm. Almost before she learned to walk, she was getting up at 4 or 5 in the morning and out with the cowboys on horseback, helping round up the cattle. It’s in her blood. Her sisters, I’m sure, feel the same way. Our kids—we recently went back, this year, and our kids, from the moment they got into the car to leave this house and go towards the farm, they were in tears, and that goes for my son and my two daughters. The fellow who was head of the dairy, he appointed himself as our guide. He was just—he just stepped down from being the mayor of the little town next to the farm. But he insisted on taking us around Talcualhuya. People there still remembered Ruth, remembered our kids, remembered me, and they came out. The tears were flowing on all sides. Hugs, tears, it was just a wonderful—a draining, but a very wonderful day.

(And is it still a working farm?)

No—parts of it. It’s not the same property it used to be. It was sectioned off as a cooperative, and it was given as parcels. Unfortunately, they gave them their piece of land with a mortgage. Very few of them understood what a mortgage was and the obligations that come with it, so they didn’t keep up with their payments. Some of them perhaps knew how to pay for their farm and keep it going, but others didn’t know that they had to keep planting corn and use the profits from the corn or whatever they wanted to plant to keep that property. So they lost it. And it was given back to whatever bank was holding the letters, and other people came in and bought those letters. So the property is in parcels. There are many owners of that property now. Now a large company’s been buying parts of it up, and they’re planting vegetables for export.

(I have sort of a more general question about you growing up in the States, especially in the urban United States, and coming here and seeing the abject poverty of El Salvador, yet the life of the middle class and the upper middle class and the upper class is totally different. Was that hard to adjust to at first?)

It’s always hard to adjust to. I don’t know that I’ve ever adjusted to it. Since coming here, I’ve recognized that for the lower class to build itself up, it needs jobs. I’ve never seen a more industrious group of people as the Salvadorans were when I first came here. Unfortunately now, since there has not been jobs for them, the best have figured out how to leave and find the jobs where they are, which is in the States. Many have entered as illegal aliens. I really don’t know how many countries there are that can say that a quarter of its population is living in another country, and most of them illegally. If I can get a little political now, the same US government that complains about people illegally coming into the States is forgetting the fact that by forcing agrarian reform on the agro-industrials of El Salvador, the farmers had no place to work. The property that we had, that produced five thousand bottles of milk a day and sent this top-quality milk to the capital city, within a year’s time, all the dairy cattle that we had was either eaten, stolen, or sold for some other use. That property doesn’t produce a drop of milk today. The property that was producing raw sugar from its own sugar and had its own sugar mill, had its sugar mill work only two weeks after the sale of the farm, and never worked again. And when you go to that property today, the only sign that there was ever a sugar mill there are some of the concrete bases that are still there from the heavy machinery that we had. And you have to look for them because they’re so overgrown with the weeds that grow around it. It’s very sad to see. And that’s just our property. Multiply that by the number of properties that went to agrarian reform. Just take the number of people that used to have employment from us, and think about where they’re finding employment today. No provision was made for this, so what can the US government say about these people coming to the States? Either they should help finance new industry here, or they should repair their immigration law. I’m not the one to tell them what to do, but one or the other has to be done, or maybe a little bit of both, just in the spirit of fairness.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Onward to the hacienda...

2006-07-05T10:24:00.000-07:00

In this third excerpt, Paul remembers his years as a newlywed and his new,challenging job as a rancher.
****************
We were engaged in a year. I was in service and I was in the group that was sent to Georgia during the Cuban missile crisis. So we corresponded from Georgia. I was there just a short time, about a month, a month and a half. I was stationed at Fort Steward in Georgia. Once the crisis was settled, I was moved back to Texas, where I was at Fort Hood. But I was amazed that a whole division of over 17,000 men and all the tanks, trucks files and everything including the personnel were actually moved in seventy-two hours from Texas to Georgia. It was amazing. We had trained to do that, and we were called a STRAC unit, Strategic Army Command. But we had never done it before, and to my surprise we actually did it. All the troops went by chartered plane. It was amazing.

(You just stayed in Georgia? You never had to fly to Cuba?)

We never had to—the expression is, “the balloon going up.” If the balloon had gone up, we would have gone immediately. We imagined, but we were never told for sure, that the battalion guarding the equipment at the dock twenty-four hours a day would be required to be the first to board the first boat headed for Cuba the moment the balloon went up. So we never knew what the pick of the lottery had in store for us. We could have been the first or last to attack. We had no idea. We spent about five or six weeks engaged in extreme amphibious training, and to all of our surprise, we weren’t scared about going to war. We were kept so busy, and it was a matter-of-fact thing that I didn’t feel nervous. But I know I never smoked more than I did during those weeks in Georgia. I was smoking cigars at that point, and I was chain-smoking them, one after the other. And of course when the emergency was over, that came to an end. So I guess my nervousness showed itself in that way.

(So after this Cuban missile—after Georgia, you returned to Texas?)

Right.

(And then what took place?)

I discovered a little-known law that if you go back to college and the school term begins three months before your effective release from the military, then they can’t hold you back as long as you show proof that you are a matriculated student in a bone fide university. So on my leave, I went ahead and reregistered at the college I was attending, which was City College of New York, and brought back the documentation, and my company commander swore at me, in a friendly way, and said, “Dammit, Feldman! How’d you find out about this?” Because they don’t give this law any publicity. I was released three months—better said, after twenty-one months instead of the twenty-four months. And then, to my great luck, since Ruth and I married right after that and came to live in El Salvador, because I lived more than sixty miles away from any active reserve unit, my four-year active reserve obligation was nullified, and I got my good conduct release after only twenty-one months of active service.

(Now, before you married Ruth, was it understood that you would go to Salvador?)

No, no. We had talked about it, and her father had put the bee in my bonnet about it, but I hadn’t really considered it to be something I was going to do. I wanted to think about it, discuss it with my family. I didn’t speak Spanish but to me it would have been a grand adventure. And when I saw that my parents were of a mind to—well, they tried to make me feel that it was OK. They said, “If that’s what you want to do, go ahead and do it.” And so I thought long and hard about it and ultimately decided to give it a try. I was very foolish becauseI told Ruth’s dad, “I’ll give it a three months’ try.” And when I got here, I realized that you can’t give something as comprehensive and important as this, a three-months’ try. So I immediately told him, “Let’s be more sensible. Let’s make it a two-year try.” And we never discussed it again. (laughs) And I wound up being here fifteen years.

(Did you get married in the States or in Salvador?)

We came down here to marry.

(And your parents came as well?)

My parents came, and one of my brothers and his wife were able to come.

(And what did they think?)

Oh, I don’t know anyone that’s ever come to Salvador that hasn’t loved it. My parents through the years made many trips down here. They were here for the births of all of our children and they just loved it. As I always have.

(Could they communicate with Ruth’s parents?)

Ruth’s dad spoke a little bit more English than her mom , but they communicated as machetunim do. Speaking about the kids and about their hopes and dreams for us.

(So here you are, you’re newlyweds and you’ve moved here. What does your life look like?)

I was tossed right into work as soon as I got here. I was working in the hardware section of the company. We had Central Ferretera. Also on the weekends I was working on what the family called the farm. I had heard about the farm before leaving the States, and my mental picture of the farm was a few acres and a few things being planted. I had no idea that it was a hacienda the size of Talcualhuya, which was about fifteen square kilometers and was a major, major responsibility. So I was out there every weekend. Free weekends didn’t exist. And I had—the whole time that I was here was a learning process. I don’t think I ever stopped learning. For a kid from the Bronx, I really loved being out there. I loved the out of doors. I loved the people. The people always made me feel at home from the word go. I just loved being on—riding around on the Jeep and on horseback and learning about all the things that we did there, being part of it. It was really an adventure.

(Just for the record, Talcualhuya is T-a-l-c—)

—u-a-l-h-u-y-a. Talcualhuya. (laughs)

(I wanted to make sure we get that spelling correct.)

And it means, “Those who eat dirt.”

(In Nahuat)

I’m not sure what the correct name of the native tongue is, but apparently the land where Talcualhuya is located was very sacred for ceremonies of that Mayan group, and they would come from all over Central America to meet there. I don’t know how much of the earth they would be required to eat, but they did eat some of it as part of their ceremony. That’s where the name Talcualhuya came from. And that’s why, over the years, when we would make land usable by removing brush and boulders to make it ready for planting or pasture land, by just lifting the top layer of the land, we would find many Mayan artifacts that often dated back hundreds and hundreds of years. The Mayan custom back then was to come from all over Central America and bury all their clay utensils and make new ones. We uncovered so many beautiful small, big, medium-sized pieces, and the tools they used to work with leather and other things. We found little jade tools that still had their sharp edge on them after having been buried for so long.

(So what type of work did you do at Talcualhuya?)

It was a lot of learning. I helped in supervising the work in the cane fields, the handling of the cattle and all of the daily operations of a large industrial farm. We would plant corn and beans, mostly to feed the people. We had sometimes twelve hundred people on the payroll during the sugar season. We had a sugar mill on the property that we ran ourselves. It processed all of our sugar cane into crude sugar that we would ship off to the local refinery. At that time Salvador had a refinery, and we were members of the cooperative that ran it. We also had bees. Believe it or not, our little farm was the largest exporter of bee honey to Germany for many of the years that we were processing honey. And we also had—we were milking by hand twice daily between 450 and 500 head of cattle. Each cow had her own name and responded to it when her turn came and was called in to be milked. Every cow had her favorite milker and would respond to her name when called. It was amazing for this city kid to see all this.

(What kind of names did they give them?)

Gloria, Francesca—women’s names, typical women’s names. (laughs)

(And did you have a cow that you milked?)

I learned how to milk. Not as good as the milkers. I didn’t do any of the milking. I would receive the milk every afternoon. I was at the dairy at three when the milking began and we had this list that we used to show the cows production for the last two weeks. So I would quickly look up the name of the cow that was being milked when the milk was brought to the scale. If the milk production was below the cows average of what she was doing in that two-week period, I’d send the milker back telling him, “No, we need another two pounds. We need another pound at least.” We were able to keep a pretty good control that way.

(How many people worked at that ___?)

We had close to 50 people working full time in the dairy. During the sugar gathering season and the time when the mill was running, we’d have about twelve hundred people. It was a payroll paid by hand, with cash. There were no branch banks back then, so the money had to be divided up from cash that we’d bring in from the capital city of San Salvador and placed into their envelopes, for each and every employee.

(And did they live on the property?)

Most people did. They had homes that were built for them. We had a very elaborate irrigation system that was built by Ruth’s dad from bricks made on the farm. It was a very self-sufficient property. It was an amazing thing. To be able to milk five hundred lactating cows, we had to have about fifteen hundred head of cattle, being fed all the time, being herded, being put out to graze so that they could come into the lactation cycle. It was a large responsibility. We made all of our own food concentrate for the cattle. Truckloads of ingredients were brought in, and blended with the ingredients we would produce ourselves. Then we would mix it ourselves with molasses from our own sugar mill. Again, we were very self-sufficient.

(And how long did this go on? You were working in the hardware store and on the weekends at the hacienda?)

Right.

(So this went on for—?)

All the time I was here. Fifteen years.

(Fifteen years?)

Until we sold our share of the store to one of our partners in 1975. At that point my life changed and I became an exclusive farm worker. I’d leave for the farm on Monday morning and sometimes remain for five or six days.. so our life, Ruth’s and mine, turned topsy-turvy. I wouldn’t see the kids or Ruth for sometimes four or five days at a time. And during the sugar season, I was out there twelve days straight sometimes. I’d come in only to bring in my laundry and then go back out. And Ruth would come with the kids on the weekends. They had a beautiful life on the farm.

(Can you tell me about it a little?)

I’ll do my best. ‘Cause I wasn’t able to spend time with them when they were at the farm. What I would love to do with them was while going out on horseback to inspect the work, I’d sometimes take a pillow and put it in front of me on the saddle and put one of the kids, when they were small enough, in front of me, and we would ride together. When they got bigger, they would have their own horses and they’d ride alongside me. And since we didn’t go very fast and we had very tame horses for them, we felt confident that they wouldn’t have any trouble being on the horse by themselves. I would imagine for them it was a wonderful childhood, being on horseback, going through this beautiful property, manzana [?] after manzana of beautiful sugar fields and in season corn fields and bean fields and seeing all the operations, seeing the soil being tilled, seeing the people working, seeing the people having their lunch and having their breakfast.

In the morning on the farm, we’d have something like, just during the regular season, six hundred people lined up, each with their chengas, that’s what we called them, these very large tortillas covered with beans and cheese and salt, and they would eat the three tortillas beginning with the one on the bottom. By the time they got to the top they would have eaten all the beans and the other food with it. They ate breakfast before leaving for their assigned work and we would send lunch to where they were working in the fields We had a complete kitchen that prepared this food. There were three large vats cooking beans. With women working full-time making close to two thousand of these large tortillas for breakfast and the same amount for lunch. All of these were made by hand. That’s a lot of corn used daily and all of it was planted on the farm. It was incredible. When I think about it today, I really wonder how we did all that, with the primitive means we had at hand. When I think about Ruth’s dad having come here and starting all this, I’m just amazed. What tremendous capacities this guy had!

(And did he treat—how was the relationship with him? He was quite a personality in the sense that he was a huge—a very important man, not only in the Jewish community, but in El Salvador as a whole, very, very respected.)

He was very respected, and rightfully so. I’ve often said he was probably the most intelligent man I’ve ever been able to get close to. And I guess because of that, he had a very demanding, very difficult personality. Sometimes it was a joy to work with him, and other times it was very hard because he had such a very strong personality. Sometimes it was hard to get through to him.

(But all in all you would say it was a positive relationship?)

I would say so. I learned a lot from him, gained a lot working with him, and I hope I adopted a lot of his working habits, because he did so many things right.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

The Salvadoran Sabra

2006-07-04T10:21:00.000-07:00

In this second excerpt, Paul Feldman remembers his first months as a solider and his first encounters with anti-semitism. Most importantly, he reveals his first impressions of his future wife Ruth Baum---the woman who would introduce him to El Salvador.
*************************
(So tell me about the army. When were you drafted?)

I was drafted during the Berlin crisis of 1961. I thought they’d help me make my first trip to Europe. It didn’t happen, because I was sent to Texas. Instead of meeting the Europeans, I met my wife. Which was a better deal. (laughs)

(How was the army? How was the experience?)

Uh, you know, I dreaded the army. I dreaded it because I don’t like all the vaccinations. I didn’t like the idea of losing control of what I was going to do and when. But I decided to make it a positive experience and try and get something out of it rather than just be complainer. So I turned it into a positive, and I learned a lot in the army. A lot of my free time was spent in the post dark room developing the photos I would take during the day. That was where my involvement in photography and film production began.
I became a soldier, and I was thrown amongst people from all walks of life and all educational levels. Some people had never worn shoes before coming in the army, which is almost impossible to think of in today’s world. But they were wearing their first pairs of shoes. Some had never been to the dentist. Many would come back from a call to the dentist with nine teeth having been being pulled out because their teeth had been so rotted.

So I really learned to appreciate all kinds of people for themselves, because I was living with them and I was seeing that they were from all walks of life with all levels of education and preparation, but most of them were decent folks. I got to really enjoy people for themselves.

(How did people react to you?)

There were some sergeants who loved to fool around with me and pick on me because I had a college background. They’d always say, “Oh, here comes the college boy!” But for the most part, with the other soldiers and everybody, I got along just fine. It was a broadening experience for me, and I learned that I could do certain physical things that I had never even thought of doing, and I could hold my own. Things I had never even thought of trying, and I thought, “Well, I can do this if I try,” and I did it.

(Were there other Jews in your company?)

There were about two other Jews in my particular company. They didn’t go to services. Pardon me, there were three, because there was one that I didn’t know was Jewish who revealed himself to me in a very private way after about a year after having been together in the same company. Shall I tell you about the experience with him?

He stopped me one day. We had never spoken. He was a fellow I knew that was from Hungary. Never thought of religion concerning him. He stopped me and said, “Feldman, do you mind if I ask you where you go on Friday nights? You go some place every Friday.” I said, “Well, I go to chapel every Friday night. I’m Jewish.” And he said, “If I tell you something, will you keep it to yourself? I just feel like I want to tell you.” And I said, “Well, sure.” And he said, “I’m Jewish. But we have suffered so much because we’re Jewish, my mother and I, that I never tell anybody.” And he told me about his life as a student in Hungary, first under the Nazis and then under the Russians, and it was not pleasant being Jewish. So, they suffered a lot, and they decided to not identify Jews any more.

They fled Hungary during the 1961 student uprising. He was involved in the student demonstrations, the anti-Russian demonstrations of 1961, and he had to escape or he would have been arrested. He and his mother escaped and they somehow found their way to the States. And as soon as he got to the States, he was drafted. We found ourselves in the same company. I tried to convince him that, “You’re living in the States now. You don’t have to worry about being Jewish. Why don’t you join me at chapel? I’ll take you with me.” I could never, never get him to feel comfortable enough to go to services. But he used to seek me out just to be with me. And I never told anybody his secret, until now.

(And what about anti-Semitism in the army?)

I didn’t feel that people were down on me because I was Jewish, but people who didn’t understand what being Jewish was would come to me occasionally. I had a sergeant who I had never spoken to before, but he stopped me in the company area one day and he asked me would I tell him what our secret is. And I didn’t know what he was talking about. So I asked him, “What secret are you talking about?” And he said, “Well, how do you guys make money?” And I thought a second, and I said, “Well, the reason we have money sometimes and some other people don’t is because some of us try to spend less than what we earn and we try to save some. But I don’t think that’s a trait that all Jewish people have. But if people do have more money than others, it’s because they try and spend less.” And he thought that was quite a concept. Never thought of it. (laughs)

I did have one guy that bothered me in the company area. Again, I didn’t him. We weren’t friends, I had nothing to do with him. He discovered that I was Jewish and he would yell across the company area every time we’d pass each other, “Hi, Feldman, the Jew.” That bothered me but I decided to ignore it. I expected and hoped that it would pass, but it went on for months, every time I saw him. And it was maybe two or three times a week that we’d pass each other. He’d say to me, “Hi, Feldman, the Jew” or “There goes Feldman the Jew.” I kept ignoring it and ignoring it, till one day, to my surprise, I snapped. I was walking with some friends and he yelled it again across the company area, “Hi, Feldman, the Jew.” And I just ran up to him and I pushed him up against the barracks wall and I grabbed him by the shirt here, and I told him, “I didn’t hear what you said. Would you please repeat it to me, and when you do it’ll be the last time that you say any words between those teeth?” And he said to me, “Gee, I didn’t know it bothered you.” And I said, “It bothers me.” And he apologized and just walked off, like every bully does. He was much bigger than me and could have easily beaten me under normal circumstances. But my strength at that moment and the fact that I even did it, surprised me because I’m not a physical person. I was really surprised. And he never bothered me again.

(Great story. Tell me how you met your wife.)

I was in Dallas a few weeks before the High Holidays and I saw that there was a B’nai Brith Southwest chapter dinner. And wanting to be around Jewish people, so I walked into the Hilton Hotel and there was the sign announcing the dinner. I walked up to the receiving desk. I had my uniform on that day and asked, “Do you have anybody from Dallas here? I’d like to meet them.” They asked me what I was doing there and I told them. They made me feel at home and sat me down at the table of the Dallas representatives. And in that group was a young couple who asked me what I was doing for the High Holidays, a few weeks away. They insisted that I be their house guest and bring a friend to spend the holidays with them and their family. And I said I couldn’t impose and tried to politely refuse, but they insisted. So I was their house guest, along with a friend.

The very first night of Rosh Hashanah, I saw this young fellow walking in with two attractive young ladies, Esther Miller and Ruth Baum. That night Ruth and I said hello and never said goodbye. This couple, the Radoffs, were very nice. They knew Ruth and I were interested in each other, and invited Ruth to join ther family for lunch at their home.

(And what did you think of this girl? I mean, she really came from a different background.)

I saw her olive colored skin to me she was a sabra. I thought that was terribly exciting, because I was always very pro-Israel, and I thought, “God, a sabra!”

(So Ruth looked like a sabra.)

Yes. And I resisted the temptation to ask her what part of Israel El Salvador was in. I never asked her that. (laughs)

(But when she said she was from El Salvador, what did you think?)

I thought, quickly, where on earth is El Salvador? I thought of San Salvador. I honestly had not heard of the country before.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Paul Feldman: An Introduction

2006-07-03T10:10:00.000-07:00

Paul Feldman was born and raised in New York, the Bronx to be exact. A member of the armed services as a young man, Paul met his future wife Ruth in uniform....literally. In this first excerpt, Paul remembers his childhood.
******************
My name is Clarence Paul Feldman. F-e-l-d-m-a-n. People leave the D out quite often. I was born in the Bronx, New York, August 20th, 1938. I was born with the last name Ballin, and my father passed away from a coronary thrombosis at the age of 43 when I was four and a half. Mother remarried when I was just about to turn ten, and the very nice gentleman that became my new father was named Nash Feldman, who adopted me and my name became Feldman after that.

(Did they have children together, the Feldmans?)

Both of them had been beyond their childbearing years, but they came into the marriage, both of them, with two sons. So we became a family of four brothers, and we were close from the beginning. We are still close today, although we are only three right now, since my brother Bert passed away about eight or nine years ago, a victim of lung cancer. But the three of us are very close even though we live distant from each other.

(Tell me, where were your parents born?)

Samuel, my biological dad, was born in Georgia, Russia, just before 1900. And my mother was born in Scranton, Pennsylvania. Her mother came from a farm community in Hungary, where my grandfather was a teacher.

(Did you grow up in a particularly religious home?)

I was 41/2 when my father Samuel passed away but I still cherish a few of the memories I have of him. Some memories include sitting in synagogue with him on wooden folding chairs during the high holidays. I don’t know that he was particularly religious to the point of going weekly to services. But I know that our Jewishness was always important to my brother Morty and my mother.

(Did you live in a predominantly Jewish neighborhood?)

I lived in New York City. (laughs)

(Did you live in the Bronx?)

I lived in the Bronx.

(What part of the Bronx?)

I lived in the part of the Bronx that was crossed by the Fordham Road and Jerome Avenue, very close to NYU’s Hall of Fame. And then when I was almost 10, Mom and my second dad, Nash Feldman were married and the six of us moved to Queens, New York settling into a 3 story home in the town of St. Alban’s.

(Very familiar place. Right on the Long Island railroad.)

That’s right, yes.

(Very convenient. Can you describe your home as a child? What do you remember, everything from sounds and smells to what it was like being eventually one of four boys?)

I loved being part of our instant family of four boys. Up to that point, because my older brother was away at college when I was between the ages of five to nine and a half, and my Mom was working. So I was pretty much alone. My brother would visit on during vacations, and so when all of a sudden our family expanded to four boys, and the other two boys were still at home, I now had two new full-time brothers.

Mom was no longer working so her days were spent cooking large meals for her newly enlarged family. She was constantly baking and since that was before anyone knew about cholesterol, everything was heavy with butter, eggs and cream. I used to love coming home from school because there was always the delicious smell of a cake fresh from the oven to welcome me. Believe it or not, between my brothers and I, we would finish a large cake daily. Mom was famous on our street for her marble cakes and something she called an “orange kiss me cake”. The whole orange went into it.

My new brothers, Seibert and Melvin, were very generous with their time although always very busy. They were both going to college but they made time for me. They introduced me to opera, the theater, good music and took me to my first concerts. I just loved being around them. They were always doing the most interesting things and above all did what they could to make me feel part of our new family.

As far as our “Jewishness” was concerned, we were one of those families that did not regularly go to services. I remember when I was studying for my bar mitzvah, I had to be at services every Saturday and Friday evening, but felt like I was praying for the whole family because no one else in my family was going. I was going, and I felt that I was the one that was carrying the religious load for everybody in the family. I remember protesting to our Rabbi Spielman, that the Haftorah was in Hebrew with no English translation so I didn’t know what on earth I was reading. I wanted to understand, but the Rabbi was always too busy to translate it for me or provide an English translation, so I was left with the 78-rpm record he made for me in Hebrew and I was just memorizing his version, which I was able to do over a three-month period. I just gave back to him what he had given me on the record.

I was frustrated because I felt that I was just going through the motions. I really didn’t understand what it was all about and I felt disconnected from the main reason for having a Bar Mitzvah. I was missing the message and was frustrated because nobody was concerned for me know what it was about.

My new Dad (Nash) insisted on making a Bar Mitzvah celebration I could only have dreamed of before he met and married my mother. He was a wonderful man who always made sure my biological brother, Morty and I never felt there was any difference between us and his two sons from his first marriage.

As soon as my bar mitzvah was over I would only occasionally go to services, but my attendance fell off quite a bit until I went to college and went to services at college mostly to exercise my Jewish identity and meet other Jewish people. When I was drafted into the army, I went to services every Friday evening, mostly to be with Jewish people. I confess it wasn’t until later years that I began to be interested in the religious part of my Jewish life again mostly as a result of my conversations with Ruth’s father, Jose’ Baum. His religion was always an important part of who he was and he read and studied a lot. He was the only person I ever knew whose hobby was writing sermons. I had never bothered to read about Judaism. I had read biographical books about Jewish people and the Holocaust, but I had never gotten involved with books dedicated to religious or philosophical themes. It was not until later that I understood it is my responsibility, if I want to understand and enjoy the benefits of our rich religious heritage, to do my own studying and reading. I enjoy this although I know I am just scratching the surface and tend to be lax in this area. There is so much to learn and I know it is up to me to take responsibility for myself as a Jew.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

A Goodbye/Una despedida

2006-06-30T16:55:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I physically left El Salvador yesterday and it was one of the hardest goodbyes I've had to make yet. Of course the work continues yet now I will be submitting these stories and memories from my first home, the United States.

Below, I am attaching my "Carta de despedida," that was published in this week's community newsletter based in San Salvador. Although it is limited to those who read Spanish, all will undoubtedly be able to gather the power of my experience through these simple words of gratitude. I can only reiterate in this entry the immense emotion and appreciation I feel towards the community which opened its doors to me for almost a year; they made this project what it is.

The letter is introduced by Rabbi Pablo Berman, a key spiritual and academic supporter throughout my Fulbright experience.

Wishing you the best of weekends. ...until Monday.
****************************
A MANERA DE EDITORIAL

“Ish et shmo tijtob al mateu”

“Y escribirás el nombre de cada uno sobre sus varas”

Di’s le ordena a Moshe que tome doce varas, y en cada una de las varas escriba el nombre de cada uno de los príncipes de cada una de las doce tribus. Este pedido de Di’s esta relacionado con la rebelión de Koraj, una lucha de poderes que finalmente no termina bien. Pero en esta editorial quiero que tomemos este pasuk (versículo) y lo pensemos diferente. “Y escribirás el nombre” escribir nuestro nombres tiene que ver con el recuerdo, con dejar un legado de quienes hemos sido. Hay muchas maneras de escribir nuestros nombres, cada uno elige de que manera habrá de hacerlo y en cierta medida la vida nos va ayudando en este camino de “escribir nuestros nombres”.

Jessica Alpert nos acompaño diez meses en nuestra Kehila, escribiendo los nombres y las historias de muchos miembros de nuestra Comunidad. Historias de vida, identidades y relatos que son parte de cada uno de nosotros. Jessica se transformo en una parte de la Kehila, y la vamos a extrañar ahora que ha regresado a los Estados Unidos. De todas maneras los relatos continuaran siendo parte del “Yo También Cuento” el espacio de Jessica en El Kehilaton que seguirá relatando la historia de quienes hicieron y hacen la hermosa Comunidad Judía de El Salvador. Lo que sigue son las palabras de Jessica, y su “Carta de Despedida”.

Querida Comunidad Israelita,

Esta semana es diferente que las demás. Esta semana me despido de este rincón mágico para regresar a los Estados Unidos y una vida completamente diferente. He tenido una experiencia inolvidable en El Salvador y les agradezco por incluirme en esta familia, una familia comunitaria y espiritual, una familia única.

En estos últimos diez meses, he tenido el agrado de sentarme y entrevistar a 76 miembros de la comunidad. Desde Haifa a la Colonia Maquilishuat ustedes me han contado sus íntimos recuerdos, re-viviendo una vida en pleno proceso y compartiendo lo malo y lo bueno, lo difícil y lo maravilloso.

Este proceso no termina con la conclusión de mi beca; el trabajo apenas esta comenzando. Tengo tres ideas que estoy desarrollando incluyendo:

1. La creación de una página Web contando una historia breve de la Comunidad.

2. Editando los testimonios de audio y sus transcripciones para un “archivo
electrónico,” dando acceso virtual a estudiantes, historiadores, y miembros de
comunidades judías. Este archivo será protegido y hospedado por un centro
cultural judío.

3. Crear un documental para la radio publica en los Estados Unidos.

También continuaré escribiendo en EL KEHILATON semanalmente y en www.storylistener.blogspot.com cinco veces a la semana, cada vez incluyendo más pedazos de la historia comunitaria y también agregando noticias culturales no solamente dentro de El Salvador, pero también las del mundo entero.

De nuevo, les doy mis gracias por un año de amistad, compasión, conversación e historia. Sus testimonios me han enseñado que cada vida contiene trozos de inocencia, curiosidad, dolor, conflicto, sabiduría, y esperanza. Para esta lección y las lecciones que forman parte de su contribución, les agradezco no solamente de mi parte, pero también como representante de mi generación. Gracias por ayudarme con esta labor de preservar las memorias y las historias de La Comunidad Israelita de El Salvador.

Siempre con Ustedes,

Jessica Alpert-Reich

With a European tinge....

2006-06-29T06:00:00.000-07:00

Short but sweet, this final post reveals the complex identities experienced by Andree.
*****************************
My mother did not adapt to the Salvadoran life. She retained her French habits.

(Was that challenging for you? Or did it not affect your perspective?)

Oh, yes, it did affect my perspective in the sense that, well, she was critical. She was quite critical of customs that were different.

(This is a hard question, and a lot of people—if you had to pick some adjectives to describe yourself in terms of ethnicity, identity, religion, what adjectives would you use and in what order? For example, for me, I think I would say I’m American, number one, and then I’m Jewish, and then—I’ve actually never done this before. I don’t know what I would say. Maybe I have some Latin American cultural background. That’s what I would say.)

I was going to say, well, it’s not an adjective, but I’m a woman. (laughs) Jewish. Salvadoran. With a European tinge-- French.

(Do you feel American?)

(pause) It’s funny. When I’m here, not really. I’m not really from anywhere. I’m really a hybrid. I’m really an aguacatera, a mongrel. (chuckles) English is my best language, the one I’ve worked and studied most. But I don’t feel—first of all, “American” is a term that I don't use. I think we should say North American,or person from the United States. The adjective “American,” I think, is for all of Latin America also. I don’t consider myself from the United States. However, when I’m in a Latin American environment, I realize that I’m not there either. I guess I’m a little bit of it all.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

The lakes...the volcanos....

2006-06-28T09:58:00.000-07:00

In this installment, Andree remembers her Jewish life both in El Salvador and then in the United States.
***************************
(Did you decide to join a synagogue here?)

No, we would go to high holiday services. We didn’t decide to join a synagogue at that time. It’s strange. I still felt that a Bat Mitzvah was not necessary for the girls, and they didn’t seem to feel strongly about it either. So they had a Jewish education and learned to read Hebrew. A rabbi came to our house and instructed them along with two other children. Later on, Lorena and Beatriz said,“Why didn’t we have Bat Mitzvahs?” But you know, at that time I didn’t think it was important, and they didn’t seem to indicate that wish either, although their friends were becoming Bat Mitzvah. But then for the boys, I mean, it’s not a sexist thing—although it is—but there was no question that they were going to become Bar Mitzvah. That had been part of the culture in which I grew up.

(Was Juan Alberto able to be here for that?)

Yes, yes. We had joined a Reform Temple a few years before their Bar Mitzvah. Eduardo and Enrique read their Torah and Haftorah portions. They studied the meaning of these and looked at how these readings related to their lives at that point. Juan Alberto was also given participation in the ceremony.

(How did you feel living here? Was that a huge adjustment for you?)

It was a tremendous adjustment, because in El Salvador I had very close friends. Here it was a totally different way of life. I made some very good friends, especially a friend that still lives across the street and has a child the same age as Beatriz. But it was just so different, because in El Salvador, we used to visit each other very frequently and spontaneously. Just the distance in itself made this harder here. The other thing is, Juan Alberto’s connections were very much with the Paraguayans, and at that point I didn’t feel that comfortable with them.

(Despite the Latin connection? That group didn’t help you feel closer to Salvador?)

I felt it was very different, they were very different, and I was an outsider. I was an outsider as a Salvadoran, as a Jew—

(Did you feel any anti-Semitism?)

No, but I have felt very much the difference. You know, one instance, for example, my brother-in-law and his wife are musicians, internationally known musicians. They have records and have traveled all over the world.

(What kind of music do they play?)

Paraguayan folk and international, but mostly Paraguayan. We were at a restaurant in New York when they were playing, and my sister-in-law says, in front of the whole restaurant, “Now we’re going to play music for my dear sister-in-law: Havah Nagila—” (laughs) You know? (laughs) I mean, my Jewishness is at the top of their thinking.

(That’s what made you different?)

yes, yes. And in Paraguay, there were some—I was at a dinner party where there were some “entertainers,” saying some not-very-nice-to-Jewish-people jokes.

(Did they know that you were Jewish?)

I don’t think so. And I wondered, should I make a big issue about this, or should I just, you know, not laugh? (laughs) And I didn’t think it was appropriate at that time for me to make a big fuss. I think many years later, with more maturity I probably would have made an issue of this. I have taken on a role of making people aware of anti-Semitic (and other) biases.

(Did you see your parents when you were living here? Did you see them often or not so much?)

When we came here we went every winter holiday to El Salvador. The first few years we spent the whole summer there.

(Before the war?)

Oh, yes. I just couldn’t wait for the kids to be out of school and go for the summer. Then Juan Alberto would come for a while. When my parents traveled, they would stop by on their way.

(After the upheaval in Paraguay, did it ever occur to you to go to Salvador at that point? To go to Paraguay? You just thought you would stay here?)

No. We ended up separating. So at that time I wasn’t going anywhere else.

(Did you feel like that was home?)

(pause) I don’t know where I feel from. I feel Salvadoran.

(How often do you go back?)

Not often. Not often. El Salvador is in my heart. (laughs)

(And when you’re there, what do you feel?)

I just love it. I love the people, they're so friendly and warm. I love the land—I see those volcanoes, those lakes, it just really makes me feel great.

(What do you feel about the Jewish community there? Is that a big part of Salvador for you? Is that peripheral?)

It is a big—it was a big part. I’ve been out of it for more than thirty years, you know? It’s more than thirty years that I’m here, so— (sighs) (pause) When I go, I go to services and I love seeing people there. But it’s not my place any more because I’ve just been out for so long. While there are many people that I know, there are also many I don’t know.

(When people ask you, “Where are you from?”—?)

El Salvador.

(Do they often seem surprised?)

Depends. Oh, yes, mostly they do, yes. Salvadorans, for example, the people who look mestizos would say, “But you don’t look Salvadoran. You can’t be.” Americans, too. Americans also have the stereotype of the mestizo looking Salvadoran.

(How do you react to that? Do you go into explaining how—?)

With people that look mestizos, I don't bother. I'll say, “Oh, I don’t? Oh.” (laughs) With other people, or with Americans, I say, “My parents were not Salvadoran. My parents were French. I’m first-generation.”

(Do you feel that the Salvadorans consider you Salvadoran, your friends, people that you grew up with, María Elena Rodríguez, those people?)

(laughs)

(The sort of typical Salvadorans, do you think they think of you as Salvadoran?)

That’s interesting. When I was—in the early years of our marriage, we had some very, very good Salvadoran friends, and I sometimes said, “I feel that I don’t belong.” He said, “Why?” I said, “I just don’t feel that you consider me Salvadoran. I feel that my Jewishness makes me different.” “But it doesn’t, he would reply.” And this was a very good Salvadoran friend. But I felt that it did make a difference. I don’t know what it is, but this group, when we had gatherings they would sometimes use inappropriate language. Someone would invariably say, “Oh, excuse me, Andrée." I wondered why they would excuse themselves to me, when there were many other people present. So you know—how are you not going to feel different that way? I don’t know, was I younger, better bred? (laughs) I don’t know what. I didn’t use bad language. But it pointed out my difference.

(Something was there.)

Yes.

(You said something a ways back about how you ate very European food at home and your mother still doesn’t recognize some of the native dishes. Where did you learn about these native dishes?)

When I came back to El Salvador and when I lived more among Salvadorans.

(So it took you—you had to get married and have your own life before you were living…….)

Before I started living…..really a Salvadoran life.

Transcription by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Languages and Diplomacy: A Sensitive Balance

2006-06-27T21:49:00.000-07:00

In the next excerpt, Andree remembers her time as a newlywed in El Salvador. Later, she explains her family's momentous move to the United States.....and why they stayed for longer than expected.
*****************************
(Tell me about the man that you met and eventually married.)

I met Juan Alberto Llanes. We met the summer that I came back. We started going out. I was not quite eighteen.

(And he was how old?)

He was twenty-five.

(And did your parents know him?)

Actually, my father introduced us. I don’t think he had the intention of the relationship going where it did. (laughs) My parents were very much opposed to it because I was so young. They would have hoped for me to marry a Jewish man, and later. We were married within six months of knowing each other.

(In El Salvador?)

In Salvador.

(Where did you-all live? Did you live near—you had your own home, but did you live near your family?)

No, when we got married Juan Alberto had been renting an apartment from a person who rented the second floor of her house.

(Like a pensión?)

Like a pensión. When we got married, we had this small apartment, which was very nice. Meals were provided for us. The owner was very friendly and affectionate. We kept contact with her for a long time.

(Was Juan Alberto interested in you being Jewish?)

Oh, yes. He valued my Judaism very much and respected it. Actually, he supported very much the Jewish education of our children. He never converted, but he—

(But he was supportive?)

He was very supportive.

(When did you have your first child?)

Lorena was born in ’62, four years later.

(And then you had—?)

Beatriz in ’65 and Eduardo and Enrique in ’71.

(Twins.)

Twins.

(By ’71 you have four children.)

Yes.

(How is life at this point in Salvador?)

Well, when we got married, (pause) regarding the Jewish community, people were friendly and I didn’t feel that, “Oh, you went and married outside of your faith,” you know? I didn’t feel that much. People took us in. And Juan Alberto was a very friendly, outgoing, gregarious man.

(And so did you take your kids to the youth—were there youth programs at that point?)

Oh, yes, yes. The children—well, Lorena and Beatriz, because we came to live in the States—when they were nine and six. So Lorena, especially, participated a lot in the youth groups, just like everybody else. We didn’t feel that they were looked upon as less-than. Eduardo and Enrique were only 1 year old when we came here.

(With Juan Alberto you spoke Spanish all the time?)

Mm-hmm.

(Did you decide, “Oh, I want to speak a certain language——to my children”?)

With Lorena I spoke in French, and she went to the French nursery school. And I spoke in French to Beatriz also. But when Lorena started going to the American school, she didn’t want to speak French any more. She wanted to speak English. So Beatriz did not really pick up French that well, until later on. So we spoke Spanish at home. Then Eduardo and Enrique were born, and I thought, “These children are going to be trilingual,” and I spoke in French to them. They were a year and four months when we came here, and they spoke their twin language of French and Spanish, which nobody outside of the family understood. So I dropped French. I thought these kids have to speak something that the world outside of our home understands. I went on with Spanish.

(Why did you move here, of all places?)

Juan Alberto was a diplomat. He was a diplomat for Paraguay. That’s how we met in El Salvador. He was transferred to Washington.

(He was transferred to the embassy here?)

He was— He had been assigned to the first legation (which ranks below an embassy) in El Salvador. Then in '72 he was promoted and transferred to the Embassy here in Washington.

(How long did you expect to be here?)

Wishful thinking. I thought that we would go back to El Salvador. I thought that Juan Alberto would do a few years here and we’d go back to El Salvador. (chuckles)

(And what happened?)

I thought that Juan Alberto would go into the family business at some point. And what happened was that he did try some time while we were in El Salvador, working afternoons at the business, but he wasn’t cut out for that. That was not his field. So we stayed here.

(And he worked as a diplomat? And he was able to stay here—?)

He was here for about seven or eight years in that position, got promoted also to Ministro Consejero, and then he was given the position of Ambassador of Paraguay to El Salvador. That was in the late ‘70s. Bad time, bad time to go back to live in El Salvador because of the political situation. I stayed in Washington with the children.

(So he went by himself?)

He went by himself. yes. He stayed there for about seven years.

(And he came back and forth?)

Yes, he would come at times, like, every two or three months he would come for about three weeks or so. And then (pause) he was promoted back to Washington as Ambassador to set up a new office for Paraguay to the OAS (Organization of American States.)

(For Paraguay? That’s a huge job.)

Right. So he came back here.

(What year was that? In the ‘80s?)

The ‘90s. Because in the late ‘70s, at the height of the war is when he went to El Salvador for another seven years, more or less, and then he was sent back here. Then his government went through an upheaval and Juan Alberto's job ended.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Andree Salomon: An Introduction

2006-06-26T00:34:00.000-07:00

Andree Salomon de Llanes is the daughter of Yvonne and Georges Salomon and the sister of Helene and Roberto Salomon. Andree married Juan Alberto Llanes, an Paraguayan diplomat in El Salvador and together they had four children. The family later moved to the Washington, DC metropolitan area where Andree still lives today.
*****************************
(What is your first memory from childhood? It’s a very complex question. If you think of your childhood, what’s the first thing that comes to mind?)

I have a lot of memories from photographs, so I’m not sure what’s the memory, what’s the vision of a photograph. (chuckles)

(That’s fine.)

I see a picture of myself as a baby giving a kiss to a stuffed animal. I think it’s purely a picture. I have a picture of Hélène and me. She had hair down to her waist. We were about five and three. I have a picture of Roby when he was born and Hélène and me bending down to look at him. Something about our first house on the Avenida Roosevelt.

(What was your home like in the early parts of your childhood? Were there a lot of people running around all the time? Was it a social life, or was it more of a calm home? I’m trying to get a picture of your home in words.)

Well, one thing that comes to mind is, my father wanted lunch at a very rigid time, so lunch had to be ready on the dot at 12:20. In that sense it was not Salvadoran, because Salvadoran people were not punctual. We ate food that was mostly European, so much that my mother still doesn’t know some of the Salvadoran foods. And there was a lot of bustle with three children within five years.

(What did you speak at home?)

With my mother I spoke French, with my father a mixture. He spoke a lot in Spanish to us. And when I went to the Escuela Americana with my brother and sister, we spoke in English.

(So by a young age you were already speaking three languages?)

Three languages, right. When I was seven, at the age of seven I was speaking (or understanding three languages.)

(Did you have a favorite language? Did you feel more comfortable in one language or another?)

Certainly not in French. I mean, French was just what I spoke with my mother for everyday matters. But I did not have a deeper knowledge until I studied it in high school and college.

(When you were young, were you aware that you were Jewish, was that discussed in the home? “Oh, we’re Jewish, so we go to synagogue.” Was it a big part of—?)

Oh, yes, it was a big part, my being Jewish. I don’t think that we went to the synagogue that often, but certainly food was very important for my parents. Friday night there was always a nice clean tablecloth and food that was more special or fancy. My father always went to synagogue, so we knew that. But we didn’t go that often. We always went for holidays.

(In school, did you ever feel left out because you were Jewish?)

Oh, yes, oh, yes.

(How so?)

Just very different. And my name, also. I remember, Andrée Salomon, I wished I was Ana María Hernández or something. (laughs) María Elena. Something. Nothing to do with María, but, you know, just a more common name. I was very, very aware of being Jewish and different. For instance, when we went to High Holy Days services, I was really embarrassed to be out of school. If the school bus passed, I wanted to just hide and not be seen "playing hooky".. (chuckles)

(Is it because you didn’t want people to know or you just—?)

No, I think people knew. I don’t think it was that. I just thought it was really bad to be out of school. (laughs)

(Did your classmates ever ask you questions about being Jewish or make comments?)

I don’t remember much of that. I had a classmate—Miriam Lewinsky was in class with me. Let’s see, Dicky Schoening was I think a year ahead, maybe.

(So there were a few of you?)

A very few. We were very, very few Jewish kids. Yolanda Rosenberg was a year or two behind me, and so was Ruth Baum and your mother. There were few of us. But I did go to first communions and later on to more Catholic weddings and christenings than Jewish life-cycle events.

(As time went on, did you feel more comfortable with being different, or was it always a challenge as you got older?)

We’re talking about ten, twelve years. (pause) I’m not sure.

(What about even older, adolescence?)

Well, I went away when I was about fifteen. At that point I was in the States, it was no longer so special to be Jewish, so different to be Jewish.

(And that was a good feeling?)

yes, yes.

(How did you like being outside of Salvador? Did you miss home? Did you want to go back?)

I was very, very homesick, very homesick to go back, so much that I rushed through high school and I chose not to go to college. I wanted to come back to El Salvador. I missed my family very much.

(In the Jewish community, did you have a lot of friends? Did you feel like it was a very close-knit group?)

Yes, yes, we were all very close, like I said, with Miriam Lewinsky, Yolanda Rosenberg, Dicky Schoening, Arturo Falkenstein, Ruth Reich, Ruth Baum, the Lewinskys. We also saw Raquel and Roberto Liebes.

(Would you say it was a very unique childhood, the things that you would do together? I’m comparing it to maybe a childhood in Europe or the States.)

I think we were very privileged. We had the Deportivo (Círculo Deportivo club.) For instance, I was a swimmer. After school my mother would often leave us at the club and we would swim. Just the privileges that we had, signed "vales"for the food that you got (on credit ). The piñatas that we had, the parties, the gifts, traveling. We were very privileged.

(And you knew that when you were growing up, or no?)

I did. Because I had a lot of awareness of the poverty around me. From a very young age I was struck—I remember one of the things that really just still moves me very much, is people’s shoes, people’s worn, worn shoes, or lack of, that really—and a certain style that the poorer children used that really made very clear to me the differences in economic status. Such as the food also. I just could not imagine that somebody could grow up and grow bones and become an adult on the little food that they had. I was very much aware, very much aware of people living in shacks, even very close to our wonderful home.

(Did that bother you?)

Oh, yes…..Oh yes.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Yvonne Salomon: A Despedida.

2006-06-23T08:42:00.000-07:00

In this final excerpt, Yvonne Salomon remembers the beginning and end of her years in Salvador.
*************************************
(Let’s go back a little bit, and tell me about the Jewish community when you arrived. Were they welcoming to you?)

Oh, you mean, in San Salvador

(When you arrived for the first time?)

Yes. They made a very nice reception, congratulating us, the whole community. There was a dinner dance at the Club Deportivo. That was very nice, yes. We made the same thing for everybody who arrived afterwards.

(And did you find you had a lot in common with the other women?)

There were almost no women my age. There were no women my age. None of all these young men who were there were married.

(So you were one of the first women who arrived?)

In this generation, yes. I knew Lucie Frenkel, Evelyn’s mother, and the boss’s wife, of course. I met several of Evelyn’s school friends, and now the daughter of one of them lives here and is friends with Andrée. (laughs)

Another one with whom I was friends is Alice Liebes. She was so different from your grandmother, completely a different kind, but the three of us, we spoke German. Your grandmother spoke French, but Alice didn’t, so I learned German over there. (laughs)

(Amazing. So you spoke German with certain people and you spoke French with your husband?)

Yes, I always spoke French at home.

(And what about with your children?)

I always spoke French to them. The three of them speak it fluently. They have maybe a little accent, but they speak it fluently, all three of them.

(And when did you learn Spanish?)

In San Salvador. Trial by fire…. (laughs)

(So you learned Spanish as you went along?)

Yes. I had some Spanish lessons in Sarreguemines before I left. I asked wherever I could: is there somebody who would teach me Spanish? And finally they recommended me a young man, and he came and gave me a few lessons, and I found out that he didn’t know Spanish either. He had to use a dictionary all the time. Whatever he told me was wrong.

(So you lived in Salvador and you raised your children in Salvador?)

Yes.

(How was that, raising your children in Salvador?)

Well, Andrée always spoke French. She answered me in French, not always, but most of the time. And she went first to the French kindergarten, when she was five, I believe. This is maybe why she’s fluent now. Hélène and Roby never answered. I spoke always French with them, but they always answered in Spanish.

(And they went to the American school, all of them?)

Yes. Afterwards, when the American school started, Andrée started one year, I believe at the same school Evelyn was. I believe she was there for one year. I have to ask her. I don’t remember. It was nothing much. But then, when the American school started, Andrée went directly to first grade. Hélène went to kindergarten.

(And did you enjoy your life?)

(pause) Whenever I was homesick, I tried to convince myself that I’m lucky to be out, away from all that. Well, it was difficult in the beginning, very difficult. The habits, the food, the fashion, what is done, what is not done, speaking to people—it was difficult, very difficult.

(Did it ever get easier?)

Oh, yes, yes, afterwards, yes. When I started being more fluent in Spanish, yes. I forced myself to read Spanish, a little bit, not much. I was often homesick.

(Did you think you would always live in El Salvador?)

Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t think so far. Afterwards—sometimes when we were in France, later, when the children were all away at school, we went more often to France, Georges and I, and we rented an apartment on the Riviera and we stayed there. That was very, very nice. But, when you are not in your home, I—for example, I like being for vacation somewhere else, but then I’m looking forward to go home.

(So Salvador was your home?)

Yes. Yes. At that time.

(Did you ever become a Salvadoran citizen?)

No. No.

(You were always a French citizen?)

Yes. French. I’m not changing.

(So even after the war, how did you feel about France? You felt—?)

Liberated.

(You felt proud to be French?)

And how! And how! Georges became Salvadoran. I didn’t.

(So you felt like you had France still, you hadn’t lost your country, that France was still your country?)

Yes, absolutely, yes. Georges, I’m sure he had planned to remain in Salvador, traveling, because he loved travel. We traveled very often. But then there was a time when suddenly there were menacing letters sent out to people. Many other people had left, and then Georges got one, too. And he said, “Out. Now we go.” We went to Miami. That was in ’78 we left, ’76? No, no, no. Yes, I believe it was ’76 or ’78. I don’t remember exactly. We went to France in the spring and rented an apartment there. Then we went back.
We went to the Riviera, in Beaulieu. We liked the place there. It was very quiet and nice.

(Did you want to come back to Salvador, or you couldn’t?)

Oh, yes, we could, we could. Georges——was Salvadoran.

(But were you afraid to go back?)

To Salvador? Oh, no, no, we went back to Miami. We didn’t come back to Salvador. Georges went back to Salvador—I went back first maybe a few months after we were there, because Georges said, “It’s so ridiculous. We have all the furniture there and nobody takes advantage of it. Let’s bring it over.” Hélène and Roby were still there. They didn’t want to leave. We had asked them to leave, but they didn’t. Then I went down to Salvador. One Sunday we were having lunch at Roby’s theater in Salvador. He had arranged a theater in an old house. Suddenly there was somebody at the door, a military man, together with somebody from the Salvador Guards, saying, “We want to visit the house. You’re hiding pistoleros.” I said, “There is no pistolero in this house, but if you want to come in, come in.” So they came in. There were two trucks in front of the house, and about fifteen soldiers. “Everybody against the wall.” Roby had invited a group, we were about fourteen, fifteen people having lunch there. They took us out, two at a time always, and put us against the wall with the hands out. Boris Gabay was next to me, and he said, “Don’t look in front of your left leg.” Of course I looked. It was a bullet.

Roby told them, “I’m going to let you visit every corner of this house. I’ll open it. You enter. You look around. This lady’s going to lock it again.” Roby didn’t want anybody to be hiding there. Then finally they told us, “OK, you can go,” after standing two hours with our hands against the wall.

I called Georges when they arrived. His phone did not answer. Then I called Henri Weill, his partner. He thought I was joking. “Yeah, sure, sure. Yeah, sure, there are soldiers there.”

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Camouflage

2006-06-22T00:41:00.000-07:00

Now married, Yvonne Salomon remembers her first home in El Salvador...and the war back home that changed her family forever.
************************
(Once you were married, where did you live?)

In San Salvador. First we rented a furnished—Georges had rented a furnished house at the place of an elderly lady, Mrs. Drews. She was very, very nice. It was a very old place, with a palm tree in the middle of the patio, and as soon as the sun went down, lots of animals came out of the bushes. It was not very nice. There were no windows.

(You were uncomfortable in that setting?)

I was very disturbed sharing space with so many animals. Then we found a house which was just recently built, a small house and we moved there. There were no apartments in San Salvador at that time.

(Were you in touch with your parents during this time?)

We were in touch with them just for two months. When the big rush started, on the 10th of May, the invasion started, in 1940. Then my parents, like everybody did, went as far down south in France as they could. They landed—they stopped when there was no more gas. They rented one room in a small village, Cousex, and the furniture was the back seat of the car, and the two front seats. The people from Strasbourg, my cousin’s family, were two kilometers away. That was good. It was very near Limoges. All the people in Strasbourg were directed to Limoges. My parents and my cousin’s family could get together.

My mother went to see the priest of the village. She told him that they are Jewish. When there is a—what do you call it? When suddenly the soldiers arrive to check, how do you call that?

(The Gestapo?)

No, the French troop from Vichy who had taken over, under German orders.
My mother asked if there was a raid, would the priest permit her and her husband to move in. Would he pretend that her husband was the gardener and she the cook. She talked a good while with him, and he agreed, and they did it for the whole war.

(And he knew they were Jewish?)

Yes. My mother told him. “First of all, we are Jewish.”

(And he treated them well?)

Very well.

It was one kilometer away from Limoges. So sometimes during the spring and summer they walked all the way to meet acquaintances from Strasbourg who were on the other side. And one day they went there. There was a religious Catholic procession. And my mother looks, and she sees a friend of mine called Yvonne Moise, no less. She searches around and she sees Yvonne looking to a certain side. My mother looked to that side and saw a lady who was crying. It was my friend's mother. Yvonne had made believe that she’s Catholic, she went into Catholic school and she was in the procession.

Well, they made it through the war.

(Did her entire family survive?)

No, no, no. I don’t have any close family beside my father and my mother. My cousins were the nearest ones. Bertrand and Alice were brother and sister of my two cousins from San Salvador. They were with their mother. Bertrand was for a time a prisoner of war, at the beginning. But as he spoke fluently German and French, he was hired by some official at a place in a town in Germany where he was, and that man needed a translator. So Bertrand was well off. One day the man didn’t need him any more, so he said to Bertrand, “I don’t need you any more.” Bertrand said, “What are you going to do?” “Do you want to go home?” He said, “Yes!” “OK. I’ll send you home.” He sent him home. Just like that. Bertrand must be one of the few ones who has been sent back. So he went near Limoges, where his mother and sister were. The sister's husband, who was not Jewish, was still prisoner, as long as the war lasted. Then afterwards, Bertrand joined a group of—

(Resistance?)

Resistance. He stayed in the mountains with them for a time.

(But you don’t hear any of this until after the war?)

Absolutely not. We heard—I told you there was one strictly kosher family in Sarreguemines. They went to Switzerland when the war started. They had relatives already in Switzerland. They could stay with their relatives. My mother had devised a way to communicate with us. You had no right to send closed envelopes, letters. Everything had to be open. So she wrote the address on a postcard. So my mother and my aunt sent each other postcards, writing very near the stamp. They would say things like, “We are all right, the weather is good. We have whatever we need.” Then they cut out the stamps and gave them to the man going to Switzerland, who sent them to us to El Salvador. This way we could see some of their handwriting and know that they were alive at that date. People used to carry stamps to collect.

(Camouflage.)

Yes. Camouflage, yes. And they sent it to us and my cousins in El Salvador. That was the only thing we heard from them for two years. Then suddenly, Uncle Sam woke up.

(What about your first child?)

My first child was born May 25, 1940, just during the invasion. In every business place, if there were several Britons or French or Italians, whoever was in the war, one has to stay. One could stay, the other one had to leave—could leave. And Georges and Enrique decided between themselves, and Enrique said to my husband, “You are married. You have a child. I go. You stay.” But before they had decided, we had all been ready. We were supposed to be sent to Martinique for training. None of the people who were in El Salvador, nobody had military service. They didn’t have to, being out of the country. And so we had already started selling one lamp and we were going to sell everything and leave for Martinique.

And then Pétain declared “peace.” Pétain stopped the war. He didn’t stop the war, he gave France away to the Germans. We decided to stay where we were, and then De Gaulle did his famous declaration, “La France a perdu une bataille, mais la France n’a pas perdu la guerre.” You understand? (France has lost a battle, but France has not lost the war.) So we all joined, naturally, De Gaulle’s party. Everybody but my husband’s boss. “Uhn-uhn, no, no, he has nothing to say. Pétain is the one who is—”

(So you joined. And what year is this?)

’40.

(So you’re still in 1940. And your first child is born, and her full name?)

’40. Andrée.

(And then 1942?)

1942, Hélène. Hélène Sophie. Andrée is Mathilde Andrée.

(And then in ’45?)

’45, Roby. Robert Samuel, after my father-in-law’s name.

(So at the end of the war, you have three children, and you’ve had no contact with your family?)

No, we only had contact with them after the war. France was liberated almost one year before the end of the war.. Immediately after the liberation, my mother wrote to the family who was living in their house in Sarreguemines. The Schmidts answered her in a very friendly way. My mother told them that she and her husband had both survived and were coming back, and they wanted to enter into their house. And—

(They owned the house?)

Yes. But at that time you couldn’t tell where things stood. It happened that Mrs. Schmidt had been a school mate of mine. She was terribly shy and withdrawn. She didn’t live in Sarreguemines, and she came on her bicycle, bicycled six or seven kilometers every day to come and go. Mr Schmidt was an employee of another butcher shop in Sarreguemines, and my father knew him. They wrote back, “Very happy to know you made it, and of course you will recuperate your house as soon as we will be able to leave it for you. Please come and we’ll receive you with open arms.” They were received with open arms. In spite of all restrictions, those people made them a meal. My mother was so touched. Then Mr. Schmidt asked my father, “Do you plan to work again?” My father said, “No. Now I’m too old. I haven’t done anything for four years. I wouldn’t start again.” He said, “Would you rent the entire house to me?” So my parents were happy to go back and live in their building. The Schmidt stayed there, and later they bought the house and my parents were overjoyed. They stayed in their apartment throughout their lives.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Getting Married

2006-06-21T20:19:00.000-07:00

In today's excerpt Yvonne Salomon explains how she met her future husband while also remembering that first very long boat trip.
**************************
(How did you meet your husband?)

My husband is from the same town, from Sarreguemines. He had left in 1928 to El Salvador, being employed by an acquaintance of his mother. The son of the shamas from the community (Enrique Weill) was already there, and he was one year younger. So my husband thought that if Enrique can make it, he will be able to do it, too. Because El Salvador was really an unknown place. Before plane traveling, for their vacations, they had to accumulate one month a year for four years in order to get four months. It took almost one month to travel one way, another month back. They had two months vacation every four years. My husband came back in ’34. I hadn’t known him before. He was a friend of my cousins. So I met him, but we met a little more seriously in ’38. Finally we decided to get married, and his mother was very sick with cancer. She as a matter of fact she passed away the day his telegram arrived that he had arrived safely in El Salvador.

He was not going to come back to France for the wedding. We were going to be married in El Salvador. So we wanted to make—my parents asked to make the engagement ceremony, and we made it. My cousin, who is a chazzan, made the prayers and the design on the floor. I don’t know if you know it. For the engagement, you make a big circle with two Hebrew letters with clay on the floor. The two people to be engaged stand on that. He says some prayers and declared that we were engaged to be married. We did that in George’s mother’s bedroom. She couldn’t get up any more. It was a very moving ceremony. Then we had a big luncheon at my parents’ place.

(What did they think of your husband-to-be? What did your parents think?)

They would have preferred maybe somebody —who was more in their crowd. But the political situation being what it was, they were almost happy to see me go. That was in ’38, the 30th of July, can you imagine? The war broke out on the 3rd of September, 1939.
Then Evelyn (Frenkel's) parents had decided that the situation was too bad to leave their daughter in Europe, and they wanted her to come back home. So their aunt got together with us, seeing when I was going to leave for El Salvador, and they booked the reservation for Evelyn on the same boat. Her aunt and my mother took us to the boat. I see them both, and the boat going slooowly away—that was something so nerve-wracking, you know? In the plane it’s fast. But in a boat, it’s so slow. It took about half an hour to be out of sight.

(And how old were you?)

Twenty-two. And Evelyn was seventeen. So we went on a nonstop trip for two weeks, three weeks, to Panama. In Panama we went aboard and did a lot of shopping, things like that. We stopped in Venezuela, one port, and there we were received by big shots from the city. Then going up, on the Pacific side—

(“Big shots from the city”? Who?)

Well, people from the town hall, things like that. I don’t remember who that was.

(It wasn’t people from the Jewish community?)

No, no, it had nothing to do with it. That was the Transat, the French Transatlantic Company, which goes from Le Havre through Panama and up all the way to Vancouver.
Then we stopped—we didn’t stop at other places until we reached the first one in Salvador, Cutuco. I was in the swimming pool, and Evelyn comes running! “Yvonne, Papa et Georges sont la— are here!” They had rented a car and they drove, it took them, I believe, twenty hours, something like that, from San Salvador to Cutuco. There were no roads in the republic at that time. They were in a small boat—because there were no ports in El Salvador. The boats could not come in all the way. People had to disembark into a small boat and be on the not-so-well-named “Pacific,” jumping from wave to wave.

So they arrived. OK. Now one more day on the sea and we arrived at La Libertad, the port of El Salvador. The boat people had put the staircase on the side of the boat, and there were two sailors taking one person at a time into a little boat, two people and three sailors at a time. Thank God we were no more than twenty aboard. They grabbed—when I arrived there, each sailor grabbed me on each side and they ran down! I never put my foot down. They carried me. They ran down, and then it was calculated: the big boat was going like that, and the small boat was going like that. And we had to be on the same level, to jump into the—I just closed my eyes. OK. We landed, and they ran up to get Evelyn. Same thing. Evelyn was screaming her head off. They put her in the same small boat. Then we bounced around, I don’t know, it must have taken about ten minutes. To me it was like ten hours.

(So they walked you off the—when you went down some stairs in another boat?)

In the little one, yes, they walked us—they carried us! Two big sailors. I didn’t put my foot down. I cannot run down a staircase, especially not when the boat goes like that all the time. It was the 14th of July, France’s national holiday. Waiting there at the port were my two cousins, Fred and André Joseph, who were also Evelyn’s cousins. They were there in their smoking, tuxedos. They were going to the Embassy to the reception for the 14th of July. It was very formal at that time. You went in the very best dresses. Men wore all their decorations and things like that. It was very formal. But that we didn’t know yet.

When we arrived at the port, we saw a wall, maybe four houses….that was the port. That’s all. Up there we saw something with string coming down. The boat got under that thing with the string. One of the sailors pulled it open, and the other one grabbed one of us, pushed us in. There were two little benches. The string, a bag made of cord. Evelyn sat on one, I sat on the other. They closed that thing, and they pulled us up by a machine, like a pail of sand.

(You were in a basket, it sounds like?)

That was the most awful thing! And that thing was—rr-rr-r-rrr! Going like mad! Evelyn was screaming. She didn't stopped screaming until we arrived in Salvador. And she said, “Never again I’ll set foot in that country!” OK. It was raining like mad. In July it rains very often. It was raining, pouring. We didn’t see in front of the car, driving up to San Salvador. It was the most horrendous thing!

Then my cousins had invited me to stay with them until the wedding day, because it was during the nine days between—I forget all the names--Tisha b’Av and—so we had to wait about two weeks. My parents said, “No, you’re not going to stay at your cousins’. There is no woman in the house.” Big deal. So Georges’ boss was there with his wife and their oldest daughter, and there was a baby. They invited me to stay with them.

(Who was that? What’s the last name?)

Simon. Luciano Simon. I stayed with them. Then there was no synagogue. My cousins and Georges had checked, looked around what they could find, and finally Mrs. Mugdan offered us to have the ceremony at her place.

(Paquita?)

Paquita Mugdan. I see you are aware of the people there. Your grandmother and she were good friends. So that was on the 14th of July, and on the 30th we are married. Then we left for Guatemala. Oh! Georges’ boss was a very headstrong man. He was against everything and everybody. Nobody was kosher enough. He didn’t know that much about kashrut or whatever, but he felt as if he was the Pope of the Jews. He said no, he is not going to that dinner, he doesn’t stay for the lunch at Mrs. Mugdan’s. “That’s not even kosher.” Mrs. Mugdan was strictly kosher. “We should make believe we are eating with them and then we should disappear and go home and have lunch.” His wife would have a special luncheon for us. I thought that was horrendous, after having prepared so much. And anyway, we had to do it.

(You had to do it?)

Yes, we had to do it. Georges said, “He’s the boss. I cannot say no.”

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

It was just a group of Jewish girls....

2006-06-20T22:13:00.000-07:00

In this excerpt, Yvonne Salomon remembers her schooldays in France and Switzerland.

All questions in parentheses are mine.
**************************************
(And you were the only child?)

Yes. They had a son before me. My mother had pneumonia at the time of her—how do you say, when a child is born?

(Birth?)

The birth of her child, she had pneumonia. That was before penicillin, of course, and the doctor gave the customary question to the husband. “You have to decide: your child or your wife.” Of course he said, “My wife.” So the child was born but lived only three days, a boy. It would have been a butcher more. So that was in 1914, and I’m born three years later. And when I was four, my mother had another pregnancy, but she had to be operated and for that, in Sarreguemines the hospital was not good enough. They took her to Strasbourg. I remember having gone there with my father and my great-aunt and seeing her all the way up behind a window. But she had that terrible thing which happened some years later….I don’t know what it was. But she had to be operated on, and of course then she couldn’t have any more children. So my great-aunt lived with us, and my mother was completely free to order around the store and the house. There were a lot of people working there.

(And your great-aunt took care of you?)

Yes. Completely. She took care of me and nothing else. My mother took care of all of the rest. There were a lot of people, men, who were working there. Because my father also made the whole—what do you?—charcuterie, how do you call it? Salumeria in Spanish.
The smoking and making sausages and prepared meats.

(Prepared meats.)

Yes, for the wintertime we did a lot of baking and pastries, things like that. That my mother did, on top of all this.

(Amazing.)

Yes. When you think of it, it’s amazing everything she made. There are very few things she did not make.

(Did you grow up in a very religious home?)

No. It [the store] was open on Shabbat, closed only on Sundays, and even in the morning it was open. Most food places were open on Sunday mornings. It was before the era of refrigerators. My father used to say a few pages of the benshen (the blessings after every meal.) And my mother, who was raised an Orthodox, didn’t have time for that. We went to synagogue only on holidays, and then only my father went. Sometimes my mother went, but just for an hour.

(Did they ever send you to religious school?)

There was no religious. We had a rabbi and a chazzan (cantor.) He gave religious lessons, which were really quite bad. Later we had two hours every Thursday. Thursday was a school-free day in France at the time. In Protestant school, we had two hours of lessons with the chazzan.

(When did they send you to school? How old were you?)

Six.

(And they sent you to the public school?)

No. There were two public schools. There was a lycée, only for boys. But some girls were accepted. But God forbid that they would let this little girl near a boy. God forbid. I went to the so-called École supérieure, which was not superior at all. My great-aunt had taught me reading. I was reading already when I was four years old. And then I went to that other school, which after four years, at age twelve, so after six years, we got what’s called certificat d’études, (certificate of studies), which was already at that time good for nothing. But it permitted anybody to go on studying. I didn’t plan to—I didn’t like studying. My only good subject was French and composition and whatever around the language, and history.

(In school, did you experience any anti-Semitism?)

Yes. All over.

(Can you give me some examples?)

Well, I remember once—my parents closed the store only for Yom Kippur. And I remember going to the synagogue after my parents, so I was alone. I passed two girls on the street. I was probably dressed a little more fashionably than they were on that day. One saying to the other in a loud voice, “Gucke da, a Jud!” “Here’s also a Jew.” It was not official, the anti-Semitism, but you could feel it. France being a republic, religion is not taught at schools. Private schools can do whatever they want, but in some state schools, they had asked for the privilege of one hour a week lesson, a religion lesson. So the rabbi, the Catholic priest, and Protestant pastor came for one hour. That was all. We were terribly ashamed, because our rabbi was a disgusting person. Dirty, dirty! Shocking! I tried to never be seen in his company.

(And he was the rabbi for Sarreguemines?)

Yes, only for Sarreguemines. Yes.

(And tell me, you were in this school until what age?)

Fifteen.

(And then you went to a different lycée?)

No, I went to a private school in Switzerland, in Lausanne. My mother wanted me to go to a private school. My parents were really not very much aware of what was being taught there, but it was not very much. It was English, German, French, and I took a course in artistry, and what else did I have? That’s about it.

(Did you enjoy going?)

Yes, I enjoyed it there. I had two good friends, the only two who spoke French. (chuckles) Everybody else was usually from Russia, Bulgaria. It was a Jewish place. Everywhere Jews were in danger. People sent their children to internes, how do you say it? Boarding schools in Switzerland.

(Did you feel that you had something in common with those girls from Bulgaria or Russia?)

Nothing at all. And they treated us also like people from outer space. The three French-speaking were always together. There were one from Colmar in Alsace, myself from Lorraine, and another one from Esch-sur-Alzette in Luxembourg. That was all.

(And tell me, what was the name of the school?)

Pension Bloch. Bloch, like your grandmother’s maiden name.

(Did you take Bible lessons there? Was it very Jewish, or no?)

Nothing like that.

(It was just a group of Jewish girls.)

Nothing whatsoever. On Saturday, we didn’t even go to synagogue but we did go to dances organized by the Jewish community.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Yvonne Joseph de Salomon, An Introduction

2006-06-19T08:30:00.000-07:00

I interviewed Yvonne in a suburb outside of Washington, DC. Luck and geography were on my side as she had recently moved from Geneva to live with her daughter Andree in Maryland. I spent most of the late morning and afternoon with Andree and Yvonne, interviewing a mother and daughter whose life experiences could not be more different.

In this first excerpt, Yvonne remembers her early years in France.
*************************
My full name is Yvonne Yolande Joseph Salomon. I was born January 29, 1917 in Sarreguemines, France.

(The names of your parents?)

Camille Joseph, and my mother, Claire Levy.

(Can you tell me about your childhood in France?)

With my parents and me, lived my great-aunt. She was my mother’s aunt. She had raised her from birth. My maternal grandparents died very young, so my mother was raised by her mother’s sister. They lived in Reichshoffen, a small town, between Haguenau and Strasbourg.

They were Orthodox people. They had a lot of children, of course. And when they arrived in Niederbronn, another Orthodox widower, he was from the neighborhood—I wouldn’t make you write the other name: Gundershoffen! They seem to have only mile-long names. He was a widower. He spent his whole life in Brazil. He was supposed to be very wealthy. He needed—he wanted to establish his residence in Niederbronn. For that he had to have a woman living, a Jewish woman living in the same apartment, and he did. And for that he had first to marry her. An Orthodox cannot have an unmarried woman at his place. So after asking around, he went to my great-grandfather and introduced himself and said that he’s looking for somebody to look after him and wants to marry one of his daughters. My great-grandfather asked him which one. He said it doesn’t matter.

(chuckles) After this romantic beginning, he told my great-grandfather, “Ask your daughters who wants to be my wife.” There were three of them left, the others were gone and married. Finally my aunt Sophie decided, with her sisters, that she was going to try it. She told her father that she was going to do it.

Her father told Alexander Dreyfuss that one of them had decided. So he came and my aunt asked something unheard of. She wanted to talk to that man. So she told him that she agrees to look after him and his belongings, his place, on one condition. She wants to take her niece along, and she wants him to name her niece the only inheritor of his fortune. Because they were very poor people.

He said, “All right.” He agreed to everything. “All right.” My aunt was born in 1854. So she must have been in her—my mother was born in 1890. She was a baby, or very small, when my great-aunt married. So my great-aunt was already aged. But he agreed. He didn’t have any children or any family, so he didn’t mind who was going to inherit his fortune afterwards. That was how my great-aunt married. Alexander Dreyfuss lived for several years. And my great-aunt stayed with my mother all the time, and when my mother was an age to be married, she had the visit of the usual shadchen, how do you call it?

(Matchmaker?)

Matchmakers, yes. A funny thing, she—they proposed one man from Haguenau who was also looking for a wife, but she heard that he had a glass eye, and she said no, she couldn’t. OK. Many years later, we were invited to an engagement party for my cousin, and that girl my cousin was going to marry was the daughter of that man! So he would have been related to us anyway! (laughs) But that is a different story.

So my parents were married.

(So they were introduced by a—?)

Yes, a matchmaker, yes. As it was customary at the time. It was not easy for my mother, because my father married her because she had good dowry. And she was a very pretty girl—good-looking. I wouldn’t say “pretty,” but very good-looking girl. She was taller than my father. My father was a very good-looking boy, man. He was already about thirty years old. My mother was nine years younger. She knew that she would have to work in my father’s place. My father was a butcher. So no joke. There was another thing who was no joke: my father’s mother! (chuckles) My grandparents on my father’s side had seven children, five girls and two boys. The two boys, nobody asked them what they wanted to do. They were told. “Your father is a butcher. You will be butchers.”

With the older one, who was not my father, he became a butcher, but he never did anything. He was lazy and just didn’t want to work.

My father was more obedient. He had a stormy youth. They had a lot of fun, the boys in Sarreguemines and the community. They had a good youth. My mother knew that she was to work in the store on top of all her duties, like making a home for her husband, she had also to work with him at the store. At that time, my grandfather had already died, so my grandmother was leading the store, and my father was doing the manual work.

(It was a kosher butchery?)

No. It was not strictly kosher. We had one side kosher, kosher meat, beef and veal, and the other side was pork. But for kosher conception, that doesn’t exist. There were two butchers of that kind in Sarreguemines. The other one was Simon Stern. They had the same thing. There was one strictly kosher family in Sarreguemines. That was all, so they didn’t buy their meat at our place nor at Mr. Stern’s place, but for everybody else, it was OK. Nobody took it very seriously.

My mother told me sometimes about the beginnings of her stay at that place with my grandmother sitting on the throne by the cashiers and ordering everybody. One day, a customer told my grandmother, in front of my mother, “Well, your young lady is doing very well, isn’t she?” And my grandmother answered, “She will never amount to anything!” So that was what my mother needed. “Aha! We’ll see.” And that was the beginning of—she became much better than her mother-in-law, she inherited the place. She never did anything my father could find—what do you say, minimizing him. She always said, “I have to ask the patron.” The “patron” is the Big Boss in French. The patron thought it over, and after two or three days, he gave his answer. “I have decided …” And it was exactly what my mother had said. And my mother said, “You are wonderful! Nobody could have thought of that!” He never noticed. But he always gave us as his answer what my mother had suggested.

Everybody knew about that but my father.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

LECTURE TO TAKE PLACE IN SAN SALVADOR

2006-06-16T00:30:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
For those of you living in El Salvador (or nearby), please note the following invitation to my outgoing lecture. I will also give various lectures in the Houston area throughout the month of August. Details to follow.
******************

La Comunidad Israelita de El Salvador: An Oral History
June 22, 2006 @ 7pm
Centro Cultural Salvadoreno
www.centroculturalsalvadoreno.com

With the first documented Jew arriving to the shores of Cuscatlan in 1868, La Comunidad Israelita de El Salvador is young but vibrant. Jessica P. Alpert, Fulbright Scholar and Oral Historian, will present a summarized history of El Salvador's Jewish community through photographs and audio oral testimonies. Changed and challenged by two world wars, conflicts in the State of Israel, and a violent war in their adopted home, this small community presents a fascinating study for any historian, storylistener, and curious citizen. Highlighted topics will include issues of nation and identity, conversion and intermarriage, migration and exile. For more information on the project, please visit: www.storylistener.blogspot.com

Jessica P. Alpert is originally from Houston, Texas. Her own mother Ruth Reich de Alpert, the daughter of German immigrants Ernesto Reich and Wilma Bloch de Reich, was born and raised in El Salvador's Jewish community. After studying political science at Columbia University's Barnard College, Jessica moved to Washington DC to work for the United States Department of Justice. After two years dedicated to the area of international legal development, she decided to pursue the Fulbright Award. Other oral history projects and publications include "Las Curanderas: Indigenous Female Healers in Chile's Atacama Desert and Patagonia Regions;" "Muted Testimony: Rape and Gendered Violence During the Holocaust;" "Weaving Stories: The Arpillera Women's Cooperative Pre and Post-Pinochet;" "A Shtetl Marriage: Jewish Hasidic girls and their Matchmakers in Crown Heights Brooklyn;" "We Are Running: Women Reflect on 9/11;" and "Mosaics: The Oral History of Wilma B. Reich."

Jessica will begin her doctoral work on the history of Central American Jews at Indiana University-Bloomington in August 2006.

Daniel Cohen: "I'm just an aguacatero..."

2006-06-15T14:33:00.000-07:00
The Palestinian population in El Salvador is growing each day. Powerful in the areas of business, politics (President Tony Saca is of Palestinian descent), and culture, the Palestinian population that was once the target of racism and hatred is now regarded in a different light (sometimes better/sometimes worse).

A personal interest is whether the Israeli/Palestinian conflict equally affects populations abroad? If so, have tensions become worse since the election of the new Hamas led government? Does the Palestinian Christian Diaspora (like the community in El Salvador) feel isolated from the conflict? Daniel Cohen touches on the subject in this final excerpt.
***********************
The business world here, your family business, does it ever come into play that you’re part of the Jewish community, that you’re Jewish?)

No. The thing about being Jewish here is that there’s a super-strong Palestinian community, so that all of a sudden you get a Palestinian plaza and then you get a Yasir Arafat plaza. Um, sometimes you truly feel like you’re a minority. You feel like—you feel like—or you hope like the situation over there doesn’t become the situation over here. You hope that the Palestinians here don’t try to recreate what’s going on over there. Or sometimes I hope they don’t try to get at the Jews here for what’s going on over there.

There’s so many Palestinians here that we’d be outnumbered. But in the business world, there are some Palestinians that may not like Jews, but most of them, —most of my colleagues that are Palestinian, I can call ‘em a cousin, joke around and be like, you know, “We’re cousins.” I’ve been in an association, on the board of directors of an association of importers of spare parts where the president is a Palestinian, and I’m vice president. We can joke around, when we disagree, you know, we can joke around and say, “This disagreement isn’t recent. It’s millions of years old.” (laughs) So we can joke around about that and we can talk and we can freely be president and vice president and have no problem.

(Do you sometimes feel like those conflicts are brought in from outside or that they do start here, like the Palestinian plaza? Or the Plaza Arafat?)

From the outside? Oh! I think it’s on their radar. I think wherever a Palestinian plaza pops up, they hear about it. Or wherever a Yasir Arafat plaza pops up, it beeps on their radar.

Towards the end of the interview, Danny and I started to talk about identity.

(When someone asks you where you’re from, what would you say?)

I’m from El Salvador.

(And you feel completely Salvadoran?)

No. I feel like I’m a aguacatero ,[Salvadoran slang for “mutt”]. I’m Salvadoran. Grew up in the U.S., grew up in New England. My father’s from North Africa. My mother’s from El Salvador. My grandparents are German. I was born here, but I don’t feel like I’m from anywhere in particular. If you ask me what culture I can relate to the most, I’d say American. I guess if you ask me what I am, I’d say I’m Jewish.

Transcription by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Proof

2006-06-14T00:13:00.000-07:00
In the following excerpt Daniel Cohen discusses an issue that is very relevant in contemporary Reform, Reconstructionist, and Conservative Jewish communities: intermarriage.

Daniel and Nathalie Cohen's wedding was the second union of two individuals born and raised within the Jewish Community of El Salvador.

The second in the community's entire history.
********************
(So Rabbi Gustavo [Kraselnik] married you. And this is the same rabbi who wouldn’t marry your brother because he was marrying a non-Jew?)

Right.

(How did that make you feel?)

(pause) It made me feel a little strange.

(Did your brother get married after you or before?)

Before. It made me feel strange. It was tough to accept. It’s tough to accept somebody—I really like him. I really like him. I really respect him. I enjoy his spiritual leadership. But it’s also hard to accept somebody that does not understand your brother, or doesn’t quite understand where your brother’s coming from. So I had to put that aside.

(Now, your kids are very involved in the synagogue, but their cousins are not. How do you feel about that?)

I hope they get more involved. I think they will. I think my brother’s missing in his heart a little bit of the Jewish tradition that he wants to pass on to his kids. I hope they go. I hope to go to Noar [Shelanu].

(Do you ever talk to him about it?)

Yeah, yeah. We’re working on, like, you know, patching things up a little. It was tough for him to find a hard stance, like we spoke about, here in El Salvador, so that created a few antibodies in his heart towards the community. But I think we’re ready to move on.

(How do you feel?)

It’s tough. It’s tough, because I really enjoy the Jewish community, but on the other hand, I really hope they can accommodate my brother’s situation.

(Do you think there are a lot of situations like your brother’s here in Salvador?)

Yes.

(It’s a tiny community.)

It’s a tiny community. It’s tiny and lively. It’s different. People come here from other countries and I don’t know if it’s too, you know, compliment because they’re here as guests or if they’re really saying it from the heart, but people come here and they say it’s completely different. Here, it’s like going into somebody’s house. It’s lively and there’s kids running around and everybody knows each other and a guests come along and everybody starts talking to them, everybody’s like, “Where are you from? What do you do? What are you doin’ here? Come over for dinner.” That’s what it’s like here. So it’s small, but it’s good that way, too.

(And you think the community is capable of breaking down these issues regarding intermarriage?)

I think it’s gonna have to. I think it’s gonna have to. It’s tough for me to think also like, you know, can we let everybody in? It’s also tough for me to think, can you exclude anybody?

(It’s hard. How do you feel, though, about intermarriage generally? Here in Salvador it’s almost necessary.)

Yeah, it’s tough. It’s super-tough. The way I feel about it is that it’s super-tough to marry a Jewish person here. If you don’t import, where are you gonna find one? I feel really lucky that I was one of the few, one of the only people that found somebody from this community to marry.

(There’s only been two marriages like yours, including yours. You and Nathalie and Lillian and Jack Davidson.)

Yeah, that’s it.

(So it’s living proof that—)

Yeah. Living proof. Living proof that it’s really hard.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Moving Back Home?

2006-06-13T00:04:00.000-07:00
In this excerpt, Daniel Cohen discusses his desire to return to El Salvador after spending the majority of his adolescence and young adult life in the United States.

All questions in parentheses are mine.
****************
(Did you always think you were would come back to Salvador, or did you think that you would live in the States?)

Didn’t think about it much. I did feel like I didn’t know my family, because I left when I was thirteen, and I was in my twenties and I’d never really lived with them, and I realized that, you know, during the holidays that I saw them, that wasn’t, like, their real life, that was just holidays, and since my family was happy to have me around, I was happy to be around with them. So it was kind of like a holiday time. It wasn’t real. So I did see that I didn’t know my family. I did kind of want to have that feeling of coming back.

(After Northeastern [University], you went to—?)

Dallas.

(And what did you do there? Did you have a job?)

I had a job. I worked for a family entertainment franchise, you know, like Chuck E. Cheese. It was international. A lot of their franchises were in the UAE and in Qatar and Saudi Arabia and all those places.

(How was that?)

My boss—the owner was Jewish, so he’d tell me, “You can’t go. I can go, because I know the partners over there and they’d take me in. But I don’t think they’d take another Jew in.” (laughs)

(And that just made you laugh?)

It made me laugh, because it was a Jew telling me this. It just made me laugh. He sent me to Mexico, to work in Mexico.

(What about living in Dallas? What was that like?)

Since I knew it was only transitional, it was fun. Dallas is really nice. The Texans are nice. It was nice. I was living there with a girlfriend. I moved there with a girlfriend. We were planning on getting married. We graduated together from college and then we were thinking about getting married and she said, you know, “Let me practice what I studied in the U.S. for a couple of years, and then we’ll go to El Salvador.” She’s a physical therapist. So we went to Dallas. We kind of closed our eyes and put our finger where it landed, and it landed in Dallas. Neither of us had ever gone there. So we went there, and then after two years she got cold feet and I was sad. But I was like, “You know, it’s better for her to get cold feet now than coming with me to El Salvador and then two or three years later, two or three kids later, her being, ‘I want to go back to the U.S. with my kids. You can come see them whenever you want.’” (laughs)

(So after that, you moved to San Salvador?)

Right. I went home. I lived at home.

(Did you join the business? What did you do here?)

Yeah. I got here on a Sunday, and on Monday morning I was, like, here, (laughs) at the office.

(And who was working here at the time?)

My father and brother Pierre.

(How was that, joining a business working with your father and your brother?)

It was good. It was fine. It took me a while to get used to. It took them a while to get used to me.

(And then what about the Jewish community? When did you start getting involved again?)

From the get-go. I got here and I started going to the synagogue. I don’t go that often. I didn’t go that often before. But I always wanted to be part of it. I always liked to go the Shabbat and to the holiday stuff. So since I got here, I just started going to the synagogue.

(And what about your wife? How did you meet her?)

I met her in college, like ten years before we got married.

(Really?)

Yeah. My wife’s family has been friends with my family forever. My grandmother tells me stories about my wife’s grandmother. So we actually met when I was in college in Boston and we started going out and we went out on and off for ten years.

(Was she living here at the time?)

No. She was living in Paris.

(Did she move here?)

She moved here eventually.

(So when were you married?)

In 2001.
(2001 you were married. You were married here?)

Here.

(Who married you?)

Gustavo [Rabbi Gustavo Kraselnik] married us.

(Your wife Nathalie was born to—?)

Gerard and Monique Schwartz.

(Did the rabbi make her go through some sort of conversion [since her mother did not officially convert to Judaism]?)

Yeah, confirmation. Before we got married.

(So what does that mean exactly?)

You know, She was like, “I’m a Jew, why are they making me do this?” She doesn’t like ceremonies, and this all involved going to the lake and being kind of like dunked in the lake. She didn’t like the idea. I would relate to it as, “OK, you know you’re French, but if you don’t have a passport, you can’t be French. So this is just like getting a passport. It’s just a piece of paper, and that’s that.” And she knew that she had to do it and she went ahead and did it. The good part about it was that she got a piece of paper that said that she got confirmed, so it’s put away. And she has a piece of paper that says she’s Jewish. I don’t. So she’s kind of like a documented Jew, whereas I’m not. That’s a funny thing that I find about the Jewish religion, is that you kind of go on hearsay. (laughs)

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.

Daniel Rosenberg Cohen I.

2006-06-12T20:38:00.000-07:00
Daniel Cohen, the youngest of three siblings, is the son of Yolanda and Claude Cohen. Married to Nathalie Schwartz, Daniel is the father of Ariel and Nina. Here is your introduction.

My name is Daniel Roberto Cohen Rosenberg. My date of birth is July 18th, 1970. I was born in San Salvador, Hospital—I forget the name of the hospital.

(Gine—)

___ Ginecologica.

(Everyone’s born there.)

(Did you go to the American school?)

I went to the American school.

(And what was it like being a Jewish kid at the American school? Did you ever think about it?)

Never thought about it. Never thought about it. Ever since I can remember, from being a Jew, I never felt that confusion, for some reason. I don’t remember exactly why or why not, but I never felt any confusion. I never felt like, why Santa Claus or why not Santa Claus for me? or why Christmas for other people, why Hanukah for me? It was always very clear that I had a religion that was good and other people had other religions that were good, and that was that. I never felt different, though.

(You never felt different?)

I knew that I was different, but I never felt like I was, um, oddly different. I never felt confused.

(Do you feel like other kids your age that were Jewish were feeling confused, that it was a little more challenging for them?)

No, I don’t have any recollection of ever having a feeling for other people’s feelings for growing up Jewish.

(How—what was your home like at this point in time? You were born in 1970 and you stayed in Salvador until—?)

’79.

(—1979.)

We were Jewish. A typical family, you know, went to school, came home, practiced the Jewish religion. Like I told you, I remember going to Sabbath on Fridays and Noar. We did have a Hanukah bush, and we used the Hanukah bush to put the presents and we opened it during Hanukah days, if I remember correctly. That was my feeling.

(And your father is not from Salvador?)

No. My father is Tunisian, from North Africa.

(Do you identify with that side of your family, the North African, Sephardic side?)

Yes. I identify much more with Sephardic than anything else. My grandmother on my father’s side, she would—she’s kind of quiet, but she cooked Sephardic meals, like couscous. My father’s philosophy, which he passed on to us, has been Sephardic. So that’s what I assimilated the most.

(And you as a Sephardic family are a minority here?)

Yeah, totally. I don’t feel like I missed out on anything, but I do think about the Sephardic tradition. I would have liked to have learned more about it. I do get a sense that it’s a little bit more colorful, a little bit more— (pause) I don’t want to say lively, but yes, lively. (chuckles)

(Have you ever been to Tunisia?)

About six years ago I went with my father. We stayed there for about three weeks. He hadn’t been there in about thirty years, so he was really excited to go and I was really excited to be there with him. We rented a car and went all around. I love the desert, any desert, and we went to the Sahara. We went to see what they say is the first church, the oldest—I mean, the oldest synagogue, in Djerba, which is called in English “The Stranger.” In Arabic it was called “la griba.” Super-colorful synagogue. It was all different-colored tiles, painted with reds, blues. It wasn’t white like the ones we know. It was all different colors. It was all tutti-frutti, (laughs) with a part of the synagogue, a little nook where people would stick their notes and prayers and wishes and all that. It was interesting to see where the Sephardic in us came from.

(In 1979, how did your life change?)

We moved to Miami. We were on vacation. Up until now, I don’t know if it was that we were moving and our parents told us that we were gonna go on vacation, or if it was really supposed to be a summer vacation. And then while we were there, I think an offensive went on here, and we stayed. We just all of a sudden stayed. Then I started going to school in Miami. You go everywhere, there was a whole bunch of other Salvadorans there. In the school bus that I was in, there were about twelve Salvadorans in the back. So it felt kind of like it was what everybody was doing. So we stayed there, like, in ’85, maybe, ’84, my brother and sister went off to boarding school—in ’83 I went off to boarding school, when I was thirteen. And then kept on doing my studies, you know. Boarding school from sixth grade to ninth grade in New Hampshire, prep school in Connecticut, then college in Boston, and then I worked two years in Dallas and then came back here when I was twenty-six. So basically I left here when I was nine and came back when I was twenty-six.

(And when you think about New England, it’s quite a change from Salvador. Maybe Miami was a good stepping stone. But how did you feel in Miami when they told you that you weren’t going back?)

Coming back here? I thought it was gonna be like—I was like, “Oh, wow, this vacation turned into, like, a long vacation.” I liked going to the U.S. I liked being there. So I was—it was no big deal. And my whole family was there. It’s not like some of us stayed here and others went over there. Everybody was there. So it was a little easier, since we were together. And my uncles were there, and like I told you, a whole bunch of other Salvadorans were there. It was no problem. I spoke English, I spoke English just fine.

(So when you went to boarding school, what was that like? You were pretty young.)

At the beginning homesick. Being homesick takes a while to get over. Like maybe, like, a year, a year of really feeling homesick. And then after that, I really liked it. I really enjoyed it. It was a privilege growing up. It was in New Hampshire, where it was super-cold, it was in the mountains. But the school that I went to was in the mountains on the lake, and it was I don’t know how many acres of land, but it was just a whole—it was huge. It had its own ski mountain.

(What was it called?)

Cardigan Mountain School. Even though it was a hundred and eighty boys, it just didn’t seem to bad at the time. Sometimes we didn’t leave the campus for, like, you know, a month. But it was nice. There was one other Salvadoran there, too, He’s still a good friend of mine.

(How did the other kids treat you? Did they think you were different?)

You know, there, I did feel a little different, because there was a whole bunch of kids that weren’t—like, the Miami kids, being Latin over there was normal, and there was a whole bunch of other kids that weren’t used to seeing Latin kids. So there I felt a little different, I did feel a little alienated. El Salvador was going through a war, so they associated the war with me. They’d tease me a little. It didn’t bother me that much, but I remember being teased. It was a whole bunch of American kids that maybe never realized what life outside the U.S. was.

(And then you went to—?)

Loomis Chaffee in Connecticut.

(How was that?)

That was a lot different, a lot more diverse. They had people from all over the world. And when I got there, I had an advantage: that I was used to being in boarding school. So I wasn’t, like, a newcomer to being away from home. I was already used to it, so there it was easier for me than from anybody else. And since there was people from all over the world, and it was kind of liberal school and everybody was kind of maybe, like, a little hippie-ish, they took Latin Americans normal.

(What about Jews?)

The funny thing about Cardigan Mountain School is that it was like a—being Jewish there was kind of funny, because there was chapel every Sunday before dinner. Everybody wore gray pants and a green jacket and a green tie and a white shirt, and we all went to chapel. And they gave a sermon, which was, I guess you’d call it non-denominational, but it was a reverend that gave it. And I kind of saw the good in it and took that. But we did sing hymns, like “Kum-bay-ya,” like other songs that didn’t mention God in a way that it wasn’t my God. So I took it as my God and did that. It did feel kind of funny going to a chapel on Sundays. But I didn’t let it bug me. And everybody knelt, which I didn’t do. I just sat. At Loomis, being Jewish, it was normal. I mean, there was a bunch of Jewish kids there. I was one of ‘em.

Transcript by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC.