[img]96|left|Shachar||no_popup[/img]Dateline Jerusalem — I met my very quiet next-door neighbors for the first time this morning, after a period of three years. We were running out of our apartments before 6:30 (the usual time I leave for work) to catch the broken elevator on the next floor down. Actually, the elevator works fine, just not on my floor. Last night the elevator stopped on my floor, the inner door opened, but the outer steel security door was jammed shut. It was a good thing I was in the elevator with someone else who had the presence of mind to press the button of the next floor up. I am claustrophobic. I guess it was obvious from the expression on my face that I was just starting to freak out.
Ever since the time I was locked in a jail cell for 30 minutes as part of my training as a cop, I have been claustrophobic. It was so that we would understand what a prisoner feels like when arrested. Even knowing that it was only for a half-hour by the time we were “released,” I was frantic. Years later, as an attorney meeting my clients in “lockups” or cells in the courthouse, I never was frightened of being alone with these criminals. I was scared of the confinement. Even this summer when I injured my foot and had to wear a cast, the claustrophobic feeling of the cast made me nauseous.
If I can avoid elevators, I do so. But in Israel, that is hard to do. I live in an eight-story apartment building and work in an 18-story office building. If unavoidable, I just stay as close to the door as possible. I take my cell phone with me when I take down the trash or get the mail for fear of being stuck in the elevator. Not that I get any cell phone reception inside, but it is sort of a security blanket for me. When I ride a bus or sit on an airplane, I must have an aisle seat near an exit. It sounds crazy, especially since I can't exactly “escape” the confinement of a plane thousands of feet in the air.
Tonight the buses home from Jerusalem were so crowded with passengers that my aisle seats were meaningless, as there were no aisles to step into. Nor were there any unblocked exits nearby. Sardines in a can had more space and breathing room than I. My bus from work to the Central Bus Station in town is a busy route. And there is no such thing as standing room only. We were crammed so close together that people weren't standing, they were leaning against one another. The only reason I could make it out of the bus was because many of the passengers were exiting to make connections with other buses at the station. We moved as a block toward the exit, sheer momentum taking us to our destination.
The next bus home was not as crowded, but people were sitting in the aisles. It was too long of a ride home to stand. I boarded the bus in plenty of time, taking my aisle seat behind the bus driver. As the bus started to fill, a young woman climbed over me to get the window seat. We stopped to pick up more passengers, but the bus driver was unable to get close to the curb. People were running in the street to catch the bus. A traffic guard began to scream at the bus driver, and he screamed back. Everyone in Israel screams! Then the traffic guard stood in front of the bus, daring the driver to run him over. The police were called. The bus driver was fined for putting passengers in danger by not getting close enough to the curb. As far as I was concerned, the only danger we were in was being packed like cattle going to slaughter. Needless to say, the bus arrived at my stop 30 minutes late.
Getting Acquainted with Indian Jews
The great thing about public transportation in Israel is the opportunity to meet interesting people. The girl sitting next to me was a religious young woman from India, but she looked Chinese. India has five different kinds of Indian Jews. The Cochin Jews, who tend to be dark skinned, arrived in India over 2,500 years ago. The Bene Israel arrived 2,100 years ago. Most of the native Indian Jews who originated from Iraq, Iran and other Arab countries have been in India for over 250 years, and they are called Baghdadi Jews. The Bene Menashe, who tend to look like they are Orientals, and Bene Ephraim claim to be descendants of Joseph's sons, lost tribes of Israel, and only within the last 60 years have been outwardly observant in Judaism. Although prior to that their families tended to practice some aspects of Judaism, they were never considered to be Jewish like the other Indian Jews. So, the latter two groups have had to convert to Orthodox Judaism in order to be accepted as Jewish.
The girl sitting next to me was a Bene Menashe. She said her family, from great-grandmother on down, had practiced Judaism in India, but she thinks they originally were Chinese or Korean. I asked her why she came to Israel. “Because we are Jewish,” she said. She explained that Bene Menashe considered themselves Jewish even though other Jews in their country and elsewhere did not. And, like most religious Jewish girls in Israel, she is not serving in the army, but is doing “sherut leumi” or national service, instead.
By the time I got home, the elevator was fixed, I was no longer feeling claustrophobic, and had met my first Bene Menashe. What a day and night!
L'hitraot. Shachar
