It's the saddest night of the year, and Jews all over the world are sitting on the floor and crying for what we have lost as a nation almost 2000 years ago.
I know I'm supposed to feel sad... and I often do. But I don't really know how to feel sad on command, just as I don't know how to be happy on command in Adar, or love on command - I mean loving God. Or fearing Him, for that matter.
So, to get myself in the mood, I'm thinking of Galut. Not the endless dark night I know from books, but what Galut meant for me.
Galut is when somebody greets you with a "Jesus has arisen!" - and you have to answer, as their ritual demands, "indeed arisen", or they'll be offended, and that's really bad. We can't anger THEM.
The same THEM as march on your streets in brown shirts with shaved heads, even though it was THEIR grandfathers who have defeated the monster and saved the world some 70 years ago. THEY no longer remember, or agree - what does it matter anyway. We step into a shadow to let THEM pass. Before THEY can estimate the length of our noses and figure us out.
Galut means living in fear.
I did not know the word "galut" when kids with blond hair and blue eyes threw stones at me, or kicked me in the stomach, "to see a Zhid begging for air", or openly sneered when I had to name my nationality out loud evey 1st of September. Somehow, "Russian", or "Ukrainian", or even "Tatar" isn't funny. But a "Jew"?! That's hysterical. Because the word "Jew" is a dirty word. Look at this stupid girl cursing herself out loud, so funny.
For me the taste of Galut isn't the smell of the vast river in my beloved Kiev, or the taste of the first snow in October. The taste of Galut is when THEY threw rotten cloths we used to wipe down tables at the school canteen into my face.
That is the taste of fear. Fear of being recognized as one of the cursed ones. Of the authorities (police) laughing when you ask for help. Fear of being seen standing over the huge ravine called Babyi Yar and looking not at the mud down below - but up at the 30 meters tall poplars, growing so well on Jewish blood. And remembering the members of my family whose bones are in there. Imagining the fear they must've felt in the last minutes of their lives. Imagining being one of them...
Galut means stepping aside, hiding, hoping not to be seen, recognized, sniffed out.
I did not know I was a Jew till age 7- my parents didn't bother telling me. They thought it was self-evident. It was the kids who told me. No amount of mimicry could ever help us - THEY always knew. Whether it was in a line waiting to buy bread, and you heard "Jews fought in Tashkent", or at the department store "Jews always get the best stuff", there were always eyes watching, making sure Jews knew thier place. And if not, a hissing sound of "What a pity that Hitler didn't finish his job with you people" flew after you, sticking like a spit onto your back, reminding you who you were and where you were. When in Galut, you don't forget it for a second. It flows in your blood, and comes in and out with every breath you take.
I still don't know if I was stupid or brave for reading Tehillim on the underground, with the Jewish letters screaming out from the page :" we are still here". Am Yisrael chai.
Or singing Jewish songs on the dark streets of Kiev, so dark, that you can't tell if it's a human or a dog approaching you, for it's all shadows. (remember, girls?)
It was in those years that some of THEM would say, you're so lucky, you've got your own country to go to. Really? Nu, and isn't Ukraine YOUR own country? I guess they realized that by now.
I am so happy tonight. Quiet gratitude that no words could express. Because my children will never taste that sour, rotten fear. They will never feel cursed for just being who we are. They will never fear for their lives just because the policeman thinks the blood in his veins is a different colour.We are Home...
May the beginnig of our redemption only grow and gain power. May we, indeed, wake up to Mashiach.
P.S. my mother lived in Kiev for 65 years, and never experienced ay anti-semitism. I still don't know if that's naive or lucky... but the majority of Ukrainains are very nice poeple indeed, figting for thier independence yet again, and I respect them whole-heartedly.
