Kabuika’s Blog

Seeing everyday America through African Eyes

• Home
• About Kabuika
• Stories’ Info
• Glossary

“He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster. And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee.”

~Friedrich Nietzsche

• Subscribe

  

• Kabuika's Tweets

  • No public Twitter messages.

• African Genealogy Beat It Belgium Chartres Chicago Congo Congo Trip Dancing dogs Elderly England environnement Ethiopia Food France Housing Iowa Jewish Luba Courtship Luba Proverbs Luba Traditions Michael Jackson Minnesota Pastor Pets Recession Retirement Homes Yemen Blues

  WP Cumulus Flash tag cloud by Roy Tanck requires Flash Player 9 or better.

• Recent Stories

  • l’Union Européenne cède la gestion du projet d’assainissement PARAU à la ville de Kinshasa
  • Dr. Christian Ilunga
  • Bus Journey: Character #1

• Calendar

  December 2024

  S	M	T	W	T	F	S
  « Aug
  1	2	3	4	5	6	7
  8	9	10	11	12	13	14
  15	16	17	18	19	20	21
  22	23	24	25	26	27	28
  29	30	31

• Archives

  Select Month August 2015  (1) July 2015  (1) October 2011  (2) August 2011  (8) July 2011  (13) June 2011  (23) May 2011  (17) April 2011  (1) July 2009  (5) June 2009  (8) May 2009  (1)

Bruxelles _
I am in the European Union capital for a few days. My business meeting is over and first things first, I need to find a shul (synagogue in Yiddish) for Shabbat service. There is a Conservative shul I found online, but it’s clear across town and I don’t feel like schlepping all the way there.

It’s Friday afternoon, Shabbat is starting in a few hours and I’m desperate. A friend suggests that I simply go out and ask any Jewish person that passes by. Dressed in my Congolese business outfit, I do just that. I am in luck. I see a man wearing a kippah and speaking in English to his son who has little curls on the sides of his face. Orthodox Jews! Perfect.

I approach him and ask if there is a shul in the neighborhood. He looks at me warily and sends me two doors down. When I knock at the door, a young woman answers.

“Do you know of any shul in the neighborhood?” I ask her.

She looks at me with suspicion and gives me an email address to find shuls in Belgium.

“Lady! It’s less than an hour before Shabbat,” I say. “Do you think anyone will read their emails before Shabbat?”

She realizes then that maybe this black woman standing before her is Jewish. So she gives me an address: “109 …”

I decide to go and check it out just in case it’s a phony address. When I get to the place, it looks like a house. There is no sign. No name. Just the number 109. A man who looks like a bouncer intercepts me even before I knock at the door.

“Is this a shul?” I ask him.

“What is your business here?” He demands.

“I want to attend Shabbat service tomorrow morning.”

“Why?”

“What’s the matter? Don’t I look Jewish to you?” I ask him, pointing to myself.

He looks at my African outfit and shrugs. I realize he’s simply doing his job; I tell him yes, I am Jewish _ from Chicago.

“From Chicago?” He asks me to wait. An orthodox man, wearing a black hat, comes out and introduces himself as being from Brooklyn, New York. “Which shul do you go to in Chicago?”

I tell him and answer all his other questions. He invites me to the Shabbat service; I must have passed the test.

The next morning, I walk to shul and find a lovely community of people from all over the world: France, Finland, Belgium, Germany, England, Slovakia… And the man from New York is the rabbi. A cute little girl comes up to me and asks why I am brown. I smile and tell her it’s because I like to hang out in the sun (my ancestors too for that matter). Praying together, there are Ultra Orthodox, Modern Orthodox, and Jews who can barely read Hebrew. As a Conservative Jew, I fit perfectly in the middle.

The people I saw yesterday, all come up to me and apologize for being so guarded. There had been some attacks on synagogues in the city. That’s why the shul looks like a house.

I am invited to the Kiddush afterwards. We sit outside in the backyard, with children, running all over the lawn. We eat and talk for hours; it feels like an afternoon spent with family and friends.

I look forward to praying in that community again the next time I am in Bruxelles, whether or not I am wearing a Congolese outfit.

Comments