First, Bajram. Celebrated by Bosnian Muslims it commemorates the near sacrifice of Ishmael. It is a long weekend that families spend together. I don't have many Bosnian friends here yet but I do know two people who are consumed with family activities for the weekend. Shops are closed and the streets are a little quieter. Although I was less than thrilled to be awoken by the call to prayer at 5:45 a.m., the minarets, which were all lit up, was quite a site to see.
The Jewish community here is small. There is no Rabbi so services are led by community members and are in general a quiet affair. The 'Ashkenazi sinagoga' is old (1902) but the sanctuary on the second floor remains a breathtaking space. About 40 people came to Yom Kippur evening services. The melodies are unfamiliar and part of the service is led in Ladino. People wear jeans. I must have asked about five times about a break fast but people just shook their heads. So I went home to prepare food for myself and some friends.
Bosanska kafa
There is also an interesting cultural tradition of reading coffee grounds According to the tradition, if you do it correctly, the coffee grounds leave a pattern, message, or image, in the bottom of your cup when you're finished drinking it. My first attempt, although tasted like watery dirt, still left an intriguing image at the bottom. Interpretations welcome. See link. Maybe one day soon I will triumph over the dzezva and succeed in a delicious (and meaningful) Bosnian cup of Joe.
I've slowly been befriending some kind and generous locals. Merjem is a local artist and she and her husband are also involved in projects to preserve Jewish history in Sarajevo, including how many Jewish families were saved during WWII by Muslims who protected them. Merjem is married to Eli, who is the author of several books on the aforementioned topic and speaks some Ladino. I hope to work more with them in the coming months and have been grateful for their friendship thus far. I brought Katie, the other Fulbrighter, to see Merjem's artwork and jewelry, which she sells outside of the Bosnian Cultural Center (which I learned used to be a synagogue) every Wednesday. Merjem and her friend were working on jewelry pieces made from plastic bottles when we arrived. We were invited to sit and using a lighter, single candle, and strips of an empty sprite plastic bottle were instructed how to melt pieces and string them together to look like flowers. We were invited back for a second lesson next week.
listening and speaking truth
The conversation turned to Bosnia and the genocide here. Suzana shared a story about a good friend, also from Croatia, who traveled to the far western part of Croatia to a town where many Serbs lived. He heard many stories of suffering and pain, contrary to the familiar narrative he grew up with, that Croats were the victims and Serbs the solo perpetrators in the war in the 90s. "It changed everything for him," she said. The story also reminded me of work by the Center for Peacebuilding in Sanski Most (north of Sarajevo); the center facilitated interfaith dialogue with women from different sides of the war who all experienced sexual violence. Through their shared trauma the women come to see each other as equals, deserving of life and love.
The struggle in Ferguson, and in all of our divided American cities, is not so different. When whites don't know blacks, or blacks don't know whites, or when straight people don't know people who are gay and out... when we don't know each other's stories, it is much easier to 'other' and hate and to head down the road of devaluing one life or another. Rabbi Randy told this amazing story about clergy kneeling and praying between protestors and police in Ferguson. He said in the pause, there was some understanding, and both groups 'saw each other' and they backed down.
In Sarajevo, I'm feeling unexpected importance and urgency to share that I am Jewish in circumstances that warrant it. Not only is this because of troubling comments l've heard already in my brief time here, and events in Europe of late, but because the world needs more listeners. But who will be able to listen if people do not speak authentically who they are and their experience? My great-grandparents left Europe a hundred years ago seeking religious/cultural freedom and economic opportunity. They were lucky they left when they did because of the anti-Semitism that tragically and famously followed. But here I am in Europe, a century after they left, with a clear sense of unease, and feeling an urgency that I should not withhold this one part of me when there are opportunities for me to be a relationship, a person, and a story that could interrupt ignorance and instead plant seeds of love and peace. I could upload a YouTube link to a version of "Kumbaya" but in the interest of time, I Instead ask you to hear the words of Jonathan Sacks, published this week in the WSJ:
"Anti-Semitism has been the early warning sign of a society in danger... [it is] historically, the inability to make space for differences, which is the essential foundation of a free society. The politics of hate now assaults Christians, Bahai, Yazidis, and Muslims on the wrong side of the Sunni/Shia divide, as well as Jews. To fight it, we must stand together, people of all faiths, and none..."