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As a child, my name was a matter of great distress to me. It was unlike the names of my class-mates. To add to the confusion, I was told, our family had an Indian surname – Dandekar. It had been given to us in memory of Danda our ancestral village where we had first landed after a shipwreck, two thousand years back while fleeing from persecutors, who had taken over The Promised Land. Israel.

But, my family had discarded this surname like an old garment, folded it and put it away like a family heirloom. Sometimes brought out to be aired and remembered.

Some Bene Israel families used their Indian surnames, others didn’t, some still do.

For years, I did not know the meaning of my name, anyway, it became the reason for the search of the Jewish ethos, hidden somewhere within me and waiting to be discovered.

This search drove me to write.

We were not practicing Jews, although some rituals existed in our daily life, which were followed like reflex actions, for example, we had an almost forgotten mezuzah at the door. And, I wrote in my first novel The Walled City – “They cover his eyes with the earth from Jerusalem. I take some and sprinkle it over his eyes. Brown, dry earth of the Promised Land, textured exactly like that of my surrogate motherland….hands dusty with the earth of both lands, and wet with my tears, I wonder about Jerusalem. Samuel stands still like a statue over the grave, the wax burning his hands.

I want to ask him from where we come and where we go. We do not know from where. But we know why. From sure death. Expulsion. Exile. Homes broken, disrupted burnt, from ruin to ruin with the hidden Book. The Book lost in the shipwreck…a long journey into the dark night, following the silk route from Yemen, Rome Spain, Navgaon….Before Christ? After Christ ? The story of exile, the book lost in the Arabian Sea. Closing on the freedom of our minds, our breath, our thoughts, our prayer to the god without a face in the land of eyes.”

I was always envious of my Gujarati friends, for the verve with which they celebrated their festivals. I was attracted but uncomfortable and wrote in The Walled City  – “In March, the air is thick with pollen from the mango flowers…the colours fascinate Danieldada. He says that he is too old to play Holi but would like me to. He takes some sindoor from Mohun’s puja room and dabs my cheeks with it. We look on with horror as a sprinkling of orange specks stains my powder blue dress. We try to wash it off but a deep pink stain remains.

We are running in the tunnel below Kali’s feet and Naomi seems to chase us in the dark with a sword.”

Slowly, my long forgotten Jewish-ness started seeping into me at different points of life. It all started with a painful divorce. The family was in a state of shock and unable to comfort me. Perhaps this was the first divorce in the family. About this feeling I wrote in, By The Sabarmati – “She looked like an old book whose pages were stuck together by damp. Had I tried to pry open the pages, I was afraid she would fall apart. Between the leaves, I saw shadows of a past which was best kept hidden in the book. To me, her sorrow was almost holy, like an old Hebrew scroll at the synagogue, kept behind a curtain in a vault that faced Jerusalem and the wailing wall.”

I felt abandoned by family, society, community. That is when I met Diana. She had come from Mumbai and was employed as a nurse for the ailing head of a well known mill-owner family of Ahmedabad. Mother invited her often to our house and on one such visit, she gave me a book of psalms.

Every night, I read fairy tales for the children and made it a habit to also read a psalm before they fell asleep.

Those were difficult days, as there were no finances, no comfort, no affection, no understanding. But, the psalms comforted me, as I tried to understand “…thou art my shepherd, I shall not want…”

Few years later, I met a Jewish family from America, living in Ahmedabad. They were on a fellowship to study urban problems of the city. I was often invited to their home to celebrate Jewish festivals. As the children played, we cooked together, laughed and joked as they taught us Hebrew songs.

This was the beginning.

And, everything changed, when I met Abraham. Abraham changed my life. I wrote about him in Book of Esther.

Like most Jewish tourists, he had come to Ahmedabad to meet father and see the zoo. As usual, father invited him for dinner.

That evening, when I returned from college, I saw him walking in the garden. It was winter and he was wearing a black sweater over jeans. He looked like a bald headed crow as he greeted me with a warm “Shalom.”

Abraham must have been past eighty, was thin, sprightly and had long knotty fingers.

I shook hands and entered the house, planning the evening meal.

I saw father standing on the verandah and asking Abraham if he would like some whiskey?

Suddenly, Abraham stopped walking and answered rather brusquely, “ No, I cannot accept this.”

His eyes were watery when he turned to me and asked in a strong Israeli accent –  “Do you know today is the Sabbath.”

“Yes, today is Friday,” I said, a little unsure about his reaction.

“Then, where is the kiddush.”

“Kiddush?” I repeated, confused, looking at father for an answer.

“Kiddush is the prayer said over a glass of wine to thank god for his mercies, especially during the Sabbath or the festivals. I am sorry, but I can neither eat nor drink without doing the Sabbath prayers.”

My father tried to say – “I am sorry, but we don’t…and you cannot leave without eating.  “

“Then dear friend, do you mind if I do the prayers, here in your house..?”

“ Yes, you can,” father was relieved. In fact, he seemed to like the idea.

“Thank you. Can I please ask your daughter to set the Sabbath table?” I was embarrassed as I had never prepared a Sabbath table. As a child, I remembered grandmother arranging the Sabbath table.

It was a distant memory.

Abraham asked me for a clean white table cloth and spread it on the dining table. He, then asked for a Sabbath candle stand, but as we did not have one, I gave him a decorative brass plate and a candle. Abraham stood there smiling, asking me to light the candles.

I protested, as I did not know how to say the prayers, but, felt reassured when Abraham wrote the Hebrew sound of the prayers in  English and asked me to light the candle while reciting the prayer.

I covered my head with a dupatta, because grandmother used to cover her head with her sari while performing rituals.

I remembered her face as I read  – “Barukh ata adonai alehenu melekh ha olam, asher kiddeshenu, ha elehenu ha ner shel shabath…”

I looked up in surprise as I heard my father saying the prayers.

He smiled awkwardly.

Later, he told me, the words had suddenly come back to him.

By then, Abraham had taken a clean wine glass from the kitchen cabinet, poured a glass of Port wine from father’s collection of bottles and gave the kiddush cup to my father. Father held the glass in his hand and together they recited – “Barukh ata adonai elehenu melekh ha olam, asher kiddeshenu bori peri ha hefen…”

With the men, my son was repeating the words and my daughter was also whispering the words, looking pleased that she was saying the prayers in Hebrew!

Abraham was saying – “I am not religious and I have not taught you anything. Look, your father knows everything. One never forgets what one learns as a child. Let your children learn from their grandfather.

I like the Sabbath and when I travel, I often find a Jewish home, like yours. If not, I just light a candle in my hotel room. I feel good. Don’t you…?“

Abraham was asking me.

I shook my head happily. The house seemed to have a certain aura.

Since that evening, I started the custom of preparing the Sabbath table, saying the prayers and cooking an elaborate dinner, whenever we were all together under one roof.

In a month, I received a package from Israel. Abraham had sent us two Bibles. One for my father, the other for me. Both Bibles were inscribed in Hebrew – “I feel, it is my duty as a Jew to send the Torah to you, as I did not see it in your house.” I was deeply touched by this gesture.

While growing up, I always felt I  was deaf to the sound of music in Hebrew prayers. Truthfully, I was often bored. But, years later, some sounds had a great influence on me. Like, when the Shofar or Ram’s horn was blown at the synagogue or I heard the klezmer by Giora Friedman, a music CD my son brought from Israel or when I saw the musical Golem by Moni Ovadia. It was the same when I saw a performance by the Israeli Baat Dor dance company in France. The chants were in Hebrew and I was in tears, as the sound was similar to the Hebrew prayers I had heard as a child, while sitting in the softness of grandmother’s sari at the synagogue in Ahmedabad.

I was nostalgic.

These abstract Jewish sounds affected me deeply and my confusion seemed to dissolve within me.

I felt, I had always known the sound.

The music was emotive. It stirred something ancient within me.

And, I understood the meaning of the psalm….thou maketh me lie down in green pastures; thou leadeth me besides still waters…thou restoreth my soul….thou hast anointed my head with oil; my cup runneth over…

** Appeared in British council website in fiction issue on Faith – 2006

1) When did you start writing? How, why and when did decide you wanted to be a published writer? How did you go about it? What did you do to achieve this end?

–  I grew up in our family house in the old walled city of Ahmedabad, where we had a beautiful library with leather bound books and I spent all my spare time reading whenever possible. At sixteen, I went to art school at the Faculty of Fine Arts at Vadodara, where I started writing. I realized that I could write. But I became a sculptor and could not change my profession as I soon married and divorced and was a single mother of two children, so I taught sculpture and art history in an art school in Ahmedabad. In 1979, I became an art critic for The Times of India, Ahmedabad edition. Soon, I started writing for myself and at the age of 46 I wrote my first novel, The Walled City. I felt, it was a miracle that it was published and I became a full time writer as other books followed.

2) How would you describe the writing you are doing?

–  It is a sort of writing or literature, which has emerged from conflict of being Jewish in India. My parents were not religious, so I did not have religious education, but at the age of 46, I felt the need of knowing Judaism and as a form of research for my novel Book of Esther, I took regular education from the cantor Johny Pingle of the Magen Abhraham Synagogue in Ahmedabad. Later, I came to know his wife Julie, through her, I discovered traditional Jewish cuisine. I mingled with the Jewish community and made notes of their life styles. I am still not religious and uncomfortable during religious functions, but I like to observe and study the Jewish community of India. I would say, I understand myself and my religion better, through my novels.

3) Who is your target audience? What motivated you to start writing for this audience?

–  My audience is the world, which is still ignorant about the existence of Indian Jews. I was motivated to write as I was confused about my own cross cultural conflict of being Jewish.

4) In the writing that you are doing, which authors would you say influenced you most? Why did they have this influence?

–  Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Isabelle Allende, Amy Tan, Tony Morrison, Salman Rushdie’s novel titled Shame,  R.K. Narayan for creating Malgudi and Arun Joshi who wrote The Strange Case of Billy Biswas, …because, they write about loss of the homeland.

5) What are your main concerns as a writer? How do you deal with these concerns?

–  Preserving the Jewish tradition, rituals and artefacts in India, the preservation of the heritage of architecture, oral traditions and cuisine, I also study the fast changing lifestyles in a micro miniscule community and try to work out these problems, through my writings.

6) How have your personal experiences influenced the direction of your writing?

–  My own cross cultural conflicts and minute observations of the Jewish community in India has influenced my writing as seen with the belief of Prophet Elijah, so much so that now even I have a connection with the prophet. He appears to listen to me!

7) What are the biggest challenges that you face? And, how do you deal with these challenges?

–  I find myself most comfortable while writing about Jewish subjects and that is my challenge. I solve this by mingling and mixing with the people of my community and listening to their problems, beliefs and stories.

8) What is your latest book about? How long did it take you to write it? Where and when was it published? How did you chose a publisher for the book? Why this publisher? What advantages and/or disadvantages has this presented? How are you dealing with these?

–  Man with Enormous Wings with Penguin Viking, took me 7 years. It will be published sometime in 2009 or 2010.

9) Which aspects of the work that you put into the book did you find most difficult? Why do you think this was so? How did you deal with these difficulties?

–  About the riots of 2002 in Ahmedabad. It was hard and needed research.

10) Which aspects of the work did you enjoy most? Why is this?

–  My first novel The Walled City, because it had an element of mystery as I did not know if I would make it as a writer, so, it is my most precious book.

11) What sets the book apart from the other things you’ve written?

–  It was an abstract book and written as I felt at that moment, confused and in conflict of being a Jew in India.

12) In what way is it similar?

–  It is different as it is written without research.

13) What will your next book be about?

–  Jewish life, food, love and loss.

14) What would you say has been your most significant achievement as a writer?

–  …That my novels speak to my readers…

When one looks at the Chola bronzes of the eleventh century, changing from Abhang to Tribhanga mudras, one reacts to the body in different ways. The body becomes like a word in poetry, a sound into music, a mudra into dance, space into architecture, a form into sculpture, thoughts move into the realm of mathematics and proportion. The sculptor discovers order and rhythm, touching a divine force within. One would like to question here – does the sculptor, involved in the act of creating gods, really worship them? One is never sure. Perhaps sculptors worship numbers, rhythms, mathematics, form, detail, order.

The abode of the gods, the temple, its architecture is the pinnacle of mathematics. It makes a building worthy of worship. The sculptor remains attached to the act of his creation.

Yet, sculptors have often been banned from the installation ceremonies of the gods. But, then can one really install a god without the final stroke of the sculptor? Because, before the sculptor departs, he cuts the umbilical cord which binds him to the sculpture, he opens the eyes of the gods with the stroke of his chisel. How can there be a god without eyes? With a heavy heart, as the sculptor prepares to leave, he holds a mirror to the god he has created. So that the divinity can see the form he has taken. In this small act, the sculptor and his creation are again attached together. The departure becomes even more difficult. As, the sculptor leaves, the gods smile down at him.

The sculptor of Nataraja is known to have put his body and soul into the making of it. While pouring the bronze into the moulds, the sculptor chants– “ All of me is for you – my voice – body – hands. I tremble with the need to express. Out of the earth and the skies come all my answers. Out of the earth I create your body. Out of space I create your abode. Your bounty and beauty is my source of inspiration. Your body is the instrument of my expressions.” Soon after the Nataraja was created, the Chola king did not want another replica of the god. He just wanted one single work of art for himself. And, ordered that the sculptors thumb should be cut off, so that he could not create another image of Natraja.

A sculptor without a full hand – a thumb? How does he live? Work? Sculpt? The sculptor was undaunted he asked his sons to make for him a thumb of wood and tried to sculpt. He instructed his sons to work with him. Again he became the creator. Again the king blinded him. But, the sculptor did not stop working.

The sculptor believed that – “…a sculptor should be able to use all his senses. He should see and hear. Above all, use his hands. The scuplture on which he works upon, is merely a surface of undulations. It is important that an artist’s tactile sense should be strong. Not only in sculpture, but in everything around him. The tactile savoring should reach his senses, because an artist must always work. He must be radiant like an emerald and bountiful like a radiant cloud. He should have the power to see the image within himself. The hands savour it. It invokes the vision of the gods. It helps the sculptor to give total beauty to his creation.

The image takes form within. Feelings make forms. Sometimes the sculptor feels the figure he has sculpted is in his own image. At that moment, the sculptor becomes the sculpture! ”The blind sculptor was finishing another image of Nataraja. And, while he was working on Nataraja, tears of blood fell from his eyes, and the sculptor’s eyesight was restored. Before creating Nataraja in bronze, the sculpture was created in clay. Because clay is the substance of the cosmic center. It transforms one form into various forms.

The earth becomes the base of all art. It transforms into sculpture and architecture. The hand of the sculptor beats a red hot metal rod on the anvil, and fashions it into a chisel. Red hot, he dips the chisel into water. In a cloud of smoke – Fire touches water. As the bronze is poured into the mould, the impression of the Nataraja within, takes the form of fire and metal. Taking form, from the negative to the positive – “All of me is on fire. My voice. My body. My hands. I tremble with the need to express. My body is the instrument of my expressions.”

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Esther David received the Sahitya Akademi Award for English literature. Her novels are translated in French, Gujarati and Marathi. She writes about Jewish life in India and the changing face of Ahmedabad. Often, she teaches art appreciation at CEPT University, Ahmedabad and illustrates her own novels. She was an art critic and a columnist for The Times of India, Ahmedabad.

To know more visit Jaipur Literature Festival

I have been following Happy Streets in the Times of India and so far, I was pleased to note that all of you have the freedom to roam and have fun on traffic-free roads. But, just two days before Yoga-Day, midday, one of you, riding his cycle at full- speed; hit me on this very road. I was crossing the road and was on the right lane, when there was a red light at the crossroads and there was no traffic. But, even as I turned to cross, I felt something like a boulder hit me and felt myself falling. The next thing, I knew was that I was sprawled out on the road, even as the green light blinked and the traffic started, but before that, some shop-keepers hauled me onto the pavement like a ton of bricks. I was in great pain, as I stood up and saw you were stopped by the shop-keepers and although I was shocked and badly hurt, I gave you a lecture on traffic sense. But, I was in for a greater shock, when like all young people, instead of being sorry, you were defiant and angry with me and held me responsible for crossing the road and did not accept that you were wrong, going ULTA, instead of being in the regular correct lane on the other side of the road. I had half a mind to shake you and hand you over to the traffic police, but let you go, as you were as old as my grandson. But, I will always remember your face. So, like all grandmothers, I would like to advice you to have a heart, accept your mistake and follow traffic rules.

(p.s. This note is for all heads of schools that they instill traffic rules in students, as I believe, we also have a Traffic Park at Lal Darwaza, which could become functional and help students understand the rules, as every day, many people of all ages are hit by vehicles)

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Perspectives on Leadership – KOL INDIA  June 2015.

By Kimberly Duenas  Modern Jewish Personalities

“Whatever I do, is an extension of my passion and involvement in everything Jewish and connected with our rich past history.”

 -Esther David

Being a leader or leadership doesn’t always mean that actions are achieved by people in high positions, but rather taking part in the community and being passionate about change is leadership, and even more than that, it is a Mitzvah (a commandment and a good deed). It is with great pleasure that I present this interview with an Indian author and artist from Gujarat, Esther David, to shed some light on how embodying her Jewish culture and her desire to preserve her heritage has inspired change and cooperation in her community in Ahmedabad.

Q – What would you define as your responsibility as a leader?

A – First of all, let me clarify, I was never a leader and am not a leader of the Bene Israel community of Ahmedabad. Nor, have I been an office bearer in the Synagogue. Whatever I do, is a form of mitzvah. Because, as my father famed zooman, believed in theories of Darvin and nature, so; as a child, I did not receive religious education. Whatever I know is what I learnt from my grandmother, Jewish friends from America, France, Israel and later from our Hazan at the Synagogue. Added, to this, I read as much as possible about Jewish life and history, which also included literature by western Jewish authors and watching films on Jewish themes also helped.

In 1996, when I started working on my novels based on the Jewish experience in India, I frequently went to the Synagogue in Ahmedabad and realized that I had a lot of shortcomings while following rituals, so I involved myself in the community with my strong points, like preservation of of our artistic heritage, documentation of Jewish life and using my influence with state and city level civic authorities. I also created a visibility through the media, like helping solve some problem or another, which arose around the Synagoue or a Jewish cemetery; once in a while. For example, trying to get the Magen Abhraham Synagogue listed in Ahmedabad Municipal Corporation’s Heritage Cell and get the necessary security and protection for our place of worship.

Before this, I had been able to mobilize the State Government, civic authorities, Consulate of Israel in Mumbai, Embassy of Israel in New Delhi and the international press, to help change the name of a clothes boutique; known as Hitler in Ahmedabad.

While in 2006, I opposed the illegal sale of a piece of land at a Jewish cemetery in Vadodara with the support of The Times of India, Nikitin Contractor of Friends of Israel, emiinnent citizens and civic authorities of Vadodara. This cemetery has been renovated by Friends of Israel and looked after by them and the Magen Abhraham Synagogue of Ahmedabad.

In quite another way, the Jewish women were inspired to make a small Womens Group, which is slowly becoming active with the efforts of Serena Jacob, the vice-president of the Synagogue. So, when Anil Gupta, founder of IIM’s (Indian Institute of Management) Satvik Food Fair, spoke to me about starting a stall of Jewish food, it was well received by Julie Pingle and she decided to participate with the support of other women of the community. For three consequent years, she has been popularizing Jewish food, like Kippur-chi-Poorie, black currant sherbet and Indian style Felafel. All this, together, has caught world attention.

Q – What is your leadership style?

A – I am always myself, often rather underplayed to make everybody feel comfortable with me, as I am fully aware of my ignorance in many matters, so I listen to all views and problems as discussed by the community and the executive committe of the Synagogue. I motivate them to lead and then follow them, intervening when necessary. I make notes and after that, I make a plan to solve the problem, sometimes with the community, often on my own, as at some meetings, I meet some authorities and have to take quick action on my own. Whenever, I take these decisions, on that very day, I inform the executive committee of the Synagogue. I follow-up the action-plan by writing letters to concerned authorities, while keeping in mind my own limitations and those of my community, which includes their safety and respecting their opinions in one matter or the other. I make sure that there are no misunderstandings or dangers. Once, we are successful, I move out of the limelight and like to give credit to the entire community.

Although, it is true that my public image is different from the one at the Synagogue…

Q – What challenges do you face as a leader?

A – None, as I do not consider myself to be a leader. I am just doing my act of mitzvah for a community, which means a lot to me….

But, sometimes, when I take an action without the approval of the executive committee, I am careful that there are no misunderstandings and the community gets full credit for the result or success.

Q – For you, where do literature, art and leadership meet?

A – For me, everything starts with preservaing heritage, artifacts, old recipes, sacred textiles, kitchenware and utensils used for rituals, almost everything, which is part of preserving the Bene Israel heritage. This does not mean, I do not like change, as it is a normal process in modern India, as Jews are intermingling with the diaspora of Jews and each person has a part of  their family living in Israel or other foreign countires. So, I try to preserve family heirlooms, utensils, ritualistic objects, old photographs, documents and family narratives, which give me a sense of history, art and literature. Whatever I do, is an extension of my passion and involvement in everything Jewish and connected with our rich past history.

Q – Please share your perspective on the Jewish community.  Where is the community now, where is it going, and what do you believe needs to be done in the community?

A – I admire, the way my community has preserved the Bene Israel Jewish style of living in terms of religion, including it in their daily life, yet following their chosen professions with dedication, for example in the field of education.

Q – Please share your thoughts on being an Indian Jewish woman and a leader.

A – I am known in Ahmedabad for my work, as I raise issues in the city as – Esther David. For me, being a woman is secondary. But, in the Bene Israel Jewish community, I am one of them. Maybe, a little ignorant, but always present to help, when needed…

Although, being a Jewish woman gave another dimension to my life, when I received the national award for English literature from the Sahitya Akademi for my novel Book of Rachel and my community members held a function at the Synagogue to celebrate it.

Q – What impact have you created in the community? Towards women empowerment?

A – As Jewish women belong to a matriarchal society, the women of the Bene Israel Jewish community of Ahmedabad have always been empowered decision makers in family and community. And, now that most of them have chosen to be teachers in schools, they are developing a distinct independent identity of their own. The community acknowledges my success in various fields, along with the visibility of the Bene Israel Jewish community through my novels, articles, papers, documentation through a photo-project, which became possible with a grant received from the Hadassah Brandeis Institute, and that means a lot to me.

During the celebration of 20 years of diplomatic relations between India and Israel, I was invited to Israel; it was a high point for me and my community.

Q – What advise do you have for future generations about thinking outside of the box and creatively?

A – Bene Israel Jewish women are brought up in the protective circle of family-community, which they need to protect and preserve the Jewish heritage at both levels of their lives.

Besides that, there are no strict do’s and dont’s about their choices, as a large number of young women are now interested in creative fields, like painting, advertising, interior design and architecture.

Q – What efforts do you think need to be made to empower Indian Jewish women to play larger roles in the community and in India at large?

It is interesting to note that Indian Jewish women are empowered in their own way and the life they have chosen for themselves enables them to preserve the Jewish heritage in their homes.

A – A strong belief in themselves and the strength to preserve the Jewish heritage in their homes. As they know, women can keep both family-community together, which is based on some unspoken emotions of faith, belief, duty and dedication.

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An extract from Esther David’s manuscript of her proposed book I am a seed of the tree – a result of a three year documentary effort facilitated by  a research grant from the Hadassah Brandeis Institute Research Awards, U. S. A and the cooperation of the Jewish community and the Magen Abhraham Synagogue of Ahmedabad, the only synagogue in Gujarat. 

The Jewish community of Ahmedabad is very small, we are about four thousand in India; with fifty families in Ahmedabad and so our lives revolve around the Synagogue.

The Magen Abhraham Synagogue in Ahmedabad has an Indo-Judaica architectural form with old religious artefacts. It has Grecian pillars, a triangular roof, a high ceiling; artistic grills, stained glass windows and chandeliers which lend an ethereal glow. It is similar to Art Nouveau style of architecture with a women’s gallery built without pillars, the Ark, where the Torahs are placed; facing Jerusalem, while the Ten Commandments are inscribed in Hebrew and Marathi.

The Bene Israel community has never had a rabbi, but an elder conducts prayers and is known as Hazzan and since the community has become smaller we celebrate most festivals together. Bene Israel Jews refer to India as their Motherland and Israel as Fatherland or Homeland.

Most Bene Israel Jews follow the dietary law and do not mix meat dishes with dairy products. So, we use coconut milk and traditional dishes are made during festivals or weddings, but, poha or beaten rice is used for the Malida, made as an offering to Prophet Elijah, for wish fulfilment.

The Bene Israel Jews have been living in India for two thousand years. They came to India from Israel after the fall of King Solomon’s second temple in 70 B.C. to escape oppression from a Greek warlord.

Out of the ten lost tribes, it is believed that the Bene Israel Jews belong to the tribe of Zebulum. Bene Israel Jews reached India after a ship wreck near Alibaug, so Maharashtrian, Konkani and Gujarati influences can be seen in their lifestyle, food, dress, jewellery and a mehendi ceremony during weddings.

On the Konkan coast, our ancestors worked as oil pressers, observing Sabbath from Friday evening to Saturday and were known as “Saturday-oil-people or Shanvar-Telis.” They had Biblical names and also adopted names of their villages as family names, like Navgaon. In this way Jews assimilated into Indian society with Marathi as their mother tongue, but continued to pray in Hebrew. Two mound like graves in Alibaug, bear testimony of their arrival in India.

During the shipwreck the Bene Israel Jews had lost their religious books, so they followed an oral tradition of observing Sabbath, prayed to Prophet Elijah, circumcised their male-child, observed certain dietary laws and only had fish with scales. The British and Dutch identified them as Jews and gave them religious books, which were translated into Marathi and David Rahabi, a learned Jew from Cochin gave them religious education.

There are five Jewish communities in India, the Bene Israel Jews of Maharashtra and Gujarat, Jews of Cochin, Bagdadi Jews of Kolkatta, Bene Ephraim Jews of Andhra Pradesh and Bene Menashe or Jews of Manipur-Mizoram. There are synagogues in Cochin, Kolkatta, Mumbai, Delhi, Pune and Ahmedabad. Lately, the number of Jews has reduced in India, as they have immigrated to Israel, America and Canada

Jews have a matriarchal law, so the birth of a girl-child is welcome, because it is believed that a woman preserves the Jewish heritage in a family and helps her children understand Judaism.

Bindi Sheth’s photographs show how the Jewish community preserves its cultural identity and assimilates into Indian life, while retaining its Jewish essence.

View Bindi Sheth’s accompanying photographic documentation and exploration, on the journal here.

Esther David writes novels about the Jewish experience in India and has been translated in French, Gujarati and Marathi. She has received the Sahitya Akademi Award in 2010 for English Literature.

Bindi Sheth has received many awards for photography and participated on the theme of RECOVERY for PIX a Photographic Quarterly, Delhi. 

– Courtesy : Tasveer Journal

As a child, I was always amazed, as to how, the Mezuzah on the doorpost of our house, reminded me that I was a Jew. It had the power to transform into a line-of-control; making me feel; like an outsider in India, the land of my birth.

A Mezuzah is a parchment with Hebrew words placed inside a brass casement and affixed on the doorpost of a Jewish home. Besides, such sacred ritualistic objects, there are some other restrictions to keep the family structure together.

I belong to the Bene Israel Jewish community of India, but unquestionably, I am an Indian, as I look like one, I speak Gujarati, Hindi, a little Marathi, our mother tongue, wear Indian clothes, eat Indian food, see Hindi films and behave like an Indian in more ways than one, so, in a crowd, it would be difficult to differentiate me and say; that I am a Jew.

Yet, there are moments, when I do feel like a minority living amidst a large majority community. This realization immediately isolates me and I seek comfort by hiding in the cocoon of my minority mind. This feeling reaches its peak during Indian festivals or even communal riots, like the one in 2002. When, my house was caught between two communities. I felt like a complete outsider, standing on the sidelines, watching the bloodshed. Afraid of my surroundings, I was forced to leave my family house and move to a cosmopolitan housing society.

Sometimes, when I participate in Indian festivals, I freeze. I do the right things and nobody notices that I am uncomfortable, out of place and feel different, as I do not belong…I feel isolated, even in the crowd of well-meaning friends.

This also happens, when a stranger asks my name. It immediately creates a barrier of sorts. This is one moment, when I wish my name was as simple as Asha Patel. Often, they assume, I am a Parsi or Christian. I squirm and say Bene Israel Jew or Yahudi , almost apologetically and feel unsure about my story.

I start wondering, where exactly is my homeland, even if  I believe India is my motherland and wear a bindi, to be part of India, as a power point presentation of my Indian identity.

I did not know that a little maroon sticker bindi, would become the dividing-line between me and the Jewish community. It raised questions, as they wondered, if I followed a Hindu way of life. It took me many years to convince them that, I wore it, as it suited my face.

Besides that, it is just a sticker.

If I wear it, I did not become a Hindu.

And, if I remove it, I do not become a Jew.

Today, the Jewish community accepts it as my fashion statement. But, as a mark of respect, I do not wear it during Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement.

This bindi has created many problems, like some Jews from abroad ask leading questions about it and I am forced to give long explanations as to, why I wear a bindi? To make matters worse, I am also asked, “How can you be a Jew, when you have lived in India for so many years. Are you a convert?”

Angry, I try to convince them, that I am a Jew and give them a concise history of Indian Jews. Yet, they ask, “why do you look like an Indian.”.

Suddenly, I am in “No Man’s Land.”

I delete this feeling with my novels. They are my saviours, as I have earned love as a Jewish Indian author, by opening some doors of our lives. I wrote in The Walled City, “…the story of exile, the book lost in the Arabian Sea. Closing in on the freedom of our minds, our breath, our thoughts, our prayers to the god without a face in the land of eyes.”

But, then there are also some other issues I face, as it is true that I belong to the Jewish community and feel emotional when I hear the Shofar at the Synagogue or hear the Hebrew chant of our prayers, even as we converse with each other in Marathi; along with Gujarati and English.

Yet, the outsider syndrome continues to hound me at the Synagogue, as I am not fully conversant with rituals.

I can pinpoint many occasions, when I have been uncomfortable amongst my own people.

I am the insider who feels like an outsider…

But, then I am also uncomfortable at temples, mosques, churches or any other place of worship. I may like the art, architecture, heritage, history and folk lore of religious sites, but dread participating in rituals connected with organized religion.

This insider-outsider issue raises its head, when people ask, if I am a non-vegetarian and if I answer in the affirmative, there are no major reactions from most Indians..

In contrast, this piece of information is greeted with raised eyebrows in the Jewish community, as we are supposed to follow strict dietary laws, which means, an animal has to be slaughtered according to the prescribed laws of kosher food and for this very reason; most of us are vegetarians, while it is a well known fact that I buy meat from my friendly neighbourhood butcher.

This play continues, as in spirit I am a liberal Jew, but am part of an orthodox community. So, when it comes to rituals, I am always on pins and stay still, till the prayers end.

For years, I assumed that I suffered from this conflict, only in India, but when I experienced the same in Israel, I came face to face with my dilemma, when I met non-religious and ultra-orthodox Jews.

I could not connect with both life-styles.

I do not live in Israel, but when I was in Israel to participate in a literature festival to mark 20 years of diplomatic relations between India and Israel, I remember, as soon as I landed at Ben Gurion Airport, my body relaxed and I knew; I was in a land; my ancestors had known for ages.

A similar feeling gripped me, when I was in Alibaug in Maharashtra, to research for my novels.

I had never been there.

It is believed that, about two thousand years back, Bene Israel Jews had been shipwrecked here and my ancestors were the survivors, who had kept us together through oral traditions and later received religious education from the British and Dutch in early 18^th century, so most of our prayer books are also in Marathi.

In Alibaug, where my ancestors are buried, I felt at-home in the shadow of ancient gnarled trees and lit candles on that very earth, where my elders had drawn the line-of-control around our lives, which encircle me, to this very day.

They were farmers, growing coconut trees, using the milk from its kernel, to follow the dietary law and not “…cook the lamb in its mother’s milk.”

It was here, that I discovered Prophet Elijah, which changed my life; blurring the lines of being an outsider. This experience started drawing me towards the rock of Elijah or Eliahu Hanabi Cha Tapa. The prophet had landed there, while flying in his chariot of fire, from his cave in Israel; towards the House of the Lord, as his horses’ hooves cut through the rock in Alibaug, when he decided to stop for a while and connect with a Lost Tribe, maybe of Zebulum.

Then, suddenly; this feeling of belonging disappears when I am in France and am again the outsider, when I meet Holocaust survivors and feel traumatized. I chide myself, saying, with all my problems, I live a comfortable life as a Jew; because we have never faced persecution in India.

To counter this feeling, the rock of Elijah has found a place in my mind and a small fragment of my being reaches out towards this jagged rock, next to a pond, where a turquoise blue kingfisher flies over the still waters…

Similarly, these conflicts appeared to end, when I was in Paris for the launch of the French translation of my first book. It was well received as the audience was fascinated to meet an Indian Jew and I felt comfortable with myself.

Later, on my return back home, to Ahmedabad, my eyes fell on the Mezuzah and…

– This article was published in Indian Quarterly Magazine, New Delhi – June 2015.

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Summers in Ahmedabad  can be unbearable, but the evenings are unusually pleasant. As a child I remember the pleasure of sprinkling water in the garden at sundown. After that the beds were made there amongst the Asopalav trees. The mosquito nets were dusted and tied to the four poster iron beds, making each bed look like a square room of transparent white net. Later, there would be a cool breeze and after dinner it was a pleasure to creep into the net-room. Mother would tuck-in the loose ends and one could weave stories and dreams uninterrupted….in the cocoon of the mosquito net, with the fragrance of mogra and Raat-rani. In my net-room, I assumed I was not seen, but I am sure, I was.  This is the feeling one gets when one sees Janet Echelman’s sculptures, currently openly suspended in the open corridors of the National Institute of Design, looking very frail and delicate against the backdrop of a fresh green lawn.

Here, I seemed to regain the fragment of objects from the past. But, would I have ever thought of making a sculpture out of our very own mosquito nets? Perhaps not.

India has a rich tradition of sculpture, seen inside and outside on temple walls. Also, contemporary sculpture is made in many materials like wood, stone, terracotta and fibreglass and more recently, artists are experimenting with installation art.

The normal conditioning of most of us is to see a sculpture on a pedestal. Not that we do not know Calder’s sculpture and more recent trends across continents. Granted, it is difficult to articulate a new sculptural language, especially in India, where one doesn’t really have to look for installations in galleries, since they are all around us, like paan-bidi kiosks, tool boxes, offerings of coconuts to trees or the colourful quilts drying on trees.

Janet Echelman has succeeded in taking objects from India’s daily life….like the mosquito-net, the brass lamp, the fishing net….and used them with imagination and innovation to create a subtle, personal visual language which crosses all boundaries.

She encountered mosquito nets at a friends house in Ahmedabad and was stirred by the bells at a Jain temple in Kutch.

She remembers the pure whiteness of the marble flooring and the ringing of bells. Both these forms have been recreated as installations, which are suspended from the ceiling and have an inviting feeling which seems to say, “enter and feel the space.”

In this context, there is a touch of spirituality in Janet’s work. It is like an Indian prayer. Hands folded, eyes closed and the inner self communicating with nature – in silence – which transforms into the transparent space around the spirit within.

Here transparency becomes a game between the seen and unseen. Like the artists lamps. One could almost brush past them, hear the sound and not know what they are all about. But, look closely and see that it is the world of the visible and invisible which extends to the net sculptures.

The first bronze piece, Bell with Nine Nipples welcomes the viewer into Janet’s world. It elicits ancient memory : the Mother Goddess, Mother Earth, Nature, Prakriti, the female element of nature. The other bells are shaped like a thorny cactus plant, hard and formidable from the outside, yet full of milk.

The bell forms combine the male and female principles of nature as Shiva’s Ardhnareshwar form. This erotic mixture of both elements exhibits a strange tactile quality. The net sculptures are held with metal wires and flow from squares to circles or the other way around, rather similar to the complete form of the Shiva-Linga.

At times these forms resemble flapping tents or mother’s skirts under which children like to protect themselves, an image from pre-verbal memory. By suspending the forms, the viewer gets an opportunity to look upwards or rather inwards. Perhaps these creations invite the viewers to find their own place-space. Or just be themselves once inside. This is best seen in Playpen and in More than you can chew, Janet uses black and white textiles from Bali, which signifies the balance between evil and sacred. Third Eye has an interesting form composed with three breasts, almost like a child’s view of an older woman’s breasts, huge, sagging yet comforting.

Through the net, one can see other colours and forms like the vertical Yellow Bellied Button, which has an inner form of a black bandhani fabric which looks like a flimsy yellow form. These forms seem to spill out of the base of the sculptures. In fact, they emerge from the transparency and expose themselves like the passionate blood red bandhani fabric – in – Red Hot Dripping Bellsy.

The final piece is composed of eight bronzes sensuously shaped bells at the end of the corridor, you can ring them by striking each other as it suggests the interaction between people.

In totality, Janet’s work is based on the human experience of the seen and unseen, forms emerging and disappearing and yet bringing into focus the limits of the horizon line, a meeting between art and an unusual flight of imagination.

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Early morning, even as I was having tea and reading about the ban on plastic items in the newspaper, I could hear a matka-seller passing by, beating a tune on a matka with a ringed finger, almost a Ghatam player. As, it is the perfect timing to introduce clay kulhars to serve tea in roadside kitlis, instead of those wobbly plastic cups. Terracotta kulhars are both eco-friendly and easy to hold. Even restaurants could serve, water, chai and chaas, by buying them and supporting potters, as they are soon disappearing from our life. Sadly, most homes do not have matkas, as the designs of filtered water systems are not conducive to fill the same water in a matka. The idea of serving chai in kulhars, immediately conjures images of the earth, water and fire, as clay is a symbol of our earth-based,  crafts-based culture. It is also, an inheritance, we received from the Indus Valley Civilization. Kulhars were not heavy, neither big nor small, but have the correct size of a normal teacup and it is a mystery, why we cannot revive the kulhar culture in Gujarat. Of course, some people argue, about the disposal of kulhars, but,  this can be worked out with experts working at design schools. The potter’s art can be revived, as our city still has gaams and puras, which always had a resident potter, working on his wheel, sitting hunched on the floor, under a banyan tree and like a magician creating innumerable pots from just one ball of clay.

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