I wasn’t always Jewish, you know.
Once upon a time I was a typical Haitian-American girl trying to figure life out in the United States of America. I ate the typical food—griot, rice, beans—had the traditional Independence Day meals come January 1st annually. I was pretty sheltered growing up getting to go out when we all went to church. We spoke French at home, although my parents had the secret Creole language that they spoke when they didn’t want the kids to hear.
Of course, we picked it up and figured it out. But in all honesty, I have to say, I wasn’t always Haitian either!
Aside from the music my parents played—and I never knew which station it was—the majority of the music I listened to were from Black American musicians. Till this day, I miss my “WGCI–triple dot that I” radio station, I miss the mixes that they played in the night, the music videos I used to watch. L Debarge, and so on and so forth.
I admired their heroes such as Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X, and their efforts such as Black Wall Street, and the prosperous Tulsa community.
I also admired the concepts that they had. My parents had taught me that I had to dress up twice as nice as I see white people dressing for an occasion–in order to be viewed as “normal.” I had to learn things well and not mediocre because my “well” is already considered not so “well”. Juxtaposed against that teaching was the free way I saw many Black American youths. They were bold and unyielding. They did what they wanted, I was floored. They went places wearing T shirts and jeans!
To me, that was the ultimate sign of freedom.
To be sure, there were many other influences in my life. I lived in a predominantly Puerto Rican neighborhood and most of my friends were Puerto Ricans. From there I loved the music as well, I even enjoyed Mexican music of our dear neighbor. I enjoyed hearing that typical Mexican beat in the background of my day. It was a loud neighborhood with lots of kids. The sound of those kids were like vocal flowers in a neighborhood garden.
Since I bloomed and became Jewish, when I look back at things I certainly don’t see them the same way I saw them before. Everything has taken a different angle, a different color, and more depth!
Take for instance the Haitian revolution. My dad sat me down and taught me the history of the Haitian revolution. He explained to me how Africans were taken from their countries and forced to be slaves when the Native Arawak could no longer sustained the French’s quest for slave labor. Little did they know or care that many of the African taken as slaves were generals of their own army back home and knew strategies for war, etc. At any rate, one person arose from the group and his name was Boukman. In order to rouse the others, he made an awesome ceremony where they killed a pig and everyone committed to fighting the French had to partake and drink of this blood.
After learning this history, I was proud and slightly disturbed. The world made fun of the Haitian voodoo. They made it seem like everyone had a voodoo doll in their closet right next to a box of pins. But at the same time, this very thing was so pivotal to our success. So even though I was proud, I had to keep it kinda secret and speak about it in very hushed voice, “We won the French!”—Not too loud!
Now with Jewish eyes, I see the revolution very differently. I see everything very differently. There is a concept that “the master’s tool will never dismantle the master’s house.” But it seems that that is exactly what was needed then. Often times Esav is depicted as similar to a pig. It’s an unkosher animal, but it looks kosher from the outside. Very deceptive. What the Haitians seem to have done in the “bwa kayman” ceremony is to drink the blood of the pig, i.e. to take the strength, the life force of the pig and used that strength against them to gain their independence.
I also took a new look at Native Americans and the Chinese. They both have a practice of calling upon their ancestors. That reminded me a lot of when the Jewish people invoked the merits of our forefathers—not quite the same, but very similar.
It made me realize, I never called upon any of my Haitian ancestors when I was a child. I didn’t even call upon voodoo demigods. This realization made me pause. Was I ever really a Haitian? Or, should I have been called a “trans-Haitian”?
I was Haitian by birth. But I knew nothing of my roots, my soil in my heart of hearts, in my guts. I was not connected on a deeper level to my ancestors, my people, etc. It was like looking out of a window at it all or watching a movie about it. I was an observer who knew about the history, but I couldn’t—or didn’t know how to—reach and connect with it and live through it.
This also gave me a fresh look at the situation for Black Americans as well. They were also a people cut off from their ancestors, culture, everything. If you didn’t know any better, you would think that their history began at the point of slavery. But it didn’t. Obviously, it couldn’t. But they too must be in a “trans” state: cut off from whomever they should be calling up, or relying on the merits of, or living by the wisdom of whomever they should.
Like dandelions, peoples are plucked out of the ground and callously blown away from their roots.
As a Jew, my spiritual ancestors–the people I seek wisdom from, live according to, and reflect on the merits of–are Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov. The Chachamim–the sages–are like my big brothers guiding me with their teachings in the form of books, with their legacies they left behind, their boldness in the face of so much danger.
Many of them were killed simply for teaching Torah to their people, my people. I feel so connected and appreciate their lives so much.
Wistfully, I am sorry that I didn’t have those emotions when I learned about the Haitian revolution and her people. I received it more as factual information to process mentally. I suspect that the fact that my family was Christian had a lot to do with it. Christianity took away all the forefathers and replaced it with one person–a person that I could never really connect with because he didn’t seem to have all the same flaws as I do.
But going back to the Chinese and Native Americans, did calling upon their ancestors bring them any kind of success?
Well, the Chinese were able to preserve their land, their culture, their language, everything. They pretty much stayed intact. Native Americans were not so lucky. But they still have a piece of their land–they are still on their land even though it’s occupied, they are fighting to keep their culture, and they are still alive and connected to their ancestors with the hope of one day reclaiming their land—the grass was not cut from its roots.
In lieu of these things, I think it was helpful. I think there is a very subtle strength in appreciating the ancestors. Like taking care of one’s own soil.
Coming full circle, I wondered about being Black and Jewish–reflecting on the fact that I rely on the merits of my Jewish forefathers and study and live by the wisdom of the Jewish chachamim, does it warrant that I put the added “black” in black and Jewish? What’s left that the “black” would cover? I eat kosher—Jewish, I follow Jewish law—Jewish, I speak the Hebrew language—Jewish.
So what’s “black” about me?
My sister had a problem with her arm. It was constantly itchy. No matter what she tried, nothing helped. Finally we discovered shea butter—an African product that is made from the parts of the shea tree. That was an eye opener. My skin has a healthy supply of melanin in it.
Physically, I am Black. Spiritually, I am Jewish.
I sincerely doubt that the Jews’ ancestors were white. In fact, the Jewish people were not even in Europe until much later—after the Babylonian Talmud was codified. I don’t think they were Black either. But at a certain point, a divide happened. Now we have Black Jews and White Jews. (Plus all the people to pretend like they don’t see color).I am of the belief that it wasn’t easy for the Jews who were hauled away into Europe. My suspicion is that there was much plundering and abuse that they suffered through. In the horrible tragedy that was the Holocaust, women were raped. I don’t doubt that also way back in the time when Jews were brought to Europe that the same didn’t happen then as well. Rape is a war strategy.
And what is so strategic about it? Besides the fact that rape demoralizes a people, it also creates children who may have divided loyalties. Who may recognize the forefathers of one parent, but also realizes they must learn about the ancestors of the other parent, too, if not because of spirit, then because of bodily needs. As if the spirit is going one direction and the body another. Kind of reminds me of the African continent–so replenished with gold, diamonds, rain forest, all manners of resources and yet many people act as if it’s a cursed place, a dark place. Or, Europe filled with innovations and philosophies and high ideas, but none of those high ideas seem to have global humanitarian understandings attached to it.
History dealt its blow and now we are left with Black people who claim to be Jewish with no solid proof besides their oral Torah and we have White people who hold the keys to the gate of who is Jewish and who isn’t. Both have loyalty to their spiritual ancestors. Both have a loyalty to their physical ancestors. How to come together?
Can we drop the physical and become purely spiritual beings? It is taught that each mitzvah corresponds to a different part of the body. Charity may be the right hand, prohibition to idol worship the back of the neck, etc. Can doing sufficient mitzvoth play a role in bringing us closer to the spiritual body that will be in sync to the Jewish spirit?
If I strengthen myself and get down to making mitzvoth my main occupation, will I find a different world of people waiting for me?
It is my goal to be a Jew through and through and hopefully, I’ll find you on the other side.
