Jewish in Romania

A community's ruach is undetermined by size–whether it be one of 8,000 or 800,000 Jews or whether it be one of 800,000 that became 8,000.

Traveling to Bucharest this past weekend directly connected me to my Ashkenazi roots. My paternal grandmother's father's family was from the Romanian city Iași, made up of a healthy and thriving Jewish community. In the third grade, I vividly remember a class project that required me to interview my grandparents to learn where my family immigrated from and then decorate a piece of paper with symbols of my heritage, something that was hung up on my locker in the school hallway helping to identify my young self for many weeks. For this project, I remember learning about these eastern European Ashkenazi roots, roots that I am now closer to understanding.

Friday was dedicated to seeing, feeling, and becoming a part of these roots. Thankfully, before arriving in Bucharest, I was connected to Mihaela through a mutual friend of a close friend in Madrid. Mihaela is a creative, energetic and passionate young woman working with young adults and young families in Bucharest all the while raising her own two children. With Mihaela and her baby tagging along in the stroller, we walked around Bucharest the whole morning and early afternoon.

We began at an ancient synagogue that was under construction. Showing interest in seeing the interior and kindly smiling at the construction workers, I was let in through the gates to have a glimpse into the beauty that was being renovated both on the outside and inside. Never before had I entered a synagogue so ornate, intricate, and stunning—a synagogue that took my breath away. The synagogue's exterior boasted detailed Judaic carvings and thoughtful stained glass windows, while the synagogue's interior was populated with many artists delicately painting organized designs on the high-up walls. Little did I know this synagogue was just the beginning of what was to come.

After briefly taking in the first synagogue, Mihaela guided me to the next one that was just as beautiful as the first. Unlike the first, though, this synagogue's interior was made up of the informational learning content from the Jewish museum on the history and heritage of Romanian Jewry. A kind senior woman welcomed us inside and gave us a preview of the different key themes covered in the content. The perimeter of the synagogue's sanctuary had large standing bulletin boards with photo copies of pictures detailing the history of Romanian Jewry in pivotal times, such as during the beginning of the Pogroms and Holocaust. I saw replicas of the special identification Jewish doctors were legally obliged to possess as well as the cards that allowed Jews to receive their regulated amount of bread. Then, the inside almost resembled a history fair, where poster boards rested on trifolds and told the story of Jews in Romania in more detail. One poster discussed the origins of the Jewish community in Romania, one made up of Jews from across Europe (including Sephardi), and another discussed the birth of Zionism and their presence at the first World Zionist Congress. Then, one poster discussed the path to citizenship for Romanian Jews while a different poster discussed the critical role in society at-large, such as government and military, that the Jewish people played. After wandering through the content and learning more about Romanian Jewish heritage, something I felt connected to, I approached the bimah and torah ark, only for my breath to be again taken away. The design, colors, gold, richness of design, and elegance of complexity all mesmerized me.

Next on our list was passing by the Jewish theater that was under construction and then the Choral Temple, a synagogue and congregation still alive today. The namesake of this world renowned synagogue comes from its choir. The building is composed of bricks that are a coral color, with the entrance made up of a beautiful stain glass design. Before entering the synagogue, one is met in the courtyard by a large menorah memorial that commemorates the lives of the six million Jews perished in the Holocaust. Once inside, we met Gilbert, a special leader who has taken on the duty, responsibility, and honor of maintaining the synagogue and sharing its story. He received a PhD in an economic-related field in England, speaks English excellently, and has sung in the congregation's choir since he was a young child. His motivation for his work today? His parents' memory.

My words will not do this synagogue justice to describe its glory. From floor to ceiling, hundreds of painters hand-painted the colorful flower design. The whole bimah was stunning with the stain glass windows, Judaica artwork, richness of material, and attention to detail. Walking to the front of the sanctuary, I noticed that a Romanian flag was found on one side of the bimah and an Israeli flag on the other side, something emulating that of my synagogue at home with an American and Israeli flag. How grateful we are as Jewish people to have a State of our own as well as the freedom to be citizens of other countries. As Gilbert shared the history of the synagogue, I was struck with gratitude upon learning that I was visiting a temple that Israeli government leaders have visited too, such as current Prime Minister Bibi Netanyahu and past Prime Minister, and my personal role model, Golda Meir. The synagogue overcame hardship and challenge in its lifetime, especially during the early 1900s when facing the rise in anti-Semitism, including an incident of a mob destroying part of the temple's interior. Although a glory place, unfortunately only part of the Jewish community could historically afford the steep dues and benefit from its glory. That evening I would learn what the synagogue and its congregation looked like today.

After being invited for Shabbat at the Choral Temple by Gilbert, we went to the Bucharest JCC. Although desolate of people because of a conference in another Romanian city that weekend, it was clear that the JCC was truly the center for Jewish life in Bucharest. We were first led into the basement of the building: a bar and social gathering place as well as home to the Jewish radio station in Bucharest. Then, walking around the first floor, we peered inside the children's area, where walls were covered in colorful biblical juvenile paintings and visuals. Upstairs, the multipurpose room still bore the remnant Purim decorations from the week before, and the impressive gym area was in use by a few adults. Walking around, I recalled my own relationship with my local JCC—daycare classes with Miss Anita as a preschooler to trying out for the Chicago Maccabi Games soccer team as a teenager to attending a BBYO youth group meeting as a high schooler. A unique union bonded these two Jewish communities of Bucharest and Chicago, found on opposite sides of the world. Both JCCs brought meaning, life, and connection to Jewish people wanting a safe space to be Jewish socially, physically, and psychologically in their community. JCC helps Jewish people comfortably navigate their cultural and national identities.

That evening, I saw and felt what brought the Choral Temple to life during Shabbat—the people. That Shabbat, I not only observed but was also a part of the ruach around me. The mix of age, dress, and home of the people I prayed with and then savored Shabbat dinner with created this life: the little girl hugging her mom as her mother stood up at certain prayers, the close group of men who proudly sung in the choir during the service, the two younger men next to the white lace curtain who ensured their voices were heard above the rest, and the congregation community leader who gave a sermon towards the end who begun, so familiarly, with "Shabbat Shalom," the same start I have heard so many times before. Hand-in-hand with prayer, the dinner furthered and strengthened this sense of community. Diversity defined the people sitting around me at dinner. Next to me, I conversed with an Israeli woman who was visiting Romania that weekend with her husband. I learned Bracha's story, a woman who I shared the second part of my Hebrew name with. Her father's family was from Iraq, she met her husband on a bus when she asked him to open the window, she worked as a nurse in a major hospital in Tel Aviv and now teaches, she is a grateful grandmother, and the one thing she would make better in Israel (beyond the "situation") would be the income inequality that has created a polarized upper and lower class with a nonexistent middle class. Midway through conversation and learning about her and without thinking twice, I pulled out my wallet and gave her a small plastic covered rectangular piece of paper that had the prayer for a good match for her architect daughter, something I graciously received in Israel the week before. It seemed her daughter needed it more than me, and this Israeli woman was grateful, saying our interaction was part of G-d's work. I understood her words.

A community's ruach is determined by its people and heritage. These factors together influence its success and sustainability. Romanian Jewry shares a common identity of pride, appreciation, and affiliation to a larger Jewish community. Romanian Jewry also shares a rich heritage of accomplishment and setback, earned acceptance and alienated hardship. Above all else, Romanian Jewry does not merely live on—it is alive. Its physical past is renovated and repaired, and its psychological past is remembered and appreciated. Its past was a size of 800,000, decimated by 300,000 lives perished in the Holocaust and countless immigration to Israel. But its future is a size of more meaning and depth beyond that of 4,000. Its future is foretold through its ruach, the most telling-factor.