Tree of Life by J.F. Penn

Author:J.F. Penn [J.F. Penn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Bright sun glared off the stark white exterior of the Shaare Shalom Synagogue as Morgan and Jake walked inside its gates. They passed palm trees and a well-watered garden as they headed toward the giant door.

It opened on their approach and an elderly black man walked out, wrinkles belying his age even though he moved with the sprightly ease of a younger man. He wore a kippah over his close-cropped white hair and beamed in welcome, holding out his arms wide. “Shalom, friends. I’m Desomond. Come on in.”

The synagogue had two levels of dark wooden seating either side of a central area where the Torah Ark stood on a raised dais. There was sand on the floor, echoing Ets Haim in Amsterdam.

Desomond noticed Morgan glance down and explained the custom. “It’s not a memento of the island’s beaches as some think. It’s to remind worshippers of the sand used to muffle footsteps back in the days of the Inquisition when we hid our faith. Others say that until we are back in Jerusalem, we must walk through the desert.” He grinned. “But maybe it’s just to keep out the snakes and insects.”

He led them on to a less formal area for community events with plenty of plastic chairs, children’s art and pictures of local festivities.

“We’re a Reform synagogue with prayers in Hebrew and English and we encourage people of other faiths to visit. The more we understand each other, the more we can live together in peace.”

Desomond stopped in front of a board of pictures and pointed to an image of a black man in glasses and a skullcap shaking hands with a Rabbi. “That’s Louis Farrakhan, the leader of the Nation of Islam. He came here in 2002 in his first ever visit to a synagogue in an attempt to rebuild his relationships with Jews.”

Jake pointed to a colorful picture, a group of people singing together against the backdrop of the white synagogue. Some had long dreadlocks tied back with green, yellow and red bands, others tucked their hair away in tams, round crocheted caps.

Desomond smiled. “That’s a Nyabinghi we had here in 2012, a gathering of Rastafari people. They are not so far from the Jews, you know, singing songs of freedom in a strange land. Their Zion is Africa, and ours is Israel.” He looked off into the distance. “Funny though, most of us have never been there. This is our home.”

He led them on. “So I understand from Kimelia that you want to see the museum?”

Morgan nodded. “Yes, and in particular, any documents or fragments that might have been brought here by the Jews who came from Recife or even Portugal originally.”

Desomond nodded. “We have some manuscripts stored in the archive. Have a look around and I’ll go get them for you.” He pushed open the doors of the museum and waved them inside with a smile. “I’ll be back soon.”

Jake walked over to the nearest display case, which contained several open prayer books. He bent to look more closely while Morgan walked to the back of the room.

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