After long and exhausting flights, I am finally back home. Mentally, however, I am still there, in Budapest, surrounded by BT and SSG students and teachers. It’s hard to separate “ours” and “Hungarian” kids, they are all just teenagers, so dear to my heart.
“Welcome back. How was the trip? Tell us everything!” the students eagerly demand as I enter my classroom on Monday morning. I knew that getting back to the regular routine of teaching math would be impossible today. We do a “show and tell” about what impressed or influenced us most.
The students go first. I am curious to hear what stories about the journey the kids will highlight. As phones with pictures are passed around, the focus is not just the fun activities – they describe the Shabbaton, the third largest synagogue in the world, the Holocaust memorials, the tiny “flat” synagogue, the Hungarian students, and everything in between.
Now it’s my turn. What struck me the most was the palpable (and oh so familiar) feeling of anti-Semitism.
I recall stories Hungarian teens shared with us. One boy described how his circle of friends suddenly shrunk when they learned what school he’s been attending. A girl shared that for most of her life, she didn’t even know she was Jewish until her grandmother, a Holocaust survivor, opened up to her mother right before she passed. She was so afraid to let her family know earlier because she felt it was too dangerous to be Jewish, and now the girl wanted to learn what being Jewish meant. Others told us how their families didn’t keep any Jewish traditions, but that the kids themselves felt the desire to try to rekindle them, making little steps towards Judaism and their Jewish identity.
“Tell us about yourself,” one girl quietly asks. I am speechless. What story should I tell? Should I share about my grandpa’s singing me Jewish songs and reading to me Sholom Aleyhem stories with the doors and windows thoroughly covered, so no one would hear from the outside? Or should I tell them about my friends’ casual comments like, “You are cool, in spite of the fact that you are Jewish”, and me pretending to take it as a compliment? Or should I tell them how my dog was brutally killed and placed on the porch in front of my door? Who did it – my neighbors from the right, from the left, or from the across the street? Or maybe how I was unable to find a job because of a “Jew” stamp in my passport, even though teachers were in high demand? Or perhaps about a popular 90’s slogan “We’ll drown the Jews in their own blood”?
I examine the students’ faces and their reaction. We are so lucky to live in a country where one can attend school and be free to practice their religion on whatever level she prefers. Many take this luxury for granted; the vast majority thankfully never experienced the hatred that I have felt. Unfortunately, it’s not the same in so many places in the world.
I know that our visit was meaningful and transformational to both sides. It affected not only the thirteen kids and a group of teachers attending. I know it influenced so many kids who listened to the stories.
“By saving one life you are saving the world”. I think this was the main mission of our trip.
