By: Steven Aiello
The following is a
brief synopsis of my experiences in my first few days in Egypt. Although I’ve
had numerous enlightening exchanges and conversations, I’ll limit myself here
to those immediately pertinent to religion- the subject of this blog. I arrived
in Cairo Wednesday evening, and spent most of the Thursday in the AIC office.
One thing immediately noticeable in Cairo is the religious presence; many
impressive looking Churches dot the horizon along with the plethora of Mosques.
On Friday, I took a
Metro ride down to ‘Old Cairo,’ to the Coptic section of Cairo. There in
addition to the ‘Hanging Church,’ there is a Coptic museum, several other
churches, and the Coptic cemetery. The Ibn Ezra synagogue is also open to the
public. It was encouraging to see Muslim Egyptians visiting the synagogue, a
sign that Egypt’s Jewish community may be preserved long after its actual
members are gone.
From there I went to
the Adli Street Synagogue, the site of an attempted attack earlier this year.
The security was much the same as when I went last year- Egyptian policemen and
security forces sitting outside, behind a veritable barricade of metal. Upon
presenting my US passport I was allowed inside to pray. I met the caretaker of
the knis (or mabida), Ibrahim, a man whose piety lives up to his name.
I then took a taxi to
the Abbaseya neighborhood, to the site of what I had been told was yet another
synagogue. That turned out to be the former Jewish school in Cairo, now locked
up and appearing abandoned. I was told by the police there that I needed to
contact ‘Carmen,’ the head of Cairo’s Jewish community, to get in. That’s
easier said than done, as the few members of the community are keeping a very
low profile after Carmen’s sentencing to jail (covered in last week’s weekly
review).
After returning to my
hostel, I finished Shabbat preparations, and when it started getting dark out,
I went up on the roof to pray. Ahmad, who runs the hostel’s coffee shop,
praying in one corner, and I used the other corner. Saturday morning, I
returned to Sha’arei Shamayim, the Adli street knis, and did my best to explain
that I wanted to pray there, that I was an American Jew, but that I wasn’t
allowed to bring my passport or money. Only after ‘name-dropping,’ Ibrahim’s
name, was I told to come back in an hour (Ibrahim has worked at the synagogue
so long that he operates on Jewish time as well). As I crossed the street to
leave, I heard someone yell to me. It was Ibrahim, having just arrived. That
was my ticket in. He unlocked the door, happy to have someone there to
appreciate his efforts.
I read the full
Shabbat prayers aloud. Ibrahim and a woman who joined us later seemed
enthralled by the prayers. They were extremely excited, disappearing at one
point to find an old but functional talit for me. When the woman asked me for
my name, I dictated it for them, and Ibrahim wrote it down. Once I finished
praying, I learned that the woman (the manager of the synagogue) was Christian
(I already knew that Ibrahim is Muslim), and I was once again struck by the
contrast with my treatment in this same room last year, by one of the few
remaining Jewesses in Cairo, and my current treatment. Whereas last year the
elderly woman had insisted that I pay to enter, despite it being Shabbat,
forcing me to pray quietly in the corner while Ibrahim (the same man) attempted
to appease her, this year I was able to pray aloud, as the Muslim and Christian
guardians of the knis rejoiced at having the building be used. On Sunday, my
interviews began- more on that to follow.
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