Mothers and Daughters

Last Sunday evening I attended the a ceremony at the Fort synagogue in the south of the city, welcoming a new Sefer Torah into the Baghdadi Synagogue. About 30-40 people were in attendance, mostly locals and some travelers, chatting politely as we waited for more to arrive and the ceremony to begin. An older Iraqi-born woman who has become a good friend told me about the event and even made sure the secretary of the Synagogue called me up to ask me to stay for dinner afterwards.

As it became dark we marched across the street to the elegent and stately Sassoon library where the Sefer Torah was being kept. The leader of the congregation went up and brought down the scrolls which are kept in a hard, circular container in the sephardic tradition. A chuppah ( bridal canopy) was opened and the cantor began chanting songs and cheers that the crowd repeated, and one by one, prominent male members of the Bahgdadi community, the Chabad rabbi and the Israeli Consul General took turns carrying the Torah to its new home.

One of the chants repeated that evening spoke about Avraham Avinu, stating that the Patriach Abraham would rejoice with us today. The cantor then playfully changed the name throughout the cheer-like chant, mentioning King David, Joseph, and of course, the Prophet Elijah. I smiled when the women of my people also received their due turns, with Sarah, Abraham's wife, Queen Esther and Rachel all being called up to rejoice with us at this time. Thus, these Jewish father and mother figures ( referred to by my family as 'the mommas and the poppas' during a song at the conclusion of the Passover Seder) accompanied us as we walked back to the synagogue.

That night after the delicious dinner, I went back for real coffee ( okay, it was Nescafe, but after weeks and weeks of sugary milky chai it feels great to drink something strong and black) at my Iraqi friends' house with another young woman who is here volunteering from Canada. Over our warm drinks the conversation turned to Mothers once again, as my Canadian friends' mother had called her nine times during the ceremony. Her mother was worried about her, as she had only arrived a few days earlier and hadn't yet sent an email that day. The Iraqi mother smiled knowingly, as her children now reside in Milan and New York, and I felt similarly connected with the women in the room. We were so far from home, so physically disconnected from families, but also so lucky to be able to pick up the phone, or use skype or email to send messages back.

As we were talking about the ups and downs of relationships between Jewish mothers and daughters, analyzing daughters as extensions of mothers, if arguing and fighting with mothers is a sign of closeness, my phone rang and I joked- it must be my mother. It turns out I was essentially right, and somehow halfway around the world my dear grandmother had been thinking of me at that very moment, and called just to make sure I was alright.