The End

It's roughly 7pm on December 31st and I'm at Shabbat services at the Pardesi Synagogue, a four-hundred-year-old building tucked into the corner of Jew Town, in Cochin, Kerala. As the Canadian leading services begins aleinu, the international group of 30-40 Jews join in, somewhat discordantly. Neatly dressed Swiss (white polo, red sweater) sit behind me, a San Franciscan couple to my right, seemingly unobservant israelis to my left, a moscovite management consultant in the corner, a quiet resident of tenleytown, a lean and soft a spoken chabad rabbi conducting silently from behind, a newark-born woman from the east village (10th and 4th!), and a warm Indian man who says he is a friend of the synagogue and has a shammas-like status.

How did this happen? I'd planned to spend a quiet evening at my hotel.

I woke to a call from Brooklyn, and ran on the treadmill in a wood-floored gym with a view of the backwaters and jungle. The hotel has granted me access to the Royal Club room, and I eat a sumptuous continental breakfast of cheese (four types!), cut fruit, doughnuts, cappuccino, watermelon juice, and yogurt.

Over the longest cup of coffee I've had all year, I chat with an affable middle-aged British hospital secretary from the midlands who prefers Northern India. Her husband has been consulting for the Indian Military for a number of years and I get the sense she's lonely and ready for these trips to end. Speaking with her, I have this memory of Orwell's description of the memsahib (colonial wife) in Burmese days... she speaks of the Indians in warm but thoroughly colonial terms: "give an inch and they'll..." I wonder if the British aren't merely a bit distanced (observers) from all peoples, even themselves. No man is an island, but what about a people?

Does observation necessarily create separation and distance?

There has been a bombing in Athens and the subject turns to terror- what if the media didn't report terrorist incidents? She somewhat predictably laments the war in Afghanistan, Tony Blair's tragic alliance with George W. Bush, and the current National Health Service scandal. I offer unsolicited advice on how she can make her house more energy efficient and she tells me she's trying to convince her husband to install solar panels.

She is easily kinder, more affable, and less patronizing than any female character in Orwell's novel. I can tell the Indian staff likes her, whatever that means.

I go for a swim and then into town, where I wander, souvenir shop, and drop off shirts to be modified. The Tailor's name is Jude and his younger son is named Sampson. Keralans are turning out to be some of the nicest people I've met.

I make my way to Jew Town, where I learn the synagogue is closed for friday. Standing outside, I run into a group of Americans who feel familiar. I politely inquiry about a dinner invitation and before we know it the Chabad Rabbi has shown up, we've got a minyan (non-egalitarian seating. :(

I'm unexpectedly home.