WATANI International
1 November 2009
I am ashamed to confess that I have only met one Egyptian Jew. Like many people, I had got somehow to believe that they were an extinct species, existing only in old films and the memories of an older generation who lived during the age of ‘Liberal Egypt’.
My story begins with a visit to a friend in Daher, in the north-eastern part of Cairo, where I saw an elderly woman, her features affirming that she was beautiful in her youth. She was fiercely hugging the proprietor of a watch shop, and both were crying. The man’s features were purely Egyptian. From a picture hanging on the shop’s shabby wall, I realised that he was a Coptic Christian. The touching scene fired my curiosity, and I paused to see if I could learn more.
Entirely changed
I was surprised to hear the elderly man speaking Arabic mixed with some French words, while the woman replied with the same linguistic mixture. Tears turned to laughter and warm kisses. “O Rachel, you should have kissed me 40 years ago!” the man exclaimed, mostly in French. “But you are still the most beautiful lady I have ever seen. Can you remember the days when dozens of men waited for you to come out of your house, just to see the most gorgeous young lady not only in Daher, but in all Cairo?” exclaimed the old man in French. It was clear, then, that she was an Egyptian Jew who had emigrated from Egypt in 1967. The woman laughed, but at the same time she looked round, seemingly eager to take in every single corner of the area.
“George!” she finally said sadly. “The place has entirely changed.”
George replied in Arabic: “The district has become old like us, but I can still run after my son and catch him in Canada. He emigrated ten years ago. Can you remember that little guy who used to play with your niece; Lillian’s son? Now he is a famous physician and lives in Montreal with his Canadian wife and their three children!”
When the man invited his old friend into his shop, I had to go on to my friend’s. I told him all I had seen, and then I saw his mother smiling.
“Do you know where Rachel used to live?” she asked. “She used to live in this flat. But we didn’t buy it from her; we bought it from others who had bought it from her.”
Star of David
My friend’s mother went on to tell us what she had discovered years ago when she was renovating the apartment. She saw a Star of David engraved in a hidden spot behind one of the windows. While she was talking there was a knock on the door, and there stood Rachel herself together with the owner of the watch shop. Rachel wanted to see the flat where she had spent her childhood, so my friend and his mother welcomed the guests and invited them for a cup of coffee. Rachel made it clear from the beginning that she was not Israeli, but was a French citizen, and that her family had immigrated to France and lived in Paris for 40 years.
Her accent was just like a Cairo resident’s, so I asked how she had managed to keep all the words and grammatical rules of the Arabic language in her mind all that time?
“You might feel that I am exaggerating when I say that the 20 years I spent in Egypt had the greatest effect on my whole life,” Rachel replied.
My friend’s mother generously invited all her guests to dinner and produced delicious Egyptian dishes. She said she always made large amounts of food and lots of different dishes because she was brought up in a family of 14. Then she recalled the days when they were poor but happy, and when they had Jews as neighbours, although she admitted that if any of her present neighbours knew she was entertaining a Jew she would be in trouble. She declared that Islam recommended that Jews must be treated the same as Christians. She told dozens of stories about discrimination against Jews, extremism, social equality, and economic hardship.
Astonished, I interrupted her. “How can you remember such social and political details? And how could you talk openly about very sensitive issues, some of which are taboo?” I asked “If you were heard talking about Jews and fanaticism, people might gossip about your principles and your loyalty to your country, and they might distrust your ethics and religious bent.”
Spirit of joy
Everyone noticed that the conversation, which had now gone on for four hours, was turning on a sour note, so my friend’s mother quickly turned on the radio to bring back the spirit of joy. I watched the expression on the face of the beautiful old lady, who looked even more stunning when she smiled. Perhaps pleasure always makes people look young and fresh. She then began to ask after several names of people who had been neighbours. She wanted to know what had become of the people she had not seen for four decades.
My friend asked why she had gone to live in France and not Israel. She said only poor Jews and those who were members of Jewish organisations had gone to Israel; and they were a minority. Egyptian Jews were like Egyptians; they did not care about taking part in politics or belonging to a particular party. Their priorities were taking care of their own businesses and indulging themselves in good living. “Since I immigrated to France, I have visited Egypt five times,” Rachel continued, “whereas I have never visited Israel although many of my relatives live there.”
Rachel said that she had nothing more to say to prove that she was Egyptian, because people already had a suspicion that a Jew could be loyal to Egypt and feel proud to be Egyptian.
End of story
The elderly man, George, looked at his antique watch and announced that the story had come to an end and that a good time had passed quickly. He turned to Rachel to tell her that she would be the guest of his family for the evening—he had already called home to say that she had arrived in Daher.
Both the guests were very grateful to their hostess, and said their warm goodbyes. My friend and I hurried to the balcony to wave, and our last sight was of George leading Rachel to his house. They were walking slowly, exchanging laughter and kind words. Those were the days.