Web Exclusives | An American Crypto-Jew in Uganda |
|
|
| Written by Meredith Katz | |||||
|
When I first arrived in Uganda, I quickly became obsessed with how different I was from everyone else. I was usually the only Caucasian on the busy Kampala streets; my clothes and accent made me instantly recognizable as an American; and I carried a laptop while many people around me struggled for a meal. And yet, somehow, none of these differences caused me as much angst as the religious divide I encountered between Pentecostal Christianity and my own Jewish faith. Uganda was colonized by the British in the mid-1800s. Soon after, Christian missionaries arrived and began evangelizing, teaching the Ugandans to abandon their polytheistic faiths and adopt Pentecostal Christianity. Today the majority of the population identifies as Christian. Only one settlement of approximately 500 Jews exists in Uganda. Located in a remote Eastern village, their king chose to adhere to Judaism instead of Christianity during the colonial period. Almost no one in other parts of the country knows anything about Judaism. In Kampala, I first noticed the overbearing presence of Pentecostal Christians when I moved in with my host family. During dinner on my first night in their icon-filled house, the conversation turned towards religion. In an attempt to fit in, I avoided mentioning that I was not a Christian. When my “sister” came home from boarding school a week later, I again dodged questions about my Judaism. I was ashamed to stick out. I heard my family talk about how I didn’t go to church like their other host siblings, and was often dragged to plays and cultural events that stressed finding Christ as the path to a worthy life. My desire to fit in and downplay the differences between my Jewish identity and the culture surrounding me soon led to guilt. My shame grew as Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur approached and I was unable to find a temple where I could worship. As I could not express my faith externally, I turned inward and spent a significant amount of the High Holidays involved in personal reflection. Although I knew I was not in physical danger in Uganda as a Jew, I worried that declaring my Judaism would create a wall between me and the people I encountered and who I wished would see me as an equal. And yet, I realized that my religion was only a fraction of the reason I could never fully assimilate as a Ugandan. While religion presented itself as the centerpiece of my struggle with my “Ugandan identity,” it was what helped me realize that it was acceptable to not be Ugandan. Instead, I could express myself as an American and a Jew with my own history and beliefs. At the end of my program I began working with a non-governmental organization in Uganda that promoted democracy within the country. I often stayed at the office having long talks with my boss’s son, a born-again preacher and musician. We talked a lot about Judaism and he told me how he loved playing “Jewish songs” on his guitar. I spent some time singing prayers to him in the different tunes I had learned from my temple at home and our prayer services at Wesleyan University. My explanations of Judaism gave him perspective on his own faith, a new view that was reflected in some of his subsequent sermons and music. Similarly, hearing him question Jewish practice, allowed me to affirm and put into perspective my own beliefs and comprehend what it was exactly that I believed in. Among all the clutter and confusion of a third world country, poverty, lack of good governance, corruption, language and cultural barriers, I came to embrace my differences as unique and special, and to accept myself for who I am.
Powered by !JoomlaComment 3.12 Copyright (C) 2007 Alain Georgette / Copyright (C) 2006 Frantisek Hliva. All rights reserved. |
|||||
| < Prev | Next > |
|---|