2003-08-15 Yakhini, Israel—Profile
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Families of the magic carpet: Yemenite moshav mourns lost Torahs in the northern Negev San Diego Jewish Press-Heritage, August
15, 2003
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2003-08-15 Yakhini, Israel—Profile |
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By Donald H. Harrison YAKHINI, Israel—Even a year and a half after the theft of four Torahs, there is sadness and bewilderment among the senior citizens of this Yemenite moshav in the Sha'ar Hanegev region. Sefer Torahs? Who would dare steal holiness? Two of the Torahs were recovered at a bus stop, leading to speculation that some person or persons spirited the others away to be sold. Seventeen elders who met with me at a senior citizen center in the moshav, hearing that I came from San Diego, told me how badly they felt about the theft from their nearby synagogue. Having a Torah stolen is like having a member of the family kidnapped. Having two stolen is even worse. Torahs are written by hand, with not even one mistake permissible. The process can take a scribe (sofer) a full year to complete. A new Torah costs between $20,000 and $40,000, according to San Diego sofer Alberto Attia. A used one can be obtained for about $15,000, but often it will require repair. Replacing two Torahs is beyond the financial means of this poor moshav. So, the elders asked me to pass on a request. As their region of Sha'ar Hanegev is the "partnership region" for the United Jewish Federation of San Diego County, perhaps someone or some congregation in San Diego would be willing to donate a Torah to them. I promised I would apprise Heritage's readers, who include many generous and religious persons, of this opportunity to perform a special mitzvah. Any person or organization desiring to donate a Torah can do so through the Israel Center at the United Jewish Federation offices in San Diego, (858) 571-3444. "Our previous life in Yemen was easier," a Yakhini elder, Shalom Daoud Hajbi, told me through Eliahu Segal, Sha'ar Hanegev's city manager, who graciously had agreed to serve as an interpreter for the group interview. "We didn't pay taxes [in Yemen], but we were happy to come to Israel [where we do]," Hajbi said. "We had prayed all our lives to make aliyah. People prayed to die here, so they could go straight to Paradise." The rest of the seniors deferred to Hajbi, who had served as a lay rabbi and shochet in Yemen and who, I later learned, also was related to many of the people in the room. In fact, a first cousin in the room was called Shalom Shalom Hajbi— the two men taking their first names from their common grandfather and their middle names from their respective fathers. Segal, an Argentine immigrant to Israel, did not always understand Shalom Daoud Hajbi's soft-spoken and Yemenite-accented Hebrew, so at times the back-and-forth was slow going. The moshav's pioneers had been flown from Yemen to Israel in the famous Operation Magic Carpet and they were resettled in 1951 in the northern Negev area. Under the rules of Israel's moshav movement, they obtained land for their own homes while other property, including the fields, stables, silos and so forth, were owned and worked communally. When the Yemenites arrived in the northern Negev, Hajbi said, "there was nothing here. The one place where we found water was Yakhini." Yakhini is named after Jachin, the son of Simeon, who is mentioned in Genesis 46:10 and Exodus 6:15. Tradition holds that Jachin had settled in this area. Arie Raibi, who was the child of immigrants but who now represents the moshav on the 11-member Sha'ar Hanegev Regional Council, said, "In the beginning, we had no tools, no tractor, just a small quantity of food, but we were very happy." His mother, Yona Raibi, remembered that she "worked with the horses at night, all night, and they paid me seven cents a day." Sa'ada Daoud Hajbi said that when the Israeli government brought horses to the moshav, "it was a special surprise— horses from Yugoslavia." Zaharia Hajbi recalled that "we were surrounded by Arabs. Every night we had eight guards. The Druze (an Arabic-speaking people with their own religion) helped us." Throughout the years, members of the moshav continued to rely on agriculture as their main source of income — even after the crash in agricultural prices that prompted many of the neighboring kibbutzim to develop other industries. Although some members of the moshav have found work outside Sha'ar Hanegev, as a community Yakhini is aging and in financial need. "The life here is very hard," said Tzipora Hajbi, another member of the extended family. "You must live here with the cows. It smells bad. I'd like to go to Caesarea." Mazal Levy told me that she was worried that the club in which the seniors meet twice a week in Yakhini will have to close because money is so tight. Ahuva Yaish expressed concern that the moshav would not be able to continue operating its own preschool, requiring Yakhini's few little children to go somewhere else. But no concern was greater than the elders' mourning for the lost Torahs. "We need a new sefer Torah," said Arie Raibi. "I'm happy that the people in San Diego will learn more about what is happening in Yakhini. We want to be on the map." * * * Before the group interview had begun, City Manager Segal had explained that I was the editor of a newspaper in San Diego. He told the seniors that I was visiting each community in Sha'ar Hanegev in turn to gather information to tell the people in San Diego. With this edition of Heritage being our "Jewish baby" issue, let me relate that I told the Yemenite seniors that I also had personal reasons to want to know them better. I explained that I was the proud grandfather of a half-Yemenite Jewish boy. With that I pulled photographs of 2-year-old Shor from my wallet and passed them down either side of the long table where the seniors had gathered. łOh, azeh hamud, azeh hamud (how cute! how cute!)," I heard them say as Shor's photographs worked their way around the table. I explained that my daughter Sandi had met her husband, Shahar Masori, in Israel, and that they now live in San Diego. The people of Yakhini immediately recognized the name "Masori" because it designates one who came from Masuar, a region in Yemen. Some of the moshav's residents, in fact, had come from Masuar. By the time that my little grand-ambassador's photographs made their way back to me, I no longer was a visitor. I was a member of the extended family! After Segal signaled me that it was time to leave for our next appointment, Shalom Daoud Hajbi commanded me to wait. "I want to give you a blessing." He put his hands on my head and prayed for my welfare and for San Diego's. Before I left, each of the seniors shook my hand warmly, and some even embraced me. I'm sure similar receptions are waiting any other member of San Diego's Jewish community who visits this moshav. |
