The Jews of Lebanon Project

This is a message we received yesterday evening.

Is anyone in the world listening?

I am a Lebanese Jew [and] I was forced to change my family name because my family origins are from Wadi Abu Jmil. I still live there under a false name, my family did not emigrate during the war, we hid in a sieged town in the Shouf district named Deir al Kamar were I got a new name. I am a father of 3 kids, my wife is a Druze women, she knows I am Jewish but my kids don’t [and] I work as a road engineer and [I] give you my life story to tell you that I love Lebanon [and] I want to live in it. I am a Lebanese Jew.

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Emotional plea by a Jewish youth in Lebanon, previously published by JOL.org. Let us arouse the conscience of the entire world…

I am sitting a few minutes walking distance from the Maghen Abraham [Synagogue in Beirut], writing this letter, but frankly I am at a loss for words. I am not sure what to say, or for that matter what to feel. The past few years have been a monumental struggle for me, a struggle for finding my identity, my roots, my past. My struggle might be unique in its details, but at its core it is all too common.

Perhaps you will not understand the feelings I am trying to convey. Perhaps words cannot do justice to these feelings to begin with. These feelings are better kept in one’s heart, but I have decided to attempt to at least give you a sense of the struggle that rages in me, even today, when I can safely say that I feel confident about my belonging and identity.

It pains me that I have not had the chance to experience the life that some of you in the audience might have experienced in the past in Lebanon. It pains me immensely that I have to pass by the Maghen Abraham every day without being able to enter, if only to view the destruction, to say a prayer (even though I do not know how to say prayers), to stand there and imagine and visualize what the 1940s, 50s, 60s were like. It pains me that some of you, in the audience, wish to deny that I - a Lebanese Jew - exist. That my family and friends exist. It pains me immensely that I have to keep my identity hidden in my own country, but also that I have to prove my Jewishness to you, my fellow Jews, my fellow countrymen and women. I do not consider myself or my family more Lebanese than you the Lebanese Jews in the audience, just because my family chose to stay in Lebanon. No, I do not espouse such elitist views, nor do I wish to impose labels on you. It is up to every individual to define and exert his or her identity based on his or her experiences and feelings. I might not know how to pray, and I might not have had the chance to go to shul / knis, but I am a product of the context and situation I was born into. I might not sound convincing, and I might not impress you with my words, but I seek neither to convince nor impress. And if it matters, I am writing this with tears in my eyes.

If you wish, you may choose to believe that I am not Jewish. You may choose to believe I am not Lebanese. You may choose to believe that I am your enemy in disguise. Go ahead and do it. But I ask you, if I am all these, so what? Is the wish to spread awareness and battle anti-Semitism, the wish to see renovated rather than destroyed Synagogues, the wish to see cemeteries taken care of, the wish to see a Jewish community living openly and being looked at as equals, an act of enmity? If all this is enmity, then I wonder, what does friendship look like? And if you would like, consider me an enemy - I have no objections, as long as you pay attention to these wishes, as long as you listen to those who have been able to reap your trust.

I have this much to say, and no more. I do not believe in throwing fancy words around, words that are void of real feelings and only scratch the surface of the struggle. I believe in expressing honest feelings, the reality of the struggle, the immense pain in my heart. The depth of this issue, its importance for me and my family, necessitate not an amalgamation of fancy words, but a reference to a set of realities that need to be addressed. In the end, I am but one person, ignore me if you will, but do not ignore the question, the issue, the problem, the “non-existent” Jewish community in Lebanon, or whatever else you want to call us.

Maghen Abraham is the symbol of our community. Every day I pass by it, I cannot help but assure myself that it will be the symbol of our renaissance. I wrote my thoughts and feelings in this letter as they came along, but I knew its conclusion from the very beginning. I cannot afford not to know it. For you, it might not be a reality you live with every day, but we are not blessed with that luxury. So I say, let the elderly revel in the nostalgia, but at least give our youth a chance to live it.

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