But I'm overdue to write a much more light hearted blog about my recent trip to Cuba and dance- something about which the people there know a lot - and something for which I am, frivolous aside, very very grateful.
I went to Cuba on an Ambassadors mission with JDC in early April. It was a wonderful trip- great people, beautiful weather and stops, and fascinating stories to contemplate.
Someone remarked that Cubans are the happiest poor people she'd ever seen. That might sound like a crude caricature, but there's something to it.
We had a chance to visit the Jewish community and were blown away by the wry mix of humor and realism of community leaders (the way they poked gentle fun at the "pin" obsession in Jewish donor circles was memorable, as was their pleasant ironic reflection on their own "schnurring"- a performative self contradiction). They were grateful but with comfortable pride. When questioned about what she would dream of for the future, Adele, the longtime head of the main Patronata synagogue, said she'd like others in Cuba to have some of the same opportunities that the Jewish community has been lucky enough to enjoy thanks to visitors who care, like ourselves, and to the ongoing support of the JDC.
It was also great to see Cuban ingenuity at work. People have to figure out how to get by on less than enough, and they do so in incredible ways- innovating, squeezing and "borrowing": repurposing newspaper to wrap gifts, using emptied bottles to make art, using every part of everything- animals at the butcher's table (a slab of stone with raw meat, no refrigeration), every leaf at the cigar factory....
It mirrored the way Cubans seemed to repair their houses: without funds for overdue fundamental structural work but instead in a patchwork style that somehow, mostly, did the trick, even if it leaves the once magnificent Havana a shadow of its former self.
I bought a few pairs of earrings and marveled at the fanciful repurposing of the natural materials. One pair is a flat wooden flower with a round wooden bead, painted red, in the middle. Another uses beautiful red (poisonous- who says I'm not living dangerous) seeds strung together in a circle, and the third - small colored shells hung in interlocking circles together. Red was in- my favorite color.
And finally, it was impossible not to notice the dance. Music was all over for us tourists- but that felt authentic. It was playing until very late in the night in the bar (where at the famous Floridita, I saw the same two singers performing- one with a most memorable tragic face, and the other a happy one), at the poolside, in the synagogue (though the tunes for Friday night services were oddly off key, a strange reminder that they have not had much training in spite of what felt otherwise fluent and smooth).
At Havdalah, marking the end of Shabbat on Saturday night, each age group from teenagers, to the middle aged contingent, to seniors- showed us their moves. That was their way of demonstrating joy, of celebrating, of showing off, of being together.
It was fabulous ... and catching. I had forgotten how much I like to dance (with the notable pleasant exception of a recent half hour at a 40th birthday, which blew the more ubiquitous talking parties out of the water). Cuba was contagious.
Two days ago I wore the shell earrings for the first time. Yes, they fell apart and I had to keep hooking pieces back on to the main frame. But to my surprise, they did something else too. As I walked, the small shells jangled together lightly; they made music. I picked my daughter up close so she could listen - the music was like a reminder, a secret between me and Cuba and whomever was very near.
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