The Bukhari; a Lesson in Roots

by Jerry Waxman
In the early Sabbath morning, I headed out the door, talit (prayer shawl) in hand, to find the Bukhari synagogue, up near the entrance to Sderot. A friend had shown me where it is, but as I am known to chronically misnavigate, I decided to start my search early in the morning.

Sitorai-Mokhi-Khosa, Summer Palace Gate, Near Bukhara, Uzbekistan, Central Asia

I walked until I found a road that was parallel to the highway. There was a familiar mini-market, and behind it an undeveloped patch of property. I followed a man who looked like he knew where he was going. That paid off just fine. The Bukhari synagogue was in a caravan of sorts.

The highlight of a Bukhari service — according to a friend of mine — is that they have a kiddush and a little meal in the synagogue after the services.

The Bukhari service is a typical Sephardi one, with a bit of Ashkenazi or Yemenite pronunciation. When one man or another would take the role of rabbi and talk Torah, they preferred speaking Russian.

The Bukhari are from Uzbekistan, where they have their own languages, but I guess it’s easiest for them to speak Russian.

And when the service was finished – - – - everyone went home.

I guess they forgot the highlight. There was no kiddush and no meal. Instead, my friend took me to his home.

There were quite a few people, maybe three or four families. The men sat at one table, the women at another. I think the women asked for this arrangement, since they would have more to talk about with each other than with the men.

From looking at the people and the furnishings around the house, I speculated that the journey of the Bukharis was a bit like the Americans. While in Uzbekistan, they saw themselves more as Uzbekis than as Jews. They were closer to Russian heritage than to that of their Jewish ancestors.

Carpet Market, Old City Walls, Bukhara, Uzbekistan, Central Asia

But this family, at least, had not lost its Jewish roots. Some in this family were very observant – Chareidi style – Jews. While they say they picked it up in the last 18 years while living in Israel, I also heard stories of their father and grandfather who were religious Jews in Uzbekistan.

Others in the family seemed a bit less attached to being Jewish, though they weren’t against a little tradition. The older women covered their heads in the manner of Jewish wives. But some of the women instead put a little doily on their heads – I guess this was their way to pay respects.

No real connection to their true Jewish roots – but at least a superficial display (like a U.S. president dawning a yarmulke) of solidarity with the religious elements.

I would continue a discourse here about the event has inspired me to think and write more about roots in the U.S. and how Americans seem to be growingly detached from their roots. But this discourse will have to wait, until the effects of vodka have subsided.

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