Forecast Highs

KOLASIB, AND SHIFIR, Mizoram – We drive north to south through the Chin mountains into Mizoram. We’re climbing along a ridge road which naturally winds from left to right in wide arcs, so every few minutes we can see the view from the right side of the mountain into the valleys below, and then the same from the left side. Even this far up the terrain looks tropical – lush jungles, this is because of the monsoons which bring over 2,000mm of rain annually [Israel has something like 300mm]. We’re headed into Kolasib district, northern sector of Mizoram. And we’re headed to Aizwol, the largest city in the state. Mizoram is roughly the size of Israel: 21,000 km squared in length, and it has small pockets of confused Jews. That’s where the comparison ends.

We stop just several hundred meters away from the Mizoram – Assam border at the home of the local Bnei Menashe community leader, Reuven Pachuan.

I notice that everywhere we go people are chewing something that they spit out from time to time and makes their teeth red. I am told it is the Pan fruit, which is found at the top of the tall trees here and is mildly narcotic. Colonel Auja, who is our fixer on this trip, sends one of the local boys to climb one of the tress across the road to show us the fruit. The trees are exceptionally tall, like coconut trees, except they bear the Pan fruit. The boy climbs up a tree with while his feet are bound by rope, and then on his way down he swings like a monkey, from one tree to another, showing off.

Reuven’s home has several interesting artifacts in it: the first is a picture rendering of the Beit Mikdash [Solomon's Temple]; a picture of Jerusalem, and a flag of the Nazareth Illit [upper Nazareth] municipality. His sister, a Bnei Menashe who made aliyah, lives in Kiryat Arba. I’ve heard of quite a few Bnei Menashe living in the settlements. Last week we had a debate about whether or not ‘coloring the Bnei Menashe in orange’ – that is, associating them with the religious Zionist crowd and settling them beyond the Green Line is actually beneficial to their cause. Some in our group said the settlers are the only segment of Israeli society that is willing and able to take these people in. Others, in the minority, said that this was one of the reasons why former Interior Minister Avraham Poraz [from Shinui] closed the door on Bnei Menashe aliya – they were too religious and too right-wing. Four families from this little village have made aliya already, and there are currently 56 people in this little community.

More than other Bnei Menashe I’ve met, Reuven talks as if he’s really been brainwashed, or is full of positive fervor, depending on your point of view. When I ask him why he wants to make aliyah he says it’s because of his faith, and because the Torah says all the lost tribes of Israel must go back home. This is the prophecies, the messianic talk. Reuven is a math and science teacher at the local school, and when I ask him if he wants to carry on with this profession in Israel, he answers that he will take any job, just as long as he can make aliyah. Then he surprises me by saying that if he could choose his next career it would be to become a rabbi, although he has no idea that it takes 7 years of study. His second choice is to become a “commando” in the Israeli army. He’s 31, so it will be difficult, but not impossible to get into an elite fighting unit, I tell him. “I want to fight for Israel. I want to die for Israel,” he says, loudly, showing a sudden burst of emotion. Sensing some unease in the room, Eyal Be’eri, our guide, who lives in the Beit El settlement, steps over to Reuven, takes him by the hand and says soothingly, “You must live for Israel. Israel is the land of life.” Reuven’s words make me think: why does he want to be either a rabbi or a fighter? Why not a teacher, doctor, businessman, motor mechanic, or carpenter? What kind of process has he been undergoing that the two things he has in the forefront of his mind are God and war?

We head up to the synagogue opposite Reuven’s home. It’s a small shul, but very well put together and cozy. The view from its porch of Tarfil Mountain across the valleys is spectacular, and I can see why this place was chosen to build a synagogue – it’s very peaceful and invites reflection. Right next to the synagogue, about 15 meters away, a large pig is being fed in its pen. The pig is squealing very loudly, and I notice other similar squeals coming from the road.

The village is full of pig pens, and their unmistakable squeals pierce this otherwise quiet village. The villagers breed them for food. Our group prays mincha at the synagogue on top of the mountain, and, unfortunately, the sounds of prayer mix with the squeals of the pigs. For me it is a stark contrast, but Israel says that only in Israel are Jews forbidden from growing pigs [none of the Bnei Menashe in Kolasib breed pigs]. The prayer ends with Hatikva, and at this altitude, in this remote lovely place, it is an awesome experience to hear it sung by 20 Israelis, and look over into endless mountains. At the end of every ceremony we’ve attended, we always sing the Bnei Menashe and Israeli anthems, and the Bnei Menashe never sing the Indian national anthem. Visiting the remote synagogues of the Bnei Menashe, our group is strengthened every time; it reaffirms their faith in the story of the ten lost tribes – it makes it visceral. Our group is almost always led in prayer by a Bnei Menashe.

As we drive away from Reuven’s home, up the road a full-sized pig is being roasted on the spit on the front porch of a home on the side of the road. A hole has been cut into its belly, and next to the spit a woman is cleaning out the pig’s blood-covered intestines using a red bucket. I don’t see how a Jewish community can survive long here without either bringing them to Israel or investing massive amounts of energy into sustaining their new way of life here. They do not live in an atmosphere conducive to a practicing Jew. The Mizo [people of Mizoram] are 90% Baptist Christian. How long can the Bnei Menashe stay Jewish out here without being brought to Israel or organized into cohesive, sustainable communities here?

We reach Aizawl at night after 14 hours on the road. The community here prepares some song and dance for us, and one of the tunes is a Sarit Hadad hit – Shma Israel Elokhai. There are two Israeli girls here who have Bnei Menashe friends in Beit Eil and Jerusalem. After touring India for three months, they decided to spend a week with the Bnei Menashe in Mizoram, and taught them the Israeli song, knowing we were coming and that we would love it.

In the morning, I look over the outskirts of Aizawl, and see a huge mountain range spread out beneath me. Mist, or cloud, I can’t tell the difference, covers one of the big valleys that forms a spectacular panorama. It looks like the whole valley is covered with snow, or candy floss. Either side of the valley the green mountains rise, dotted with their little villages as far as the eye can see. The women in our group say it will be a shame for the Bnei Menashe to leave such picturesque surroundings when they make aliyah, where they might find themselves in apartment blocs in development towns. No worries, says one of them, they can move to Carmiel and Ma’a lot, where it’s just as beautiful.