Jewish Budapest

 Exterior Great Synagogue

Interior Great Synagogue

Ever since we arrived in Budapest I’ve been haunted by a sense of lost Jewish history, which is surprising to me since this is not something I normally think about a lot.  Maybe it’s because our friends who come from Hungarian-Jewish backgrounds have spoken so proudly of the rich heritage of their families or maybe it’s from half remembered stories of heroic efforts, unsuccessful for the most part, to save Jews in the land of Liszt and Bartok.  For whatever reason I’ve felt a sense of cultural loss since we arrived here.  This feeling became overwhelming today when we visited the Great Synagogue here.   This magnificent building, which can seat over three thousand people in its soaring sanctuary, is today not a working place of worship but a museum.  It’s true its open part of the year for services and it can be used for weddings and bnai mitzvah but it’s not a real congregation.  It’s an artifact.  Lovingly restored, mainly with American money, but not a real place of worship.  The museum sponsors guided tours and our guide, a middle aged Jewish woman, tried to put the best gloss on the depressing story of the Hungarian Jews, but all that came through to me was the terrible sense of loss of what must have been a large, wonderful, culturally rich community that could never be resurrected.  It was like seeing the remains of a dead culture, like the ancient Etruscans or Pompei, not a living, vibrant religion as we know it in the USA.

I’m sorry if this is a total downer but this is really the first time I’ve had this personal, visceral feeling about Holocaust events.

Same Old Budapest-Jim

Budapest Train Station at Night

                  My view of this charming Hungarian capital came into focus as I watched archival film at a theater in the Jewish museum adjacent to the stunning old synagogue.  Although the film was grainy, the pictures it presented didn’t look much different from what I’d seen out on the streets a few moments before.  The buildings were mostly unchanged and the trams were a tad more streamlined, but there wasn’t anything anyone who left in 1956 – or perhaps 1926—would have found particularly jarring.

                  This is the first city we’ve visited where that’s so.  It is marked by classic four-story buildings, often with extensive decoration that would be impossible to duplicate today, arrayed along wide boulevards – an arrangement that lets the sun through (not that there was any on this bleak December day) that cannot be duplicated in the urban canyons of New York or Chicago.  The city seems comfortable, perhaps also complacent.

                  Pleasant visual surprises abound including the ice skating rink I discovered while trying to get a picture of the neighborhood railroad station.  Our other stops have often been a view into the future.  Budapest shows how the past still works.

                  The synagogue guides talk about the 100,000 Jews – half of them observant – who still live here, a very modest echo of the much larger prewar population.  Listening to their story, I came away a bit more sympathetic with the idea of holocaust-based Judaism, although I remain convinced that this emphasis on the sad past is not the basis for a successful future.

Budapest

The Hungarian Parliament Building

This beautiful city looks like it’s made of whipped cream and gingerbread.  It’s full of beautiful beaux arts-gothic buildings each trying to outdo the next in the amount of carvings, bas-relief, pillars, decorated lintels, cupolas, statues and any other adornment a builder or architect could possibly have thought up.  Except for the modern cars on the streets it is easy to imagine these streets in the late nineteenth, early twentieth century.

We walked to the Danube and it was grey in the evening when we first saw it, but the following morning, in the sunlight, was as blue as cornflowers.  The Parliament Building, right along the Danube is a huge wedding cake of a building that was built in the late nineteenth century.  We were told that under communism a red star was placed at the top, but then Soviet rule ended the star came down.  There is also a monument to the 1956 uprising on the grounds which I’m sure also came at the end of communist rule.

We had goulash and some kind of meat filled crepe in paprika sauce for lunch.  Yummy!

Cultural Surfing-Jim

Budapest Streetcar

                  When we began our efforts to master the Budapest transit system this morning, I was already contemplating the cultural stresses in the societies we’ve been visiting that nearly totally elude us.  Perhaps that’s just as well.  As the innkeeper in Jaipur told me, the task of tourists was to take in the sights and leave a bit of money and they took needless risks if they made any attempt to connect with local people.

                  In this instance, we thought we’d get a family transit pass that would allow 1-2 adults and their kids – up to seven—to use transit in the city for two days for 2200 forints, which seemed like a better deal to us than an individual day pass that would have cost 1500 forints.   Silly us.  The ticket seller refused us because we didn’t have any kids in tow, forcing us to buy individual passes.  A bit of Hungarian family policy, I guess.  Perhaps part of a broader effort of a society with an extremely low birth rate to encourage people to have kids.  Reminded me in an oblique way of the Indian practice of charging foreigners an entry fee to attractions like the Taj Mahal ten times the amount Indians pay. 

                  I’m not sure either practice would be legal in the United States, but I’m not faulting either.  I’m a relatively rich visitor who can afford it.

                  And these practices in turn remind me of other things I’ve seen that appear provocative.  They raise questions that I lack answers to.  First, there was the sign at the convenience store in Kuala Lumpur reminding customers that the sale of alcohol to Muslims was illegal.   In Istanbul, a city that clearly has more mosques per mile than any other I’ve ever visited, the call the prayer can be heard everywhere (in fact, often two or more can be heard simultaneously and a bit jarringly when they’re slightly out of sync). 

                  But it has no visible impact on behavior.  People in the streets, riding the trams or sipping tea in the cafes go about their business as before.  I don’t know whether any of them actually heard the calls (they were more habituated to the sound than I) and, if so, whether it meant anything to them.  Which led me to reflect on how little I know about the Muslim-secular political tensions in Turkey that I witnessed no evidence of – though I remain a bit curious why Turkish Air, which flies to Tel Aviv several times daily, includes flight maps that seem to hide Israel.

                  A few days ago our dinner in Istanbul was punctuated by a noisy street demonstration, apparently political.  A few hundred folks for carrying flags, making noise to attract attention and holding up posters that I couldn’t translate.  They were surrounded by nearly as many police carrying riot shields.  An hour later, both groups melted quietly away.  What was happening?    Was it a protest by the Turkish Communist Party or an effort to form a chapter of the gay liberation front?  I don’t know.

                  That mystery summarizes this wonderful trip.  I’ve been surfing  several disparate cultures, but remain mystified by what lies beneath the surface. I don’t return to the US with any compelling answers, but I’ve collected some new questions.

Istanbul Is So Romantic

Every morning we walk to a little cafe down the street and have a coffee latte and a pastry and watch the people walking by.  The cafe has an outdoor, heated section and is on a busy corner where people are going to work, meeting friends, having business meetings or just hanging out.  Everyone has a story.  The staff speaks little English and our Turkish is non-existant except for guydenya (good morning) but we seem to communicate well.

We’ve been running around Istanbul and have seen many of the iconic sights.  We went to the Topkapi Palace Museum which is every bit as grand as advertised.  It is actually a whole series of beautiful, domed buildings, many inlaid with exquisite tiles in blue and white patterns, all set in lush gardens located right alongside the Bosphorus.  One side of the property housed the harem and the other was mainly for ceremonial and administrative purposes.  Now the buildings house a varied collection of objects ranging from medieval weapons, bows and arrows, suits of chain mail and intricately carved swords, to precious jewels and textiles.  We have had glorious weather since we arrived, sunny, blue skies and temperatures in the mid-fifties so walking around has been a pleasure.

The Topkapi Palace is right next to the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sophia and it is a very impressive sight to see these magnificent structures clustered close enough to walk from one to the other.  The area is always crowded with a lively mix of tourists and locals.  There are lots of little cafes and shops and the Grand Bazaar is also steps away.   We spent a fair amount of time wandering through the Bazaar, which is billed as the largest covered bazaar in the world.  Don’t know if that claim is accurate, but it is certainly big.  There is tons of shopping there, mostly jewelry, rugs, leather products and tchotchkes of various types.  If I were an intellectual property type employed by Gucci or Chanel I’d want to smash most of these places as they carry knock off, not very good quality merchandise, with brand names. 

Did I mention how easy it is to get around the city.  There is terrific public transportation.  My favorite is the tram system, which is above ground so you can sightsee as you go.  The trams are modern and clean and although somewhat crowded not uncomfortably so.

I find the city incredibly welcoming and feel very at home here.  When we were in Malaysia, in Kuala Lumpur I felt very much an outsider in a Muslim country even though many women did not wear headscarves and dressed in western clothes.  That is not true in Istanbul.  Although there are tons on mosques here and the muezzin’s cries ring out five times a day for prayers, most people here do not break stride when this happens.  The men in business suits and women in tight jeans and stiletto heels continue on their way.  Even the women in headscarves (a seeming minority) don’t seem to pause.  It feels very secular and big city.

A few more random thoughts:

Smoking.  Although smoking is banned in restaurants there seems to be a big gray area.  Many cafes and even full restaurants have an outdoor space that is used even in the winter.  These spaces usually have some sort of flimsy roof and heaters set up so that they’re quite comfortable and fun as you can watch the street scene.  Many outdoor areas post the signs about no smoking, but then provide ashtrays on all the tables.  So, of course, many people smoke.  Although everyone obeys the indoor signs there is a big wink outdoors.

Looking Back on India

Calcutta Street Scene

I’ve left India but India hasn’t left me.  I keep thinking about this fantastic, infuriating and opaque country and trying to understand it.  One thing I’m sure of is that despite extremely impressive gains over the last decade it still has a long way to go to achieve first world status.  Yes, it has succeeded in lifting untold millions out of the worst kind of poverty and provided some level of health care, education and nutrition to many.  But there is still grinding poverty of a kind not seen at all in the developed world.  Huge shanty towns of squatters living in the most squalid conditions are prevalent in all the major cities.  I never really understood the line in the prayer books about having concern for those who sleep in the dust.  In India, you see people before your eyes who literally sleep in the dust as well as preforming all other functions of life there.  How these people will be raised to a decent standard of living seems a monumental problem.

Then there is the issue of caste and class.  Despite decades since the elimination of the official caste system all you have to do is look at the vast number of lighter skinned upper and middle class people and the dark skinned lower class to realize how difficult it is for those born to the lower castes to overcome this discrimination.

Then there is the corruption, government corruption, police corruption, crony capitalism where contracts and business are awarded to the same ruling class members who have run things since the time of the British control.  Yes, some outsiders have broken in but it’s still very difficult.  Some like the political gadfly Anna Hazere are trying to end the corruption.  He’s using Ghandi like tactics of hunger strikes and moral stands to try to get the government to pass anti-corruption laws and having some success but only around the margins so far.

The Indian newspapers are full of stories decrying the lack of infrastructure and that is also a real problem.  The roads are terrible, the cities garbage strewn and filthy, there are few sidewalks and only the poor walk anyway.  The transportation system is terrible.   The trains also are mainly for the poor and are slow and break down frequently.  The air transport system as we’ve discussed earlier is falling apart.  The government run Air India hasn’t paid its pilots in months and they are constantly striking. The private airlines started with great fanfare as entrepreneurial ventures are going bust.  Several are in bankruptcy or close to it.

And still I see reporters like Tom Friedman of the New York Times, who was there the same time we were, drinking the Kool Aid of the miracle of Indian progress.  Yes there’s hope for the future but the future looks a long way off to me.

Istanbul Thoughts - Jim

Becoming comfortable in a new place is as unpredictable as making a new friend.  That thought comes to mind as I try to sort out why Istanbul quickly struck me as a much more accessible venue than any of the Indian cities we visited.  That defies my expectations that the use of English in India would make entry easy and that Turkish-speaking largely Muslim Istanbul would be a bit more problematic.  I was totally wrong.

Part of the issue is geography.  In each Indian city we visited, I found it very hard to fit my neighborhood into the larger whole.  Randomly-placed big buildings made it hard to fit things into the big picture.  There are big buildings in Istanbul also, but it seems that you can always see great distances, which means you can often relate where you are to the Bosphorus.   In a basic way you can fit the parts into the whole.

Istanbul somehow feels more familiar.  All the streets are paved. There are few beggars, no meandering cows and no tuk-tuks (the three-wheelers based on motorcycles) or bicycle rickshaws.  The fact that folks drive on the right here adds to the comfort level, making things safer for pedestrians like us.   Sitting in a café with fewer than two dozen seats as the apparent owner squeezed me a pomegranate juice (total  check, two sandwiches and juices, under $12) simultaneously felt comfortable and a bit decadent.

And part of the issue is attitude.  Despite the basic friendliness of the few Indians we managed to forge a modest relationship with (Leslie’s physician, for instance), there seems to be a warmth here.  Waiters kid with you even when they cannot understand any of your language and you resort to picking pastries from a counter display.  In neither country do you get the impression that they want to become Americans or wish that many more Americans would visit.  But here in Turkey, you get the feeling that there’s a welcoming community.  In India, there’s a certain formality that may be another legacy of the Brits.