Text: Julie Schwietert Collazo
Photos: Francisco Collazo

For an island that’s 31 square miles, St. Thomas sure does have a lot of churches. There’s the Dutch Reformed Church, the Lutheran Church, two Catholic churches, and a synagogue… and those are just the ones we saw.

The diversity of churches and faith traditions can be attributed to St. Thomas’ colonial history; the Dutch established their Reformed Church here in 1660, and a string of missionaries–Moravians among them– influenced religious beliefs and institutions here, too.

The story of the Jews, though, and their synagogue, Beracha Veshalom Vegmiluth Hasidim, is the most fascinating of the religious histories. The congregation was established in 1796 by Sephardic Jews who came to the Caribbean as financiers of the trade boom.

The present synagogue, a modest structure, was built in 1883 and was the third structure built; the first two were destroyed by fires. Though the congregation is perhaps smaller than it has ever been in its history, it remains vital within the island community and is historically important: it has been offering services since 1833 and as such, is the oldest synagogue in continuous use under the American flag.

The synagogue is small and simple. Apart from the 11th century menorah on the wall and some French lighting fixtures, decorations are minimal. The benches are handmade mahogany (currently being restored by craftsmen). The floor has a fine layer of sand covering it; according to the rabbi, the sand is “most likely derived from a practice… during the Spanish Inquisition….During that time, many Jews were forced to convert to Christianity but secretly continued to practice Judaism.” The Jews would gather in cellars with sand floors; the sand muffled the sounds of their religious rituals.

If you’re in St. Thomas, make it a point to visit the St. Thomas Synagogue. Services are held each Friday at 6:30 PM and Saturday at 10 AM, and the public is invited. Visitors who just want to see the synagogue can visit Monday through Friday from 9:30 AM until 4 PM.

Text: Francisco Collazo
Translation: Julie Schwietert Collazo
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Photo: waitingalessio

Time and distance heal all wounds… so goes the old saying. It’s one that’s always been close to me as an immigrant. Sometimes it’s been a true description of my experiences, and other times, not so much.

For example, those experiences that compelled me to leave my country haven’t miraculously transformed into an equally compelling reason to return. That which hurt me continues to hurt, but with the passage of time it’s attenuated a bit by nostalgia’s particular ability to rescue other elements of experience and identity that I wasn’t even aware of before.

Music and food, in particular, are the elements of identity that resuscitate my “Cubanidad.” I travel into my own depths to recover that which I’d never paid much attention to before. Old songs that were never relevant or interesting to me in the least capture my attention and release a torrent of intense emotion capable of hair-triggering tears. These songs aren’t even from my generation, they’re not from my hometown, they’re not representative of my own experiences, but they still touch me. And deeply.

A few hours ago, I heard for the first time the songs of Maria Teresa Vera with my soul’s ear. Vera, a Cuban composer, penned immortal classics like “20 Years,” “Nena,” and “Aurora,” and interpreted “Black Weddings” by Colombian composer Carlos Borges Alberto Villalón, “I’ve Lost With You” and other ballads from the Cuban trova period that today are repackaged and resold for a new generation. I look and in Vera I see a genuine and original voice singing for all the trovadores of all eras. Online, I find emotional comments about Vera’s songs that are so passionate they almost fill me with embarrassment for not having paid Vera much attention before.

Cuban trova; Photo: Cybertiesto

I know I’m not alone in these types of experiences, but I continue to feel surprised when I look at myself feeling profound nostalgia for the images and experiences these types of songs bring up. For example, my memories of Barbarito Diez, who some radio stations opposed. The duo Los Compadres, which I detested because it was their music that woke me up when I was serving in the military–”Wake up, Cuban!”–when I was 16.

Of Cuban cooking… ah, there’s a strange nostalgia there, too. I’d never eaten okra in Cuba- I associated its slimy texture with the mucus from a contagious cold. But today I buy okra regularly and experiment with all its possibilities.

It’s true–right?– that last winter wasn’t as cold as the one that’s coming. The rain that soaked me was soft and refreshing. In some cases, time changes our memories of the past. My home in Cuba was large and cool… when in reality, when I returned, it was tiny and dark.

Exile is the natural enemy of memory; it changes you. You become your memories, you’re forced to look through old drawers to find the parts of yourself that can be salvaged. As strange as it seems, today I miss those things that never meant anything to me. I miss the`sounds of old trova, the compositions of María Teresa Vera, and the insipid taste of okra.

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Photo: Robin Thom

La verdad es que con el tiempo y la distancia se olvidan las penas, un conocido dicho expresa. Para mi este ha sido un hecho muy presente en mis experiencias en el exterior, algunas veces muy verdadero y otras no muy reales del todo.

Por ejemplo, aquellos incidentes que me sacaron de carrera de mi país de origen no se han convertidos en una razón maravillosa para regresar de nuevo. Aquello que me dolió sigue doliendo, pero con el andar del tiempo la nostalgia ha ido rescatando otros elementos que antes no lo tenia en cuenta. Y la música y las comidas son en especial los elementos de identidad que rescata la cubanidad en mi.

Viajo en mis adentros para rescatar lo que en algún tiempo ni siquiera consideraba. Viejas canciones de antaño que no tenían relevancia alguna llegan a mi como un torrencial de emociones vivas que me sacan las lagrimas a a por botones al oírlas cantar. Estas no son ni siquiera de mi tiempo, ni de mi región natal, ni de mi experiencias pasadas, pero me llegan y me llegan muy fuertes.

Hace unas horas apenas por primera vez escuche con el oído del alma las interpretaciones de María Teresa Vera, compositora cubana de canciones inmortales como “Veinte Años,” “Nena,” e “Aurora,” “Bodas Negras” del compositor colombiano Carlos Borges Alberto Villalón, “He Perdido Contigo,” y otras baladas de la trova cubana de tiempos pasados que hoy se venden en copas nuevas. Busco y en ella encuentro la voz genuina e original de las canciones y versos de amor cantados por todos los trovadores de ayer y de hoy. En la red electrónica encuentro comentarios muy emocionales que pones casi al borde de llanto y me llenan de vergüenza ajena por no considerarlas antes.

Se que no estoy solo en estas experiencias. Me sorprende verme añorando cosas que son muy, pero muy ajenas en lo que ha música y comidas se refiere. Por ejemplo a Barbarito Diez lo oía porque lo oponían en otra radio. Al duo Los Compadres los detestaba porque eran ellos lo que me despertaban a sones de retreta de campaña en la unidad militar con su- “Levantate cubano que esto y lo otro” cuando tenia 16 años y sentía después de dormir un sueño viejo que no se apartaba de mi juventud.

Photo: Aaron Escobar

De la cocina cubana jamas comí el quimbombo, porque en mi mente lo asociaba a las descargas nasales de catarro contagioso. Sin embargo hoy lo confecciono en latos deliciosos y lo compro con mucha frecuencia.

Es cierto que el invierno del ano pasado no fue tan frío como el que vendrá, y que la lluvia que me mojo era suave y refrescante. El tiempo en algunos de los casos me cambia sin duda la impresión del pasado. Mi casa en Cuba era grande y fresca, cuando en realidad cuando volví era pequeña y oscura.

El exilio es el enemigo natural de la memoria, te cambia y te transformas en otro. Te conviertes en recuerdos y te fuerza a buscar en las gavetas con moho por algo salvable. Lo cierto es que por asombroso que parezca, hoy extraño en mis oídos la vieja trova de Los Compadres, las composiciones de María Teresa Vera, y el sabor insípido del quimbombo. Y que para bien sea, ya que complejas son mis memorias de casi 30 años.