Being Jewish in Buenos Aires

By: Raquel Rosenbloom

November 12, 2014

“Did anyone give you anything to bring tonight?”

“No, nothing.”

“Identification please.”

I hand the security guard my passport. There are other guards in front of the gate as well as one on each corner of the block. He flips through the pages, checking where I have traveled.

“Your bag?”

I open my purse to show the inside. He nods and steps aside to let me pass. “Welcome,” he smiles, “L’Shana tova, Happy New Year.”

Argentina today has the largest Jewish population of any Latin American country, and the sixth largest Jewish population in the world outside of Israel. The first Jewish wedding was recorded in Buenos Aires in 1860, and during the second half of the nineteenth century many Eastern European Jews fleeing pogroms and intolerance at home came to Argentina, a country with an open door immigration policy. By 1920, more than 150,000 Jews were living in Argentina. The Jewish population is active, with numerous clubs, synagogues, schools, and cultural centers. While the Jewish community is well integrated in Argentine society, during the military junta of the 1970s and 1980s, Jews were targeted more brutally than other groups and have dealt with other acts of anti-Semitism over the years.

The largest terrorist attack on Argentine soil occurred 20 years ago just a few blocks from the temple I went to for Rosh Hashanah services. On the morning of July 18, 1994, the Argentine Israelite Mutual Association (AMIA) building was bombed, killing 85 people and wounding more than 300 others. Today, all synagogues and community centers have more extensive security (that was amped up for the high holidays). This meant that when I tried to attend services and no one had seen me before, I was automatically perceived as a threat. I went to services twice, the first night and then the next day as well. Even the second time, though the guard knew who I was, he still questioned me and checked my stuff, finally letting me in with the ironic “welcome.”

Despite the proceedings at the door, the services themselves did feel welcoming. The current Jewish population in Argentina is 80 percent Ashkenazi (a Jewish ethnicity of central and eastern European descent), and the community looked visually like one that could easily be found in Boston or New York. (Ninety percent of the Jewish population in the United States is Ashkenazi.) On top of the strangers seeming familiar, the prayers and the services themselves were essentially what I am used to from home. No matter where in the world, the traditional sounding of the shofar remains the same.

After services the first night, I was lucky enough to be invited to dinner at my friend’s family’s house (her host family is Jewish and mine is not) and get a glimpse into what Jewish life is like in Buenos Aires. Interestingly, my friend’s host mom was the only member of her family to attend services. Rosh Hashanah back in Boston with my family usually consists of a large family dinner and then everyone heading to temple together for services. But here, we walked back from the temple around 8 p.m. and the kids and grandkids all came over for dinner. I was surprised to find that part of the dinner was structured, like Passover, which I had never experienced before on Rosh Hashanah. There was a plate with five or six symbolic foods on it and the family read out loud the significance of each one with regards to the New Year before we ate the little bit on our plate. After that we sat and ate the main dinner, staying at the table and talking, in typical Argentine fashion, until 1 a.m.

The next day, after going to services, I had dinner with my host mom, who is not Jewish. She, however, messaged me beforehand telling me she wanted to learn about Judaism and the traditions surrounding Rosh Hashanah. I live in one of the two main Jewish neighborhoods in Buenos Aires, just two blocks from the temple at which I attended services and only four blocks from the location of the AMIA bombing, which my host mom lived through. Even living in this neighborhood, however, my host mom knew relatively nothing about Jews in Argentina besides the fact that many of them are her neighbors. Today, approximately 181,500 Jews live in Argentina, but because of its history, the Jewish community tends to keep a quiet profile. Thus I am extremely grateful to have had a positive experience during the high holidays and a glimpse into life in the Argentine Jewish community.

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