No.16, Spring 2008
|
Journal of
the Babylonian Jewry Heritage Center No.16, Spring 2008 |
Introduction and translation into Hebrew Zvi Gabay:
TWO STORIES BY KHALID AL-KISHTAINY
Khalid al-Qashtini, a liberal Iraqi journalist, has written favorably about the Jews of Iraq and nostalgically about the period when Jews still lived there. Recently he published two short stories in his column in the newspaper al-Sharq al-Awsat. In these stories he relates some childhood memories of his encounters with Jews. One story tells of a meeting with an old Jew in Baghdad’s Jewish quarter. The second story, “Those Were the Days”, published on September 13, 2005, relates to the bloody struggles convulsing Iraq today.
The encounter took place when the Damascus Blood Libel of 1840 still echoed in Arab circles and affected their attitude and behavior towards Jews. It even affected children. Al-Qashtini in his story refutes that terrible lie which contributed to hatred towards the Jews throughout the Arab world. Here is the translation of this story, which was published in al-Sharq al-Awsat on April, 5, 2005.
Hannuni market in Baghdad, E. Kadouri collection
Story no. 1
Hostility towards Semites (by this I mean anti-Semitism or hatred of Jews) was endemic in Europe, but little is known in the Muslim world, until the emergence of Zionism, of course. Such hostility existed mainly in the West, but in our world it was hardly felt at all. One aspect of this hatred was the belief that Jews abducted and killed a (non-Jewish) child on their holidays in order to use its blood in their religious rites.
The Arabs were not aware of this belief, until in the nineteenth century a Muslim child disappeared in Damascus and a rumor spread that the Jews had abducted it for that purpose. Consequently a mob carried out a barbaric attack against the Jewish quarter.
The subsequent investigation revealed that the rumor originated with a European missionary. But despite the fact that the rumor was an obvious lie it resounded amongst us, and even as children we heard of it.
As a child I liked to stroll along El-Rashid St. (Baghdad’s main street) and through the city’s Christian and Jewish neighborhoods. On one of my walks I found myself at the “Hannuni” market near the Jewish quarter. Suddenly a door opened in one of the houses and an old man with a long white beard lying on a white coat came out. If I had had to direct a film about Zakariah, Luqman (a legendary Arab sage and teller of proverbs) or Noah, may peace be on him, I could not have come up with a better location for it.
The man raised his hand towards me and indicated with his finger that I should approach him. I was terrified, but could not resist the charm of his fingertips which drew me towards him like a magnet. He opened the door and gestured for me to enter. I could only obey. He led me with his hand.
I began asking myself if this was how my life would end. I was sorry I agreed to enter the house, and wondered why I did not run away and go back to my family.
The man asked what my name was. I answered him. He said: “How nice, just like Khalid Ibn al-Walid (a renowned Arab general). He asked me where I lived and how old I was. I said to myself that he was showing an interest in my age just to make sure that my blood was right (for slaughter). He placed a hand on my head and asked: “Khalid my son, do you know how to light a fire?” A new wave of anxiety came over me: was I going to be cooked on a fire? He stood and showed me how to light the burner.
I took the matchbox and with a shaking hand, lit the burner. Then the old man, a scholar of the Torah, the Mishna and the Talmud, kissed my hand and led me to a porch where there was an old cupboard. He opened one of the drawers, took out a handful of candy which he put in my pocket and led me to the door. I was still in shock. He opened the door and bade me farewell. Then he added: “Give my regards to your father”.
I left feeling confused. I hurried home as if I had just awakened from some wild dream. I told my father and brothers what had happened. They laughed at me and said: “Oh, today is the Sabbath, and the Jews are not allowed to light a fire. That poor guy probably just wanted a nice hot cup of tea”.
We divided the candy amongst ourselves. I spent the rest of the week waiting for the Sabbath, and the Sabbath after that, and after that. Every Sabbath I would walk to that alley and wait for the old white-haired man. I hoped he would open the door, I would light his fire and he would fill my pockets with candy. But the door never opened and his ancient biblical face did not appear. Eventually I went up to the door, knocked and asked: “Uncle Abu Sasson, do you need someone to light a fire for you?”
Yes, those were the days.
Story no. 2
In the following story by Khalid al-Qashtini he describes a scene reflecting the mutual toleration among Christians, Jews and Muslims in Iraq in the days before nationalism and hatred of the Jews took hold.
In Iraq religious plurality was the norm. Today’s ethnic fanaticism is a catastrophe caused by a fight over oil revenues or, as I have said in the past, the fight is over the “cake”, and of course a number of foreign powers have also become involved in this fight over the "cake".
In fact Iraqis live in a state of religious and ethnic assimilation. They all live together under the umbrella of the Glorious Quran, which has made it possible to build up the foundations of popular heritage for the other citizens of Iraq.
My late father wore a turban (i.e., he was a cleric); he worked as a teacher of Arabic and religion. Next to us lived a Christian family, the family of Dr. Abdullah al-Qasir. One day Dr. al-Qasir knocked at our door and asked my father to teach his sons Khalid and Zuher the Quran. My father was surprised as this request from a Christian family, but Dr. al-Qasir explained: “True, we are Christians, but Arabic is our tongue and the Quran is the language of the Arabs”.
My father agreed, and did as he was asked without taking any money for it. Khalid and Zuher began to come over to our house every day in order to get Quran reading lessons. Strangely enough, my father occupied himself with teaching the Quran to Christian children but neglected to teach it to his own children; that is why I am not very good at it.
I recalled this story when I heard the esteemed lady Sajda Moshe Khalasji describe her life as a Jewess in the village of al-Kifl near the city of al-Hilla in Iraq. Her father was guardian of the property of the Daniel family in the al-Hilla region. Mr. Daniel had constructed the market in al-Kifl and ordered that its revenues should be used for the upkeep of Ezekiel’s tomb, a Jewish prophet who is also mentioned in the Quran. Both Jews and Muslims visited the tomb regularly (the Jews mainly on the holiday of Pentecost). One day Sajda, then a child, came home early from school. When her mother asked her why, she said that the class was receiving religious instruction “and I, as a non-Muslim student, was allowed by the teacher to leave and go home”.
Sajda’s mother was very upset and went to see the teacher and the headmistress. She said to them: “We may be Jews, but I want my daughter to learn the Quran”.
The headmistress explained that members of the People of the Book (the Jews) could attend religious instruction if they wanted to; their presence in class was not prohibited by the Muslim religion. Sajda chose to attend the religious lessons. A few weeks after this incident the teacher of religion asked one of the Muslim students to recite the first chapter of the Quran. She did not know it. So the teacher asked another Muslim student to read it, but she did not know it either. Then Sajda raised her hand and recited the chapter perfectly, with no grammatical or other mistakes.
The teacher thanked Sajda and rebuked the Muslim students: “See how well this daughter of Moses recites the Quranic chapter which you Muslims are unable to do”.
Indeed, those were the days.
