Dear Into Israel Readers,

In the beginning, when I first arrived in Jerusalem, everything was so new.  Even for at least the first two months, I was still a bit disoriented.  I was experiencing Déjà vu, and I could not for the life of me figure out why, so I tended initially to dismiss it.  When it did hit me where the Déjà vu was emanating from, I was very surprised.  It was Mississippi.

Every plot line that could possibly generate a great short story, play or novel is encompassed in such dramatic and heightened orchestration in Mississippi. There is a sense of intrigue, of mystery, behind the shuttered windows and hushed voices.  As a result, the state has produced some of the country’s most beloved authors.  It was this sense of intrigue, that Israel most definitely has as well, that was my first association.

My father, Bobby, my paternal grandfather, George, and his father, my great grandfather, Samuel, were all born in the Delta, after my great-great grandfather, George Roth, from the Alsace Lorraine landed in New Orleans, and then moved up the mighty river to Mississippi.  He had met his wife, my great-great grandmother, Permilla Roth, whom I’m named after, on the boat over, or so the story goes.

My kind paternal grandmother, Ethel Jane Smith, was from Smith County that is in south Mississippi.  So between the Delta and south Mississippi, I am related one way or another to a lot of folks in Mississippi!

My Grandparents, Mississippi, 1919

You hear and read about the different factions here in Israel, and indeed, they do exist on political and religious observance levels.  Yet, aside from these different factions, there is closeness.  You feel it on the streets, in the buses, and everywhere you go.  I felt very loved as a child in my grandparent’s home, and for some unknown reason, this sensation has stirred within me here in Israel.  I feel loved.

I really don’t know if they are indigenous or not, but pine trees cover the hills surrounding Jerusalem.  They are in my back courtyard and along the sidewalks.  Pine trees appear to have been planted all over the country.  Hello, Mississippi.

In Itta Bena, there was a small grocery store around the corner from my grandparent’s house in the uptown section of the town.  Whenever my grandmother needed something, she rang on the phone to place her order, and then a boy on a bicycle soon dispatched the package.  The small grocery store across my street reminds me of this.  Here, the delivery men sit outside and drink coffee and wait for the goods they will take to their customers in Talbiyeh.

Especially in my childhood days, Itta Bena shut down on Sunday.  Everyone, or so it seemed, was religious.  They went to church in the morning, had a big meal at noon, took a nap, and then later they visited their kinfolk or friends.  In Jerusalem, it is 2010 (actually 5770) and not 1968, it is Shabbat and not Sunday, it is Judaism and not Christianity, but it is exactly the same.

Then, there is also the issue of the separation of people.  In Mississippi, it was the separation of races.  Here, it is between Jews and Arabs.  The feeling was then, and is now, that all will be good and well if you respect your designated boundaries.

As I sit and ponder over this, in the end my Déjà vu may have nothing to do with Mississippi, and could rather be Mexico.  After all, I just heard the other day that Israel is basically a Sephardic country.  So perhaps it has to do with my childhood visits to my maternal Abuelita in Texas, or to my Tias’ homes in Mexico.  They were all very pretty, and very demanding!  Sounds a lot like Israel, too, doesn’t it!

Shalom Y’all!

Barbara

For information about Mississippi and southern Jews visit-

The Museum of the Southern Jewish Experience

Temple Beth El in Lexington, Mississippi that was just down the road from Itta Bena