The African drumbeat combined with the violin, the clarinet and a myriad of musical instruments. The bewitching energy in the room was overwhelming. An indescribable force was pulling at me, and I kept leaning forward in my seat, in an attempt to be closer.

Rabbi Gershom Sizomu’s installation

The room was filled with a sea of faces. All eyes were on Ugandan Rabbi
Gershom Sizomu, his brother J.J. and his son, all wearing colourful
African kippot. They were surrounded by musicians from the Scottsdale,
Ariz., community.

Jewish  African boys

Rabbi Sizomu recently became the first ordained rabbi from Africa. He was able to pursue his dream after receiving a fellowship from the Los Angeles based Be’chol Lashon. The organization brought Rabbi Sizomu and his family to California, where he attended the five-year rabbinic program at the American Jewish University.

He began to tell his story to the crowd.

“In the 1900s, missionaries came to convert my tribe, the Mbale to Christianity, The leader of the community, Semei Kakungula, went home and read the Bible he was given. He came back to the man who gave it to him and returned half of it. He told him, “I believe in the first half, and I want to be Jewish!”

Men preparing for the mikvah

One can only imagine the look on the missionary’s face when, some time later, Kakungula returned to tell him he and his household had all undergone circumcisions. They became known as the Abayudaya Jewish Community. In 1958, when Kakungula died, Rabbi Sizomu’s grandfather took over as leader of the community.

The music resumed. It was a combination of Jewish prayers with African melodies sung in Hebrew and Luganda, the language of Uganda. Between songs, Rabbi Sizomu enchanted the audience with his story of struggle; of walking for miles from his village through wildernesses filled with lions, elephants and leopards to help earn money for his family; and of the hardship of secretly practising Judaism when dictator Idi Amin was in power.

It reminded me of stories from the former Soviet Union and of Spain during the Inquisition. It’s part of the Jewish tradition  – being resilient and trying to practise the faith secretly with a constant fear of death lurking.

Jewish African conversion

Rabbi Sizomu told of celebrating his first Pesach.

 “It was April 11, 1979. I remember on that day in the morning, the new government had overthrown Idi Amin and they announced freedom to worship. We did not observe the Passover until the next night, as we weren’t sure he was really out of power. The next night, we had 200 people at the seder. We made our own matzah and we made macco [banana wine], which is 80 per cent alcohol.”

Rabbi Sizomu smiled and connected with the audience as he said, “The rabbi allowed people to drink more than four cups that night! You can imagine it was fun as a kid to see all the people so extremely happy.”

Pesach, the celebration of freedom was especially powerful because the Abayudaya rabbi spoke to his congregation freely for the first time in years.

The community, once 3,000 strong, was now reduced to 300 people.

“Our rabbi said it was more than a coincident that of all nights our freedom came on Erev Pesach,” Rabbi Sizomu explained. “It was a sign; it was God’s plan. He was watching our community. It was a turning point for me, a defining moment.”

The magic in the room kept pulsating, just like the drumbeat. It was as if fairy dust had been blown into the room and everyone was mesmerized by the melodies and the miracle of the story.

Rabbi Sizomu explained, how the Abayudaya community came back together once more in the hope of rebuilding their community.

“To bring people back to their Judaism, the youth movement, led by my brother J.J., began to go door to door and tell people that the leaders of the community were ready to lead again and it was time to have religion again. People were still fearful. It wasn’t attractive to be called Jewish. We lived in complete isolation, and if Amin had chosen to destroy everyone, I don’t know that anyone in the world would have known that we had existed.”

Indeed, the story of the Abayudaya community and Rabbi Sizomu might have never been known if not for Be’chol Lashon director Diane Tobin, who is also associate director of the Institute for Jewish & Community Research. She invited the rabbi to the Be’chol Lashon international think tank. When she met him, she experienced the same pull, the same positive energy force I was feeling.

“Gershom is a visionary and charismatic leader. It has been an honour to support him over the past five years, and we plan to stay involved in building the Jewish community of Uganda and others in Africa and around the globe” she said.

I was so intrigued by my first encounter with Rabbi Sizomu, his music and his stories that I asked Tobin to arrange an interview. So from Scottsdale to San Francisco to eastern Uganda via cellphone, we conversed about his life back in Uganda after spending four years in Los Angeles and a year in Israel.

Having myself lived in Los Angeles for college, I was curious about what it was like to move from Africa to California.

“It was like going to the Garden of Eden, coming from a place with no running water,” Rabbi Sizomu said.

He and his family also spent a year in Israel. “Oh man, we were so in love with Israel. Time went by so fast, we didn’t want to leave. There is so much walking – people everywhere with such an amazing sense of community.”

I could hear his enthusiasm even on the phone.

“Everyone there understands what being Jewish means – you don’t have to explain what you are wearing on your head. We also loved speaking Hebrew – it was a wonderful experience, and it was like being home.”

Changing countries and continents is always an adventure, and not necessarily an easy adjustment, especially returning to Africa. Rabbi Sizomu explained that it was good to be home, as they have lots of friends and family, and that it is wonderful to have Shabbat with the community.  However, while there is running water, there are no washing machines. This translates to meaning every piece of clothing is once again washed by hand. Also the rabbi, his son and his daughter all suffered from malaria shortly after their return.

But there are many new changes on the horizon, both for the Jewish community of Uganda and their neighbours. There is a coffee company comprised of Jewish Christian and Muslim farmers who all work together. The Abayudaya community is also helping neighbouring villages by giving them access to clean water and to an education. B’chol Lashon is hoping to raise half a million dollars to build a health centre. These changes are creating quite a stir in the region. Rabbi Sizomu told me that he just had attended a rally with the president of Uganda, who is now planning on meeting with him personally.

Strangely, even over the phone my conversations with Rabbi Sizomu took me back to the enchanting evening where magical melodies seemed to mesmerize the musicians and audience alike. The 500-plus people in the room didn’t want the moment, the motion and the music to stop, but it did. However, the Abayudaya Jewish Community is just starting to make music again and are hoping to showcase the positive changes they are making for their world and for the African community at large. If you are interested in learning more about the Abayudaya Jewish Community, contact Diane Tobin at Be’chol Lashon, 415-386-2604 or check out the website at www.bechollashon.org

Masada Siegel, is a freelance writer living in Scottsdale, Ariz. She can be reached at [email protected]. Check out her blog at http://fungirlcorrespondent.blogspot.com/