By: Gerard Leval
The folk singer Tom Lehrer penned a famous ditty in which he alluded to spending Jewish holidays in places where the name of the holiday and of the place blended rhythmically: Chanukah in Santa Monica, Shavuos in East St. Louis and Rosh Hashanah in Arizona. I can now add to the list, Purim in Paris.
For the past two years, business trips have taken me to Paris during the week of Purim and I have celebrated the holiday there. Contrary to the popular belief among Jews in the United States, France is not a hotbed of hostility toward Jews and spending Purim in Paris is not a fearsome experience. Actually, quite the opposite is true.
Last year, I attended a Megillah reading at the Modern Orthodox synagogue on Rue de Montévidéo in Paris’ upscale 16th arrondissement. The synagogue was packed with people who demonstrated appropriate enthusiasm throughout the reading of the Megillah. The weather was mild, and so upon leaving the synagogue and walking through adjoining streets, I noted that many windows were open. Through those open windows I repeatedly heard echoes of the Megillah reading as many observant Jews in the neighborhood hosted their own Megillah readings.
The effect was not so different from what might be expected in certain neighborhoods of cities in Israel. Surrounded by the words of the Megillah, with young people in costumes meandering through the streets, I felt fully embraced by the Purim spirit.
This year, at the invitation of friends, I attended a Megillah reading in the somewhat less-fashionable 15th arrondissement at a Masorti synagogue. Although hidden inside a rather nondescript building, the synagogue was filled to the brim with hundreds of people, a large preponderance of whom were children. The enthusiasm was contagious, with singing and dancing taking place in abundance.
Indeed, the Jewish presence in Paris is palpable at many levels. Upon being driven from the airport to central Paris, my taxi took the invariably crowded and unpleasant Périphérique roadway that encircles the city. I am accustomed to seeing, and I am very put off by, the quantity of graffiti scrawled on every bit of concrete that surrounds the road. This time, I could not help but notice that a whole new generation of graffiti had sprung up. In a variety of locations, I could read graffiti that shouted out “Bring them home” and other similar messages. The messages were accompanied by painted symbols, including the yellow ribbon and the Star of David, calling for the return of the Israeli hostages.
Although I do not approve of graffiti generally, it seemed to me that if I had to endure its sight, appeals for the release of the hostages seemed rather more acceptable than other graffiti. And these messages could be seen in abundance. Surprisingly, few had been tampered with or covered over.
A strong Jewish presence in Paris is palpable. It can even be felt in commerce.
Supermarkets carry an abundance of kosher goods (as well as Halal items, of course). There does not appear to be any animus toward those who shop for kosher items.
I was invited to a Shabbat dinner at the home of friends, and I decided to find a bottle of good kosher wine to bring. Not knowing precisely where I might find such a bottle, I simply entered a wine store chain in a neighborhood that does not have a large concentration of Jews and, with some hesitation, inquired of the owner, if by chance he might be carrying a kosher wine. He looked at me with a serious demeanor and began to rattle off a series of different kosher wines that I might purchase. He was even able to recommend the best of those and proceeded to locate it and gift wrap it. I wondered to myself whether I could get such a reception in a liquor store in downtown Washington, D.C.
On Shabbat morning, I walked to Paris’ main synagogue on Rue de la Victoire. Members of my family have attended this synagogue for over 130 years. My grandfather and his twin brother were bar mitzvahed there in 1904. My great-uncle’s name is engraved on one of the large marble plaques that lists the nearly 2,000 young Jewish soldiers from Paris who were killed during World War I. These plaques are a powerful reminder of the ties that bind French Jews to the French nation, even if those ties have frequently been stretched to the limit.
For years, at Shabbat services at this beautiful synagogue, the pews were nearly empty. But last week, I noticed a growing number of attendees and, especially, a larger number of young people present. This augurs well for the stability and well-being of Paris’ important Jewish community.
During my Shabbat afternoon walk, as I strolled through the old neighborhoods of Paris, I could not help but note the number of visibly Jewish individuals who were also walking about. And, when I sat down in the middle of Place des Vosges, a large public square in the Marais district, I was serenaded by a harpist who was strumming the theme song from the movie “Schindler’s List.”
The only discordant note during my Shabbat stroll was a group of pro-Palestinian demonstrators loudly announcing their opposition to Israel. However, as I approached the demonstration, I was pleased that fewer than fifty people were in attendance and passers-by continued their shopping seemingly totally indifferent to the demonstration.
One would have to be blind not to note the tensions faced by French Jews in this difficult time. But nothing suggests that I will not be able to continue my new minhag (tradition) of spending Purim in Paris and of doing so with enthusiasm. ■
Gerard Leval is a partner in the Washington, D.C., office of a national law firm.