The year: 1984
The Place: Jewish Club, Bombay, India
The exact location: Opposite the University of Bombay with easy access by bus

We go by the yellow and black taxi we can’t afford; go we must
The main characters: Israeli Immigration officer, small family, one hopeful husband, 
reluctant wife and innocent toddler
Other characters: three or four happy families with small children
We smile awkwardly at each other.
I am the only one with the non-Jewish husband.
I can tell, we all have that nose! He doesn’t.
My toddler son already displaying that characteristic
Son of a Jewish mother is Jewish.
He cannot escape that, he wears it proudly.

This is not a play, it’s a true story
The setting is real, the characters are real.

I fought hard not to go to the office
He starts quoting St. Paul, always out of context
‘Wives submit to your husbands’
I submitted only to keep the peace.
What about ‘husbands love your wives?’
He doesn’t recite the complete verse
Only the first half of the verse conveniently.

I am impatient, then suddenly it’s our turn
The immigration officer is a Sabra, born in Israel.
He looks kind, I feel a little better.
We sit down, he starts the questioning,
“I see you are not Jewish,”
 he says to my husband.
“No, I am Catholic, my uncle was Jewish”
“Why do you want to go to Israel? It is full of challenges!”
“You already have half of Israel in your house.”
“When you get to Israel, you will have the other half.”
“Are you ready to go to the army?”
“Yes,”
He is saying yes to everything
except the Jewish part.

When we got home, he said
“Don’t you  believe in ‘next year in the Promised land,?”
“The promise of the land is not for everyone,” I say
I recite The Shema, light the Sabbath candles
I moved to a land with different promises. 
For my Father’s birthday we give him a book of Jewish jokes
He takes it in the spirit it which it was given
He was a poet! Never wanted to leave India.

An aunt in Israel writes us in a letter
‘Don’t come here, life is very hard.’
‘If you do come, I will help as much as I can.’
Life is hard here too
Two lands with promise
Some have land 
Others mere promises.
                        

	Inspired by the poem ‘This is just to say’ by William Carlos Williams

I just wanted to say
There was a note in my mail box
The other day,
The same wording from last summer
The same handwriting
on the same yellow-lined paper,
‘I’d like to buy your home.’
‘Will buy as is, no renovations necessary’

He leaves his name and telephone number
No name change
I feel I know him now
I can almost construct a sketch
Tell what he looks like
I dream of a new profession
I want to be a sketch artist.

I want to downsize
His note tempts me
In ways I do not need.

If I sell him my home
The roof over my head
Will the rain come in?
The scorching sun?
Forked lightening in July?
Loud thunder to frighten the cats?
Wild wind to topple the glassware?

I don’t mind the butterflies and moths
Don’t want the spiders and creepy crawlies
Small birds are welcome, no large hawks please
Let the skies keep those soaring and screeching
They migrate from Argentina every summer.
I don’t mind the sky at dawn or dusk
Would love those colors to color my world.
Want to keep out the night darkness
Unless there are twinkling stars.
Can I be selective when the roof is gone?

Also, what about the ‘stay home as much as you can?’
Forgive me but
I need my home
If I am to stay home, avoid the crowds
The virus is still here, they say
I’m trying not to listen to the news.