Cuba Day 2

Hola Familias y Amigos!

It’s intimidating trying to begin to capture how informative, meaningful, and joyful our day was as we walked and danced our legs off exploring Havana’s history, culture, and everyday highs and lows. I’m starting tonight's blog outside on large marble steps watching waves crash along the malecón, spraying the street. I’m grateful for this wind, the view of the black abyss of the ocean, and so much good to share. So let’s get to it.

I’m going to begin on a lighter note, touch on a few heavier moments, and end with lots and lots of joy. This is intentional. This is the experience of our Cuba program: boundless amounts of happiness and connection with each other and others inextricably woven with moments of sadness and confusion like an unsuspected wave crashing onto the malecón. The joy keeps us rejuvenated and hopeful, and the sadness opens us to talking and wondering how to improve the world and ourselves. Both are critical.

Our day began in twilight as Juanito and I continued our long-standing Spanish immersion program tradition of waking up kids by singing silly songs that reflect our trip (helpful context: Elga, John, and I went to college together, and John and I sang in choir together, so this entertainment is just as much for us as it is for the kids—maybe more). This morning’s original song was “Es La mañana” (“It’s the morning”) sung to the tune of Camilo Cabello’s “Havana.” We called each room and, exhausted and delirious, we received mixed reviews about our performance: some kids moaned, some never answered and we had to go knock on their doors, others listened to our jig in silence and then simply hung up on us to go back to sleep (ha), and then there was Molly’s response. I’m not going to even edit out the beginning of this recording for you, in which we thought we had already hung up with Ava and Lilly to call Molly’s room and realize Ava was still on the line. Enjoy.

After breakfast, we hopped on the bus and rode along the malecón to Havana’s historic city center, which showcases crumbling, yet breathtaking colonial-style buildings and old classic cars every direction you look. The kids craned their necks and probably used a fourth of their Polaroid film taking photos of every street corner and alleyway trying to create and print out a photo that captured their awe in the moment. It truly is an unbelievable sight with ornate detail tangled up in drooping wires and piles of concrete.

There were easily five or six memorable parts of this walking tour, but because this was only one of four major parts of our itinerary today, I’ll focus on just a few. But know that I am so moved by the openness, kindness, and curiosity of this group. Getting several moments to choose from is every teacher’s dream “problem.”

We made a stop at Hotel Raquel, a Jewish-themed hotel with rooms named after Bible characters and most importantly in my opinion, a painting dedicated to Jews who fled on the ship Saint Louis during the Holocaust and were refused entry into Cuba and the United States, resulting in the ship turning around and many Jews returning and dying in Germany. Cuba was mostly an open country for Jewish refugees, but in the 40’s it aligned itself with anti-Semitic laws in Washington and rejected the passengers of the Saint Louis, who docked just a handful of yards away from its shore. Before saying mourners kaddish in front of the painting, Rabbi Mayer read from psalm 15 (Tehillim) and he and I both said the prayer El Malei Rahamim in English and Hebrew. I was particularly moved by the small phrase “The Lord is his portion” in the prayer. Being in a country plagued by the rationing of food, I couldn’t help but tear up, reminded of how literal this prayer is for nearly every Cuban that we pass.

“How come we are eating here and they aren’t eating and we are staying where we are staying and they are sleeping there?”Leeya asked with glossy eyes. We had moved on from Hotel Raquel and had just stopped by a ration store with nearly empty shelves and had also walked into a solar, a once colonial mansion for one wealthy family now converted by the Cuban government into housing for countless people. The solar we peered into housed 53 families. Over 100 people in one house. It’s unimaginable. I hugged Leeya, grateful to her for being raw and vulnerable, as she inadvertently started a chain of conversations about the complexity of poverty throughout lunch, while walking along muraled walls, and while stirring mojitos and looking out from a rooftop. Simply put, these kids give me hope.

So I lied. I have three stories from the walking tour. The third was meeting a woman named Barbara, who our guide Frank affectionately introduced as the most important person in Havana. Less than five feet tall and with leathery skin that make her look much older than her actual age of 52, Barbara is a street sweeper and makes ten dollars per month. She was willing to open up about her situation not looking for pity or help, but simply to say that she cares about keeping the city beautiful even though the work is hard on her bones. 

I told students at the airport to follow their conscience when it comes to giving. They have already given so much through donations and programming, so they should never feel guilted into giving. That being said, I’m not going to tell them what to do and what not to do if they make a connection with someone and feel moved by their story. This was the case with nearly every kid in the group with countless Cubans today–thoughtful connections and a lot of generosity. In the case of Barbara, Sophie marched right up to her and gave her a 10 dollar bill–one month’s wage. Barbara started crying and kissed the bill. 

After a printmaking demonstration with professional artists in the city center, mock pina coladas, lunch, and mock mojitos on a rooftop overlooking a new muraling district–full of so much sugar and art–we headed to our first salsa class in Cuba. This video captures it all: we were drenched in sweat, all smiles, and (kind of) killing it, and my favorite part was Frank our tour guide singing along to the song, “Vamos a ser feliz, vamos a ser feliz.” We are going to be happy. Feliz is an adjective that’s usually used with “estar,” a verb that indicates a temporary state. “Ser” is a more permanent state. This difference is profound—we can be happy and share happiness even when the world feels like drooping wires and piles of concrete. 

After a break at the hotel, a night of joy continued with a visit and donation delivery to Rikudim, an Israeli dance group of about 15 Jewish teens/young adults in the Patronato Community Center of the Beth Shalom Synagogue in Havana, where we will return for Shabbat. This community is open, loving, and passionate, and Weber students got to know them through games and natural conversations. They not only learned the steps to a new Israeli dance, but many of them shared their own favorite dancing from Camp Ramah. Seeing the kids’ energy and spirit with the Jewish teens was infectious, and we look forward to spending more time with them during Shabbat.

I’ll end with the spontaneous singing on the bus ride home, which only happens when kids leave their phones at home. Followed by Dawson’s response to the singing. He definitely, no way, would never, ever be imitating a beloved Grade Level Dean. I watched this short clip at least ten times while trying to write this blog because Daniella’s laugh in the background is the most contagious burst of joy I’ve heard in a long time. 

Buenas noches!