I was born in
Havana, Cuba, the eldest child of two very young parents. My
mother’s family was from Spain , while my father’s family was from
France. The marriage of my parents, a española and a French,
was a merging of two different Jewish civilizations that were
constantly clashing.
Just before I
turned seven, my family left Cuba. A strange amnesia set in, because
I lost all my memories of Cuba.
Maybe that is
why my native land has played a large role in my life and my dreams.
I constantly go back to Cuba and have become close to Nelly, the
woman who was my caretaker as a child.
I grew up in a
series of humble brick apartments in Miami, New Jersey and Queens, a
long subway ride from the bright lights and high culture of the city
of New York. Growing up an immigrant child speaking Spanish at home,
I was drawn to the Spanish-speaking world. Today I live in Holland
and the other "Cuba" Miami Beach, better known as La Playa.
Cuba, we are not a race but an ethnicity. There are many Cuban
Chinese, Cuban German, Cuban Jewish, Afro-Cubans (the only ones you
see lately when they show Cuba due to the large number of Somalians
transported there) and one of the largest is Russian Cubans.
Fidel Castro came to power in Cuba in 1959, and by 1961 he had
adopted a Communist agenda that included the nationalization of
businesses and property. As a result, many Jews fled from Havana to
Miami, leaving their businesses behind and frequently arriving with
only the $5.00 dollars. The Castro government permitted each person
to take out of the country. Sometimes, the fleeing Jews purchased
large quantities of Cuban cigars to re-sell in Miami or elsewhere.
The families who arrived in Miami usually knew no one, could not
speak English, and had very few resources. Americans – even American
Jews – were not welcoming us, often because their image of a Jewish
refugee at the time was someone who fled the Holocaust.
La Bayamesa
The National Anthem of Cuba
Click on the flag to hear a midi version of La Bayamesa Words and
Music by Perucho Figuerdo
Al combate corred bayameses
que la Patria os contempla orgullosa
no temáis una muerte gloriosa,
que morir por la Patria es vivir.
En cadenas vivir, es vivir
en oprobio y afrenta sumido.
¡Del clarín escuchad el sonido,
a las armas valientes corred!
