On my first day in Jerusalem, I woke up, performed wudu (ablution) and donned a new shalwar kameez that my grandmother had sent from Pakistan.
I thought to myself, “Today, I am representing my culture, religion, and family – and I will do it with pride.”
As I boarded the bus for the Western Wall, the holiest site in Judaism, my driver asked, “Where are you from?”
“Pakistan!” I responded, to which he replied, “I’m from Pakistan, too!”
I was stunned to know that there were Pakistanis in Israel.
“What’s your name?” I asked in Urdu.
“Shimshon!” “Shimshon?” That’s an odd-sounding Pakistani name, I thought.
“How long have you been in Israel for?”
“Since 1957.” “Wow, that’s a while. When were you last in Pakistan?”
“1957.” Confused, I asked him, “Why haven’t you gone back since?”
“Because I can’t – it’s not safe for me.”
In that moment it hit me. Shimshon is Jewish! I was shocked. I never imagined there could be Pakistani-Jews.
With Shimshon, my Pakistani-Jewish bus driver on the way to the Western Wall
He spoke about growing up in Karachi – the city my family is from – and fearing for his life during his stay. He was harassed in the street, his synagogue was targeted and along with the rest of Karachi’s Jews, he had to flee to the only country that would take him, Israel.
As we parted ways and I made my way for the Wall, he was all I could think about. We come from the same land, speak the same language, and he could even pass for one of my relatives but because of his religion, our country failed him and now he’s in Israel, the only place where he feels safe.
From feeling pride in my heritage, I was overcome with shame. How can I be proud of my country when this is how we treat our minorities?
When you enter the Wall, you’re taken aback by its beauty. People are dancing, children are singing, and everyone, irrespective of faith or nationality, is vibrating as one. And that’s when I got it.
No matter how I feel about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, upon witnessing the wall, I realised that Israel is a place where people like Shimshon can feel safe.
Since President Trump moved the US Embassy to Jerusalem and Palestinians have been killed by Israeli forces for protesting the occupation, Shimshon and Pakistan’s Jewish community have been on my mind.
Years ago, Karachi was home to a vibrant Jewish community that has gradually disappeared. Their only synagogue, the Magan Shalome, was demolished and converted into a shopping mall and the Bani Israel cemetery, which houses the remains of at least 300 Pakistani Jews, now lies in disarray.
While there are some streets and buildings that bare Jewish names and symbols, we have largely forgotten our Jewish heritage. In fact, whatever reporting has been done on Pakistan’s remaining Jews suggests that the majority of them have adopted Parsi or Memon identities and kept their true faith to themselves out of fear of discrimination.
As Pakistanis, we are not party to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and thus, must not confine ourselves to only one narrative of history. The experience of persecution and antisemitism that Jews face in Muslim-majority countries explains part of why this conflict has become so intractable.
We can justifiably show solidarity with the Palestinians, as I do, but unless we, and other Muslim majority countries, reconcile our disgraceful history with the Jews, the prospects for coexistence between Israelis and Palestinians, let alone Jews within our own borders, will remain ever more remote.
This piece is part of a larger series exploring the various strands of Judaism throughout the world. If you’re a Pakistani-Jew, or a descendent of one, living in Pakistan or abroad, feel free to reach out at [email protected] or on Twitter @Ibrahim_Rashid1