Like many of us in America, last year I learned a lot about what freedom truly means. But unlike others, my lesson came before September 11. It came on May 16 — the day I met Sephra. 

In May of 2001 as a member of the United Jewish Community’s National Young Leadership Cabinet, I joined a study mission to Argentina where I saw first-hand the devastation that has occurred in this once-strong Jewish community. 

Argentina has a population of 220,000 once-active and vibrant Jews who supported 60 Jewish day schools, many more synagogues, and numerous Jewish community centers. 

Their families were just like many of ours — middle or upper middle class, two-career families — many of whom were professionals and business owners. Many belonged to country clubs, which were a hub for Jewish social life. They dressed beautifully and took great pride in their homes, their yards, and most of all their children. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? 

Sephra was an accountant, and her husband was an executive with a leather-goods manufacturer. Their three children attended Jewish day school. By all accounts, life was good to them… until recently. 

What lies at the heart of the current difficulties? Twin terror attacks — against the Israeli Embassy in Buenos Aires in 1992, killing 29 people, and then in 1994 against the AMIA (Asociación Mutual Israelita Argentina) building, the main Jewish communal institution, which is the focal point for all Jewish organizations in Argentina. 86 people were killed in that bombing, including much of the community’s leadership. That day gave birth to much of the fear the Jews of Argentina live with on a constant basis. 

Making the situation even worse, Argentina is suffering from a severe economic collapse that some compare to Depression- era America. The country’s economic problems have generated a wave of business failures and a surge in unemployment. These individual hardships became a community- wide crisis with the collapse of two Jewish banks. These banks had not only financed AMIA, but most Jews had their money in these two banks. 

The impact on the Jewish community has been profound. There are now more than 25,000 Jews living below the poverty line, referred to as the "new poor." Even for those who are not part of the "new poor," Jewish day-school tuition and JCC membership are now out of reach for most. Enrollment is down dramatically, and affiliation with Jewish communal activities has suffered tremendously. 

Like many of his fellow countrymen, Sephra’s husband lost his job when his plant closed. Then her accounting firm went under, and she lost her job. But since they were both well educated and had saved some money, they had hope. 

They could no longer afford their Jewish day school, so they sent the children to public school. They quit their country club, and the community center. With these changes came less and less Jewish contact. Even so, they felt things would get better — they still had hope. 

Then, spring came to Argentina. Spring the world over seems to be related to freedom. Is it because Pesach comes in the spring and we celebrate our freedom from slavery at that time? Maybe, but for me it started in my childhood when warm weather allowed me a sense of independence. Freedom from extra layers of clothing, freedom from the confines of our house when it was too cold to play outside, freedom to just jump on my bike and ride to my friends’ houses, or just to ride — wherever. 

I see my kids do this at the first sign of spring, and so did Sephra’s children. Last spring they hopped on their bikes to ride to the park, feeling as independent and empowered as children can feel. Only the feeling this time was not just tempered by parental nagging — "Be sure to wear a jacket, be sure to look both ways and mind the traffic…"This time it was different. 

Sephra’s children were no longer allowed to ride very far from home. There had been "trouble" in neighborhoods not far from theirs, and that day the fears of Sephra and her husband came home — right into their own neighborhood, right to their own children. 

The kids were stopped by some older teens who called them names, made anti- Semitic remarks, and beat them up. That day their bikes were stolen, and so was their freedom. After that day they could no longer go outside to play without an adult accompanying them — and even that didn’t ensure their safety. 

The Argentine Jewish community had a history of giving to Jews in need around the world. Now the tables have turned. Since they were historically a self-suffi- cient community, there was no infrastructure in place to meet the basic needs of destitute Jews. Not only was there a critical gap in welfare services available, but there was also a huge psychological chasm to overcome in getting people to seek and to accept assistance. 

These are not chronically poor people; they are people like us, who are now struggling for survival. I visited a synagogue in Buenos Aires that now functions as a welfare center. I saw people lined up waiting to receive red crates filled with food to supplement their needs. They were well-kept, well-dressed people, though their clothing seemed a bit worn. Many of them were carrying briefcases, or shopping bags from local retail shops. Not one of them was smiling. What a curious sight. 

But then I had that "ah ha" moment. A man in a sport coat and slacks got to the front of the line, opened his briefcase, and set it on the table. Then he and the volunteer took all the food from the crate and arranged it to fit in his briefcase and a shopping bag. The man went home to feed his family, not carrying a bright red crate of food, but instead carrying himself with dignity. These are people who still live in their houses even without phone service or electricity. They can barely afford food. They maintain a facade, because maintaining their dignity is the only way they maintain hope. 

For some of these Jews there is no hope for a future in Argentina. In 2000, 1,300 Jews from Argentina made aliyah, and this year 5,000 are expected to do the same. They feel Israel can re-instill their hopes for financial security and personal safety. 

In 1939 my mother’s family escaped Nazi Germany. My grandfather made his way by hiding his family in Belgium and eventually coming to America. His mother and sister escaped also — to Argentina. Had he gotten on the boat with them, it might have been me who was unable to afford to feed my family, unable to withdraw money from my bank account, unable to keep my children safe while they became independent. There but for the grace of God go I… 

I have thought about Sephra many times, especially since September 11. Just as we thought that freedom was something that could not be taken from us on our own soil, so did our Argentine brothers and sisters.When my children go outside to play, I remember what Sephra told me. "Freedom isn’t something you think much about — until it’s gone." 

Now, I celebrate freedom in all four seasons. 

Dr. Linda Ketover is an internal medicine specialist. She is active in the Minneapolis Jewish Federation, UJC’s National Young Leadership Cabinet, and Hadassah. She lives in Minnetonka with her husband and two children.  

If you are between the ages of 25 and 45 and want to see for yourself how we’re helping in Argentina,check out the travel section on www.ujc.org for information on the upcoming National Ben Gurion Society Mission, October 31–November 7. 

For information on Argentina or the BGS Mission, visit www.ujc.org.

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