With Purim having just passed, I’ve been thinking about how Jews have been disguising ourselves over the years.
Masks and costumes are a wonderful way to celebrate the holiday, and my wife and I have fond memories of dressing up our children for Purim parades.
The tradition of Purim masquerading reminds us in part of Queen Esther concealing her Jewish identity until she declared her Jewishness to the Persian king in an effort to save her people. Skip ahead to today when an all too frequent dilemma within the Jewish community is whether to hide our Jewishness from the larger world. An observant Israeli friend has spent a great deal of time in London, but only recently, for fear for his safety, did he decide to take off his yarmulke while walking in the streets. Many other friends put their Jewish stars or hamsas inside their shirts when traveling, or even in their hometowns.
This is obviously very different from the biblical stories of concealment. Jacob wasn’t hiding his Jewishness when he pretended to be his brother in order to trick his aged father into bestowing on him Esau’s birthright. And when Joseph hid his identity, it wasn’t because he was afraid anyone would target him if they knew he was a Jew, but instead to test whether his brothers, who had sold him into slavery, felt genuine remorse.
My wife and I just returned from Singapore, where we have been a number of times. We were well aware of the small but vibrant Jewish community there, with two synagogues, a kosher restaurant, and a community center. We felt safer there than in any other country we have visited post-Oct. 7.
At a dinner I found myself sitting next to the former long-time Singaporean Ambassador to the United States, who told me a remarkable tale. Guessing that I was Jewish, he expressed his appreciation for the contribution that Jews have made, and continue to make, to the development of his extraordinary country. With only around 2,500 Jews in a nation of more than 6 million, Jews are in our usual position of being a mere rounding error. In fact, if you Google religion in Singapore, you will find 31% Buddhist, 19% Christian, 16% Muslim, among other identified faiths, and finally .3% Other. There we are: a small part of the “Other” group!
But the Ambassador pointed out that Jews have been very well represented in Singaporean law, medicine, media, business and the like. And he traced some of this success to the “Mexicans” who came to Singapore in the mid-1960s.
When he said the word Mexicans, he put up his fingers to indicate air quotes. I had no idea what he was talking about, and my bemused expression led him to explain.
It turns out that after Singapore gained its independence in 1965, Lee Kuan Yew, its founding prime minister, set out to form a military from scratch. Who did they bring in as advisors to what became the Singapore Armed Forces? Israelis. But having broken away from Malaysia, a conservative Muslim country then and now, Singapore wasn’t anxious to publicize that the IDF was in town, so the Jewish military advisors were officially designated as Mexicans.
How was the local Malay and Chinese population fooled into thinking that Israelis were Mexicans? Ask yourself, how many white Americans can tell whether an Asian American is of Chinese, Japanese or Korean descent? In Lee Kuan Yew’s memoirs, he wrote that “They (the Israelis) looked swarthy enough” to trick the locals into believing they were Mexican.
So picture for a minute all those Israelis going around Singapore speaking Hebrew, pretending that they were speaking Spanish!
Just as the Ambassador rightfully assumed that I was Jewish without me telling him, everywhere I go these days I wonder if violent antisemites will recognize my identity.
I have always kept my Jewish star and hamsa necklaces inside my shirt, but perhaps, like Queen Esther in ancient Persia, I should reveal them now that Jews are under siege, trading safety for pride.
If only things were so simple that, as in Singapore 60 years ago, when asked my name, I could proudly reply “Me llamo Miguel.”
Morton Schapiro served for more than 22 years as President of Northwestern University and Williams College. He taught almost 7,000 undergraduates over his more than 40 years as an economics professor.
