Before my arrival, Arthur insistently asked me to bring him a kippah, and now he proudly and without hesitation walked in this little black velvet cap, the ritual headdress of the Jewish people. In the very center of the city, as it seemed to the boy, there were no manifestations of anti-Semitism, and Arthur could clearly and with pleasure feel like a Jew.
Due to his lack of life experience and his slight euphoria, he did not notice such subtleties as oblique Moroccan-Algerian views.
In addition to the languages listed above, Arthur also knew the holy language – Hebrew, which he learned voluntarily and with great desire. The level was such that he could freely communicate and write in this language. Arthur's family was completely Russian or Ukrainian, nothing religious was imposed or instilled on him. Only, perhaps, the surname somehow connected this young man with the mysterious people to which Arthur was so eager. Translated into Russian, she sounded like a Camel. One way or another, everyone wants to find their roots and understand themselves and their souls, and I think that Arthur was on the right track and his inner compass did not deceive him.
Arthur, having lived long enough in this city, quickly got enough of the walk. I, having seen many such cities with their abundance of shops and stone idols, also lost interest in fruitless walking. We decided that now we must definitely visit the local synagogue.
In the middle of the old district, surrounded by luxurious mansions, pressed sides to each other, among the brown greenery of late autumn, she stood. Although, if you give free rein to fantasy and present the events allegorically, I would write that this huge building, which served as a cult and cultural institution, did not stand, but squatted down, with its head sucked into its shoulders from uncertainty. On the head rested an old dilapidated kippah, which was a bronze dome of this building, green with time and worries.
There were numerous fences around the synagogue, and by their labyrinth we were led to the central entrance. We were not allowed inside. “For members only” was the short answer in French. I, brought up in the spirit of Soviet Jewry, according to the slogan “the synagogue is the home of every Jew”, kept up with Arthur so that he would continue to translate my questions until some clarity was obtained. Arthur, a shy boy, did not contradict me, and in the end we achieved the fact that in about an hour and a little more we could come to Mincha – the afternoon prayer. We left the synagogue, which was entered and exited by various people and schoolchildren in multi-colored kippah caps. I knew this type of synagogue, which in my eyes was nothing more than a Jewish club, rather than a House of Prayer. From my experience, in such places everyone is more busy with themselves and one cannot count on special warmth and hospitality.