Me & You: The rabbi and the Syrian refugee: 'She's my friend'

Nisrin Kakhya was born in the Syrian city of Homs, a key battleground in the uprising against Bashar al-Assad’s regime. In June 2016, she, her husband Thaeer, a journalist, and their two sons came to Britain under the Vulnerable Persons Resettlement Scheme. Rebecca Birk is rabbi of Finchley Progressive Synagogue, which campaigned for Barnet council to settle 50 Syrian refugees in the borough, finding homes, school places and doctors’ surgeries for them before their arrival.

Rebecca on Nisrin:
I met Nisrin at a welcome lunch the synagogue had organised for the then newly arrived refugees. Back then, she wore a hijab and that day it was dark red with black polka dots. She looked so glamorous and urbane and had a kind of infectious energy that was instantly appealing. We’d organised some icebreaking games for the families, and Nisrin was the first to participate. From that first meeting, I felt she was someone who could be my friend.
Soon afterwards, we organised Friday coffee mornings for the refugees at the synagogue and Nisrin would come every week without fail. Our connection intensified during those meetings and before long she was inviting me for dinner at the family’s Edgware flat, on one occasion to break the fast during Ramadan. If I’m frank, I think this bothered some of the other refugees who made a point of telling me that they knew I saw her out of synagogue hours. But I continued seeing Nisrin on her own. Our friendship had become too important for me not to.

From the very beginning I saw in Nisrin a real desire to embrace the opportunities of her new life in Britain, and I loved it. We managed, for example, to persuade Middlesex University to pay the tuition fees for degrees for some of our more advanced English speakers. Nisrin jumped at this opportunity. Not everyone did, and that was interesting to me and, I think, her too.

At one point, trouble began to brew among the families and when they came to the shul for social events you could tell relations were strained. Looking back, I was naïve to think these Syrian refugees we had fought so hard to bring to Barnet might be overwhelmed with gratitude for their new lives here and not have any broiges.

In any case, I was incredibly impressed with how Nisrin behaved throughout this difficult period. It was clear from her behaviour that she disliked the tension, but that she also wanted to live with integrity. It was also clear that Nisrin and Thaeer had a more modern marriage than some of the others couples and that they generally lived more modern lives. As another congregant remarked: she’s one of us, Rebecca.

It was an interesting period for me. As a rabbi, I had to try and stay neutral and be diplomatic. But inside, I felt this is my friend and I want to support her.
Nisrin was making herself a coffee in the synagogue kitchen when I first saw her without her hijab. I wasn’t surprised. She had been talking for some time about how her faith and the way she dressed weren’t necessarily connected, how in fact clothes can sometimes control and imprison women. But it was still a big moment for me to see her with her hair uncovered in public and I let out a little gasp. I knew it was an act of courage.

Nisrin is also my friend because she’s kind. One day last September I was in my garden building a succah, but my thoughts were elsewhere — I was having a tough day. I’d already invited Nisrin round and when she appeared, a couple of hours later, with ingredients for some rice and dips she wanted to prepare in my kitchen, even though I felt low, it was still lovely to see her beautiful, smiling face. It is always is. And the ensuing meal was excellent. She’s a superb cook.

In fact, whenever I go to Nisrin’s, there’s always a delicious full-blown meal on the table, even when we’ve agreed I’m just popping in for coffee. As my congregants know, I’m also big foodie and keen cook, but despite this I’ve never actually made a meal for Nisrin. This is something I must remedy in 2022!

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Nisrin and Rebecca (photo Marc Morris)

Nisrin on Rebecca:

We don’t have female imams, so I was quite shocked when I realised Rebecca was the rabbi of the synagogue that had fought so hard to bring us to Britain. But shocked in a good way. I immediately wanted to find out more. I observed her very closely at that first lunch and even asked my husband to take a photo of us together, something I wouldn’t normally do when I’ve just met someone.

I was also captivated by the way Rebecca interacted with everyone in the room — a mix of refugees, some of whom who had come straight from the airport, and people from the synagogue, her congregants. She was so friendly and humble, and didn’t stop smiling! She seemed so excited that we were all in the same room. I wasn’t used to seeing leaders, people in positions of power, behave like this. I found it incredibly inspiring.

Five years later, I studied leadership as part of my degree in early childhood studies and when I was asked for an example of a good leader I immediately thought: Rebecca.
In fact, my university education is largely thanks to her. When she asked me my plans for the future and I shared, nervously, that I’d like to go to university she arranged for me, and some of the other Syrian refugees, to meet with someone at Middlesex University. She was clearly very keen that we go. But before I could start I had to pass a course in academic English, and the first time round, I failed.

I was devastated and went straight to Rebecca’s where I cried and cried and cried. She hugged me and said: “OK, you can cry, Nisrin, but we also need a solution and that’s where I come in.” She contacted the course leader who allowed me to resit the paper and two months, and much studying, later, I passed.

When I was in Syria I never knowingly met any Jews and the only thing I heard about them, and repeatedly, is they stole Palestine. The message was unequivocal: Israel is our enemy. I now know this is propaganda. So when I first met Rebecca, it was a big deal in lots of ways. In fact, that same day I called my mum and told her, excitedly: I met a Jewish woman today, she’s a rabbi, and she’s great! They don’t hate us, or any Arabs, Mum.

Actually, the propaganda reached these shores too. Shortly after I arrived in London, I went to English lessons at an Arab-run school and the teacher there told me to be careful of the synagogue. She said they might be helping you because they want you to be Jewish. But I never had any doubts that Rebecca and the synagogue’s motives were pure.

In fact, Finchley Progressive Synagogue has now become my second home. Assad’s military murdered five of my siblings and my other brothers and sisters and parents are in Syria, but I now have an adopted family in this synagogue which is so welcoming to people of other faiths and cultures, and which has helped me and other refugees in so many practical and emotional ways. When I go and sit in the shul, it always feels so good. Like my friendship with its rabbi, Rebecca.

Read more: Me & You Michael and Jonathan Goldstein