I couldn’t. I refused. Sulochana was calling my name. Why was I sick, anyway? I had been so careful, as instructed — eating everything I could, as recommended, but only at my sparkling-clean hotel and top-rated restaurants, and even brushing my teeth with bottled water.
At 8am, I felt like death. I opened WhatsApp to cancel. But my fingers refused. What if I never go back to India? I dragged myself out of bed, took two careful sips of green tea, showered, and went to meet my guide, Vikrant.
He told me right away that before we could go to the synagogues, we had to see the laundry.
Well, it was on my list anyway. I rallied long enough for Vikrant to take foolish, grinning selfies of the two of us looming above 7,000 people standing in chemical water working hotel sheets and uniforms over flogging stones, as they and those before them have been doing for more than 130 years.
“OK, now the synagogue?” I tried to ask winningly, my stomach rumbling dangerously.
We got back into the car, and Vikrant proceeded to tell me the entire history of India. Like most folks I met on my trip, Vikrant was a people person. He liked to talk. He liked to ask questions. He regularly checked on my emotional state —was I happy? Was I enjoying myself?
What did I think of the tour? I said I was very tired.
A sign for Tiphaereth Israel
I said my tummy was upset. I closed my eyes, feigning sleep (this didn’t stop him from talking). I tried to be polite as he told me about his girlfriends, his wife, his spirituality, his porn addiction, his granny, his admiration for strongmen leaders Modi and Bibi and also Hitler: “Sorry, I hope this doesn’t make you mad, but he did a very nice thing for the Indian people during the Second World War when he freed Indian soldiers from prison, and they then went on to fight the British and gain independence — you know, your enemy’s enemy is your friend.”
I was pretty sure his history was more than a little muddled but I was too tired to debate. But he could tell I wasn’t pleased.
“Are you offended? Maybe you are offended. You are not OK with what I’m saying? I understand you might be upset because he killed 20,000 Jew people.” “Six million,” I managed to croak.
Our next stop was Tiphereth Israel. When we arrived, about ten hours after leaving my hotel (or so it seemed), I realised I hadn’t thought of bringing along my passport, almost always a requirement for visiting synagogues, and indeed this one as well.
The Karachi-born man at the front spoke Marathi and Hebrew, so Vikrant and I each took a language and smooth-talked our way in. Then we met Aaron Benjamin, the man who runs this gem — a synagogue of the Bene Israel people, who believe they descended from families of Jews who were shipwrecked in India 2,000 years ago.
Aaron is named after his grandfather, Aaron Benjamin Kandlekar, who built the original building, which has clearly been modernised (at least on the inside; the outside is in shambles).
We looked at the Sefer Torahs and flipped through prayer books, written in Hindi and Hebrew. Aaron told us about the dwindling community, broadly Sephardic but really quite unique. He dedicates his life to the synagogue, though his children have decamped to San Francisco and Toronto and have been absorbed into Ashkenazi culture.
We then made our way — Vikrant talking non-stop — to one of the two Baghdadi synagogues built by the prominent Sassoon family. These are much more ornate structures than the Bene Israel one, two storeys high, with elegant domed alcoves for the arks and arcaded ladies’ gallery above.
Both are painted in vivid blue. The Magen David Synagogue in Byculla, first erected in 1861 by David Sassoon, has a tall clock-fronted steeple, making the building distinct from its surroundings.
A plaque tells of the community’s high point: “This synagogue, having been found insufficient to accommodate the increasing Jewish congregation, was enlarged and renovated by Sir Jacob E. Sassoon. Bart. 5670-1910.”
Today, however, despite a renovation completed in 2010, it is in need of serious repair (at one point Vikrant reached out to touch a wall and the plaster crumbled beneath his fingers).
The Jewish school beside it, Sir Jacob Sassoon High School, established in 1903, now has only five Jewish children; this made me think of my own children’s Jewish school in England, which doesn’t have many more than that.
Before we could visit the other Baghdadi synagogue, Vikrant insisted we go to the train station. Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, formerly Victoria Terminus, is a very beautiful gothic building that mixes European and classical Indian architecture, and is a standard tourist destination.
So I said yes. But Vikrant further insisted we ride the train. He said that there are three things essential in the life of a Mumbai resident, and one was riding the train (I honestly can’t remember the two others, though he did quiz me several times during the tour).
At this point of the day, I was descending into a feverish haze and asked if we could just quickly look at the trains and continue on. But no, Vikrant wanted me to experience riding one, hanging out the open doors like the locals and jumping off before it stopped.
Although the fresh air sounded good — Mumbai never goes much below 30C — I couldn’t do more than smile and nod and then walk away from his chatter to the nearest “wet waste” receptacle (no words have ever looked more appealing) to eject the contents of my stomach over and over. I will never forget Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, and it will never forget me.
Vikrant followed me to the wet waste receptacle, quizzing me on the seven islands of Mumbai as I heaved. Once there was nothing left in my belly, he handed me a bottle of water then dragged me by the hand to buy train tickets.
After our train ride, Vikrant and I went to Keneseth Eliyahoo, completed in 1884 by Jacob Elias David Sassoon. It’s located in Colaba, a posh neighbourhood, all high-end shops, close to the famous Taj Hotel (a “revenge hotel”, Vikrant explained, built by a wealthy Indian denied entry to Bombay’s Watson’s Hotel, which only served Europeans).
The first thing I noticed at Kenneseth Eliyahoo were the lovely Minton tiles — I’ve just had my own repaired in Birmingham. Hello, bit of home on far-off terrain. This synagogue, with its turquoise walls and panels of brightly coloured stained glass, is the most impressive. I actually revived a little for this final visit, admiring it.
As I was leaving, I was invited to come back for Shabbat dinner; it was Friday, after all. Vikrant said I should go, and I would have, happily, but unfortunately at that moment I never wanted to think about, smell, or eat food for the rest of my life.
Having seen the three synagogues that show up on most tours, I knew there was one more I wanted to see — Gate of Mercy, the oldest in Mumbai — but Vikrant didn’t seem to be aware of it, and I was done pretending I was a functioning human. I kept shtum.
So, after a stop at the Gateway of India, a drive-by of the Taj Hotel, and quick visit to Marine Drive (Vikrant showed me where he used to make out with his girlfriends back in college) and Vikrant’s masala chai guy, I finally arrived back at my hotel.
I crawled into bed and put on whatever film showed up in my recommendations. It was Triangle of Sadness — a film that features an extended scene in which the characters projectile-vomit as the captain of their ship drones on and on about who knows what. Too soon, I tell you, too soon.
But that was all I could do as I waited out my food poisoning… which abated just in time for my flight home.
Next time, I’m getting that drink at the Taj Hotel first.
Tours of Jewish Mumbai are available from a number of companies, including Jewish India Tours, Shreeji Tours n Travels, and Mumbai Dream Tours.
‘Shalom Bombay’ and ‘Triangle of Sadness’ are available on Amazon Prime.
Sasha Goldstein-Sabbah’s ‘Baghdadi Jewish Networks in the Age of Nationalism’ was published by Brill (2021).
