A Dead Jewish Child in Cuba Tells a Story
HAVANA TIMES – I knew the grave where the mother of dictator Fulgencio Batista was buried, before the current dictatorship. Thanks to a Franciscan friend who kindly showed it to me. I thought it was the only cemetery in the area, but on my recent visit to Banes, I learned there was also a Jewish cemetery, located next to the Christian one. As is known, burials from both faiths are not done together. One of them disappeared—the Jewish one, of course.
In its place stands a communist monument to fallen combatants, presumably soldiers who went to Angola and other places around the world.
Currently, there are Jewish graves within the Christian cemetery. I once again asked my Franciscan friend, Alberto Cruz, to show me this other cemetery I was unfamiliar with. And indeed, there it was, in northern Banes, where even compasses would get lost. My friend, in addition to his spirituality, is a true historian. With his ever-curious, investigative spirit, he began showing me the few Jewish graves that remain.
You can identify them because they don’t bear crosses. Nowadays, they lack any inscriptions—no names, no dates, no locations, not even the Star of David. Only one grave still bears these details, making it known to be Jewish because, yes, its Star of David is still clearly visible. It belongs to a child. My friend explained that Jews do not place flowers on graves but stones. That’s when I understood the ending of Steven Spielberg’s film Schindler’s List, and I felt ashamed for not having asked before why they placed stones instead of flowers on Schindler’s grave.
It turned out that on the small grave of the Jewish child, there was a stone. I said to my Catholic friend, from the Franciscan order, “Please, don’t remove the stone from the grave.” He replied, “I placed it there last week.” I smiled. I felt grateful to have him as a friend. It’s admirable to encounter people along the way with such sensitivity, who help us grow with gentle hands. I didn’t thank him with my voice, but I did with my soul.
He also showed me the graves of a Catalan Catholic priest who composed an Ave Maria, the grave where his own father was buried, and the grave of a beloved family friend of his. He showed me the Mambise independence fighters graves, which once had a wooden cannon that had likely been stolen to be used as firewood for cooking. As always, he shared so much history. I cannot help but feel grateful. I am certain my gratitude will last until I meet that sister whom Francis himself spoke of: Sister Death.