New synagogue lures members to replace those who left island

 BY DAN FREEDMAN
 Hearst Newspapers

 Hearst Newspapers HAVANA -- According to the Bible, it took Moses 40 years to lead the
 ancient Hebrews out of the desert and into the promised land -- about the same amount
 of time it has taken Cuba's small Jewish community to get back on its feet under
 Communist rule.

 Depleted by departures since Fidel Castro seized power in 1959, Cuba's tiny Jewish
 population of 1,500 is rebuilding itself.

 The worship sanctuary at Havana's main Jewish community center and
 synagogue, known as the Patronato, has been renovated, largely with American
 donations. It is now a warm and inviting place, hardly distinguishable from similar
 spaces in suburban U.S. synagogues.

 For decades it had been a wreck. Tiles were falling from the ceiling, and birds,
 flying freely in and out of broken windows, occasionally left their mark on
 congregants below.

 The newly repaired sanctuary is a fitting symbol of how far Cuba's Jewish
 population has traveled in 41 years under Castro.

 ``We are OK here,'' said Dr. Jose Miller, 74, a retired surgeon who serves as the
 community's leader in the absence of a full-time rabbi. ``There is no
 anti-Semitism. We used to be isolated, but things have changed.''

 With a membership of 150 families, the Patronato is the largest of Cuba's five
 synagogues. It sponsors a religious school for children, a library, activities for
 senior citizens and training for young adults to lead worship services.

 It also serves food after worship services and doubles as a mini-pharmacy --
 important features in a nation where food is rationed and medicine is scarce.

 A picture on the wall shows Castro in his signature green fatigues posing with
 Miller at a 1998 party celebrating Hanukkah, the eight-day Jewish Festival of
 Lights.

 The relationship was not always so cozy. As a Communist state, Cuba officially
 opposed all forms of organized religion. Churches and synagogues were not
 allowed to operate religious schools of any kind. Declaring yourself a ``believer''
 was a sure way not to get the best jobs or admitted to the best schools.

 All that changed in 1991 with the downfall of the Soviet Union. Job applications
 and government forms no longer asked questions about religious affiliation. Also,
 the hard times and grinding shortages drove many people to seek answers in
 religion -- some if only to get a little extra food.

 Before the 1959 revolution, Cuba had a robust Jewish population of 15,000. Jews
 from Turkey and other parts of the Middle East had settled there after World War
 I. And European Jews fleeing Adolf Hitler before and during World War II found
 refuge in Cuba.

 But when Castro declared the island a Communist state and seized private
 businesses, the vast majority of Jews began departing for the United States.

 Adela Dworin, vice president at the Patronato and chief librarian, was studying to
 be a lawyer in 1961 when Castro seized her father's clothing factory. ``He wanted
 to leave and I wanted to stay,'' she recalled in an interview. ``He said, `If you're not
 leaving, then I'm staying too.'''

 Through the 1960s, Dworin bid goodbye to virtually all her classmates and Jewish
 friends. She began working in the Patronato library. ``Those were difficult years,''
 she said.

 Through it all, a small number of Jewish families continued to celebrate the
 Sabbath and Jewish holidays. ``Someone had to stay here and maintain the
 traditions of our community,'' Dworin said. ``I think I made the right choice.''

 For Jewish Cubans, the rebirth of interest in religion over the past decade has
 yielded a mixture of hope, challenge and disappointment.

 Canadian shipments of matzoh, ritual wine and other Passover foods revitalized
 interest in Jewish holidays.

 But the complexity of kosher laws governing food preparation, combined with the
 harsh realities Cuba's erratic food supply, mean that while the synagogue does
 not serve forbidden foods such as pork and shellfish, its meals are ``not 100
 percent kosher,'' Dworin said.

 The new faces showing up at the synagogue were not those of Jews returning to
 their roots but those of Jews discovering them for the first time. Virtually all had
 married non-Jews and knew little of Jewish ritual.

 ``If you asked them questions, they didn't know,'' Dworin said. ``What's Shavuot?
 They didn't know.'' (It is a holiday commemorating the revelation of Jewish law at
 Mount Sinai.)

 Nevertheless, the synagogue was a place to get help and advice and meet friends
 and -- for the young -- a place to find a boyfriend or girlfriend. ``They feel like this
 is their second home,'' Dworin said.

 Instruction has come from veterans such as Dworin, as well as Jewish volunteers
 from the United States and elsewhere. In 1995 a rabbi started commuting a few
 times a year from Mexico, performing conversions of 300 non-Jewish family
 members.

 Some young adults became proficient in reciting blessings and portions of
 Hebrew scripture. They have been designated to lead the congregation in worship.

 But many who received the training left Cuba for Israel. About 400 Cuban Jews
 have departed for Israel since 1994, a potentially devastating blow to a small
 community.

 ``It's been an up-and-down situation, but when someone moves out, there's
 always someone there to move in,'' said June Safran of Oakland, Calif., executive
 director of the Cuba-America Jewish Mission, a people-to-people group. Safran
 has led delegations of Jews mainly from California on trips to establish relations
 with Cuban Jews.

 ``I believe the community is going to survive, and it will always be stronger than
 the period between the '60s and the '90s.''

 For Dworin, the dedication of the Patronato's remodeled sanctuary in June went a
 long way toward muting the years of turmoil. ``It was a dream come true,'' she
 said.