The Jewish/Irish Experience

I have often been fascinated by the shared experience that seems to exist between the immigrant Jew and the immigrant Irish. Obviously, there is the whole “stranger in a strange land” adventure that continually draws our two ethnicities in two intertwined circles upon our arrival on the North American shores but at its roots, there always seemed to be a simpatico response. It was like we empathized with each other on a much deeper level. While we have been touring Ireland, some of that bond has revealed itself. Both of our peoples have been shaken to their cores by a cataclysmic event that robbed us of our safety, our sustenance, our family bonds, and even threatened our very existence. For us Jews, The Holocaust stands apart as a period in our history from which we will never fully recover. For the Irish, there is a similar feeling about the Great Potato Famine of the 1840s.

Everything about the famine is still woven into the fabric of how the Irish see themselves as a people; how they view the world beyond their shores; how they look to replenish their native-born children; how they maintain their culture and heritage; and how they are now looking to future with the modernization of their economic and social growth. This is a damaged people, but one with resilience and fortitude. They take pride in their survival and refuse to allow the world to forget the injustices heaped upon them during that period where over one million souls perished from starvation and millions more fled in search of something better and didn’t always find it.

In the capital city of Dublin, those reminders are everywhere. We toured the Jeannie Johnston immigrant ship, one of the first to set sail for The United States and Canada with hundreds aboard. The Emigrant museum across the street is a fully interactive and multi-media experience that takes the guest through each and every wave of Irish emigration to all parts of the globe. (Did you know that former Israeli President Chaim Herzog has a grandparent from Ireland or that former US President Barack Obama’s great-grandmother was Irish?) The ability to maintain Irish culture and heritage so far from home has been nothing short of astounding and the number of people across the world who can trace some Irish ancestry numbers in the tens of millions.

Perhaps the most poignant memorial we encountered here in Dublin is an art installation that is right down on the banks of the river Liffey. A series of seven bronze statues, each depicting a starving Irish emigre, is shown getting ready to board a vessel bound for…wait for it…Toronto. Entitled Famine and created by artist Rowan Gillespie, shows the seven desperate, hunched over, and with terrified vacant expressions. There is the realization that they must board this boat, but a knowledge of all that they are leaving behind. They know that they will probably never see their homes or families again. The really cool part of this work is that there is a corresponding gathering of bronze figures in Ireland Park at the foot of Bathurst and Queen’s Quay in Toronto. There are only five statues in Canada as the artist wanted to diminish the set to account for the thirty percent lost during the journeys. A woman sculpted in Dublin appears pregnant in Toronto as many women became pregnant on their voyages. From Mr. Gillespie himself.

“Possibly the most dominant feature of the site are the huge grain silos which seem to symbolize the abundance of food in Canada, in contrast to the situation in Ireland. So there would be another figure of a man (they were mainly men who make the journey) in humble prayer and gratitude as he looks in almost disbelief at these symbols of plenty.”

I honestly never knew that these sculptures existed and that they are located not ten minutes from my home in Toronto. I am so terribly excited to visit them when we return.
The Irish experience has touched me deeply during our visit her in Dublin. I think I understand our bounds a bit better.

In Dublin Fair City

There are a warmth and a self-deprecation to the Irish people we have met that is instantly charming and comforting. Every single person with whom we have conversed has been gregarious, easy-going, solicitous, and amenable. I know that it isn’t that way for everybody, but we have been so fortunate so far to stumble upon the best that Ireland has to offer.
Dublin is rapidly climbing the ladder as one of my most favourite world capitals. There is an energy here that I search for when we travel and so much culture and history is embedded here it might take several trips to drink it all in and that is excluding the Guinness which I am still trying to avoid like the infamous potato famine of the 1840s.

An aside. Every person we have met still talks about this horror in Irish history as if it were yesterday. An episode in the past that fully devastated a country and a people. One million souls died and another four million emigrated out of a total population of only eight million. There are more Irish descendants living in other countries than there are in all of Ireland today. The country is just now rebounding to its full footing one hundred and eighty years later.

We are blessed with two full days in Dublin. It is giving us an opportunity to take in so much more than a normal port of call and it is affording us a great gift of sampling two evenings in the Irish capital.

I knew that when The Husband and Twin Son first started talking about this trip, there would be a healthy number of distillery tours on the itinerary. Marriage is a give and take after all, so I was down with the idea in theory as long as we could combine the tastings and corporate mingling with a fair bit of art, history, and culture. The literary lineage of Ireland, and Dublin, in particular, is rich and varied. I have already stated my affinity for Maeve Binchy, (I feel like I am actually walking in the footsteps of her characters from Tara Road, Circle of Friends, or Dublin 4 as we wander the old cobblestoned streets that mix easily modern restaurants and architecture) but just passing by the old haunts of Wilde, Shaw, Joyce, Yeats, Synge, and Swift is almost too much for this English literature student to bear.

I totally geeked out at the Book of Kells exhibit at Trinity College. I will admit that Christian iconography is really not my thing, but this manuscript is fascinating. Dating back to the 9th century, it is one of the oldest and most complete books finds in the world. I couldn’t have cared one whit that it is a rendition of the four Gospels. The calligraphic pages with their medieval colourings are stunning and the preservation and study of it have been meticulous. Trinity College Library itself is a glorious place and you can almost hear the ghosts of greatness that roamed these halls. Their portraits line the stone parade of literature at St. Patrick’s Cathedral and their works are forever etched into the hearts and minds of Dubliners.

But, eventually, all good trips to the British Isles must turn toward the amber liquid. The boys had been itching to visit Teeling’s and I did promise, after all. It was fun to view them in their natural habitat and while the distillery tour was fun for the amateur, it is old hat for them and they were anxious to get to the tastings. I will leave their impressions of the wares for them to expound upon, but for me the subtitles of whiskeys (apparently the Irish keep the “e” in whiskey for the sole purpose of sticking it to the Scots. They also age their barrels for a day longer for the exact same reason. Cheeky buggers, aren’t they?) is totally lost on this heathen palette.

We ended our day with a visit to a traditional Irish pub for a house party. I was desperate to hear some folk music and found this really cool experience on Trip Advisor. The musicians were phenomenal and while we had to suffer through Danny Boy yet again, listening to their skill and experiencing a few new instruments (I could do without the whine of the Irish pipes but they are fascinating) was everything we’d hoped for and more.

I think that I could be happy in Dublin if it weren’t for the weather, the affinity towards ale, and driving on the left.

Another day is still to come.