I saw the Torah close up that day. I had been called to read a prayer. My head covered by my tallit, I approached the bema, touched the Torah, pressed my fingers to my lips and said the prayer for the reading of the Torah. The congregation repeated it after me. And then the chazan began to read the day's excerpts from the Torah. He read singing, singing without improvising the melody. He was singing the special song that should be remembered by heart.
The reading was over. One of the members of the congregation lifted the Torah above his head so that everyone could see the text. All rose and said in Hebrew, “This is the Torah Moshe gave to the children of Israel according to God’s will."
My lessons in the history of the Jewish people began with this phrase.
The Torah, which was given to the Jews according to God’s will, is the first five books of the Bible, the most significant book in the history of mankind. It can be said with full confidence that the Bible opened for mankind the meaning of existence. It required people to ponder the basic questions of life. It gave them a moral code. It was absorbed by the whole world. The development of the entire modern culture, including Christian, Western culture, was based on it. This book was more important to the Jews than any treasure. It depicted the creation of the world, described the history of our forefathers, including the Exodus from Egypt. It contains 613 commandments – the basis of the latest Jewish law.
I am not going to "discover America” again. I will limit myself to the confession that I began to discover all the above for myself only recently, and I am glad about it beyond measure.
Chapter 22. Eastern Medicine Once Again
Quite a few pages of these writings are dedicated to Mukhitdin Umarov, a physician from Namangan who prolonged my mother's life for several years. When he came to New York to treat her, Mukhitdin Inamovich would help many other people, and he soon became widely known. That’s why Mukhitdin continued to visit his American patients after she passed away. My cousin Yura and I had done our best to encourage his visits for the tabib had become more than a friend for both of us. Probably the word "guru" is most appropriate here. We were smitten with the wisdom of this man of few words, the profundity of his knowledge, and his noble soul, manifested even in small things… in a word… with everything, including his appearance and manners. And I (as I’ve already written a few times) am drawn as by a magnet to people who embody lofty ideals. One could call me trusting, naïve – perhaps so, but I’m not sorry about it at all. Precisely such people have given me the happiest moments of my life, and Mukhitdin Umarov more than anyone else.
It was obvious that the same thing was happening to my cousin Yura. It was not surprising since we had been close since childhood.
The tabib would show up in New York twice a year for a short time, just for a week. We would spare neither time nor effort to inform his patients and organize everything for consultations before his arrival. We would rush to the airport long before his plane landed, craning our necks to spot the tabib in the crowd of arriving passengers. By the way, it was unnecessary to try to spot him for Mukhitdin stood out in a crowd like a being from a different world, unfamiliar with the rhythm of our planet. He walked unhurriedly; he was calm. The tabib never hurried, and his gaze was calmly directed right into your eyes, perhaps even hypnotizing. At least I sometimes had that sensation.
However, I exaggerate in writing about Mukhitdin’s perfect composure. I have seen him grief-stricken, quite grief-stricken a few times. Once I saw him sobbing uncontrollably as he hugged the son of his deceased friend Makhmoudjon. His only weakness might have been the dozens of excess cigarettes. Mukhitdin was an inveterate smoker.
So Mukhitdin would arrive. No matter how Yura and I dreamed of long conversations with him, Mukhitdin would dedicate almost all his time to his patients. We would set up appointments for over 100 people for it was necessary to help those who needed his help and to justify Mukhitdin’s trip financially. He would see patients in my office. He would show up at our place in the evening for dinner. The kids, who had been friends with him for a long time, would hug him. Danya would massage the doctor’s shoulders, huffing and puffing. Mukhitdin would laugh, cringing for he was ticklish, but it was he who had taught Danya to do massage. Even the shy Vika would hug and kiss him.
After the kids were off to bed, long awaited conversations would begin. About what? About everything – Eastern Medicine, relatives, Mukhitdin’s trips, and world events. Our Eastern physician understood politics like a professional. For example, when the United States invaded Iraq, allegedly because of biological weapons, Mukhitdin was the first to tell Yura and me, “Bush needs an excuse for the invasion. Iraq doesn’t have such weapons. Yes, Saddam Hussein is a bad ruler, but under him, the poorest person in Iraq earned enough to feed his family. And now? It’s economic ruin, starvation and civil war.” The tabib had visited Iraq before the war. He knew firsthand how many kilograms of rice, meat, potatoes and other foodstuffs the poor could afford. “Saddam Hussein infringed upon people’s rights? I won’t argue about that. And how many countries like that are there in the world? Doesn’t it happen in America?” the tabib grinned. “But no one invades America because of it.”
To tell the truth, the tabib didn’t quite come to love America, “the all-powerful and just.” And, in general, after travelling all over the world, he remained a patriot of his own impoverished country, which was far from a democracy.
"Ustoz, would you want to live in New York?" Yura and I would ask, hopefully.
But Mukhitdin would always give us the same answer, smiling and shaking his head. "I prefer my dusty, stuffy Namangan."
Mukhitdin couldn’t but see, understand and feel how hard life in Uzbekistan was. Many things outraged him. But let’s remember the lines from Alexander Blok’s poem, “Even the way you are now, my Russia, you are more dear to me than any other land.” Yes, he was a citizen of the world in his lifestyle, but deep in his heart, he remained an Uzbek, and on top of that, a believer, a pious Muslim. It was not accidental that his name in Uzbek meant “defender of the faith.” He made the hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca, every year so he had long had the honorable title of Haji and could wear a green turban. Weren’t we, Yura and I, lucky to have such an extraordinary friend?
I cannot call myself an orthodox believer. But I understand that the Sacred Books – the Bible and the Koran – don't only tell us about what millions of people believed in and still believe, but rather they encompass profound philosophical views and determine the moral basis for human life.
It was the great Einstein who wrote, "A person who is religiously enlightened appears to me to be one who has, to the best of his abilities, liberated himself from the fetters of his selfish desires and is preoccupied with thoughts, feelings, and aspirations to which he clings because of their super-personal value.” Obviously, my cousin and I felt it intuitively, and we treated the religious views of our scholarly Haji Mukhitdin with great respect, though I should repeat that he did not become our religious teacher. However, when it came to views on medicine and life, he became our Teacher with a capital “T.”
Medicine… During the days of the tabib’s visits, not only all our time but also our thoughts were filled with it. The doctor examined about 150 patients in a week. (I would like to inform readers who may be intimidated by this number that he sees over 100 patients a day in the Namangan Center.) We neglected our work and stayed by his side the whole time. We were amazed by how precisely the doctor determined a diagnosis by feeling a pulse, how confidently he prescribed treatment (mostly herbs), how often a treatment began to take effect after only a few doses. Though Mukhitdin could treat not only with herbs. I experienced that myself.