AFULA, ISRAEL
The innate courage must come from her faith, the forbearance from the typical life of a Mumbaikar. Sandra Samuel, the brave Indian nanny who saved a little Jewish boy from the terrorists, is as tough as nails and as philosophical as a weathered yogi.
Hailed as the heroine of the Mumbai terror episode for whisking away two-year-old Moshe Holtzberg while grenades burst and shots rang out, Sandra today is a celebrity of sorts in Israel and within the Jewish diaspora. Kids in New York are doing class projects, writing her thank you cards, while organisations in Israel are felicitating her. There is talk of awarding her Israel's top civilian honour. The attention is overwhelming, but she keeps it in perspective. No fuss, no muss. Only a calm that defies easy explanation.
Whatever the circumstances she faces, one senses that Sandra will serve, she will smile, and she will survive. Perhaps the confidence comes from her complete identification with her "Lord"—Sandra is a born-again Christian, and a staunchly non-churchgoing one at that. "I don't have to go to church to meet God. He said, 'Take my name anywhere. This whole world is mine'."
Sandra, 44, was brought up in an orphanage, so cannot say where she is from, but lived in Goa and Madras before coming to Bombay. At the tender age of 15, she left the orphanage, to walk alone. She then worked with various military families in the city, as a cook and nanny, picking up a good command of English along the way. But she doesn't want to talk about the past except to say that she took a year off in 1996 to "study the Bible" and learn to depend "only on Him".
"Life is hard in Bombay but you can't live with fear. I face each day as it comes. Whatever life gives, I take," says Sandra, sitting in the garden of Moshe's grandparents' modest home. She seems to have the inner peace that eludes those more fortunate, more educated, and more "art of living"-inspired. The tragic events of last month have transported her from crowded, teeming, throbbing Mumbai to this small, quiet, conservative Jewish town in northern Israel, within viewing distance of Nazareth and Mount Gilboa, where the language, the food and the ambience are so different. There is nothing remotely Indian for miles. But it doesn't seem to faze her—not the culture, not the overly religious manner of the people around her, nor the absence of pav bhaji. "I am used to their food," she smiles.
Remembering those terrible ten hours spent hiding between two refrigerators in the Chabad House in Mumbai as the terrorists attacked last month, she says she survived by calling on "the Lord and Holy Spirit". Until she heard Moshe cry out her name, and then, without another thought in her head, she simply ran to save him. "I was not afraid. There is nothing else I could have done but run to him," she says simply, as Moshe plays nearby. "Indian aurat mein mamta to bahut hai na. (The maternal instinct is strong there.) That's what is unique about India." The sentiment seems to come from the heart, not from the melodramatic "meri maa" scenes perfected by Bollywood and TV soaps.
Sandra came to work for Moshe's parents, Rabbi Gavriel and Rivka Holtzberg, who ran the Chabad House, three years ago, on a friend's recommendation. The Holtzbergs were part of the Orthodox Jewish Chabad movement, headquartered in New York, which tries to bring secular Jews closer to the faith by providing them hospitality and religious services through centres worldwide. Sandra found both employment and solace at Chabad House, often staying longer than her regular hours to look after Moshe, whom she has seen grow from an infant to the walking, talking, demanding child that he is today.
The Holtzbergs, whose ancestors came from Poland and Germany, had already lost two sons to the Tay-Sachs disease, a congenital condition found in Ashkenazi Jews, but Moshe is free of the fatal disorder.
Over time, the Holtzbergs became a rock of support for Sandra, helping her financially after her husband died of a heart attack. They were planning to bring her on a visit to Israel in January 2009. Sandra also felt a religious connection to the Jewish couple, given her strong faith in the Bible. Rabbi Holtzberg would often counsel her younger son, whom Sandra described as a "fun-loving" sort on a motorbike, who needed a firm guiding hand.
Sandra has two sons back in Mumbai—a 25-year-old who works in a call centre and an 18-year-old college student. She won't name them for fear of a media circus. She wasn't even able to say goodbye to them before she hurriedly left for Israel on the official plane that brought home the bodies of Moshe's parents and four other Jewish victims. "I was kept under police protection to save me from the media and I couldn't meet my sons." What's worse, she hasn't been able to talk to them since she arrived in Afula. She has asked the new rabbi in Mumbai to help. "I am worried. I want them to know I am okay here."
She stresses that she faces "not an iota of difficulty" in Afula but she can feel the differences. "They don't accept strangers here like we do in India. I am very proud of my country. As Indians, we should be really, really proud and love our country. There is no other country like it." This simple sentiment says it all.
It has been a montage of dizzying events ever since Sandra arrived in Israel—the huge public mourning with Orthodox Jews in black hats, the presence of President Shimon Peres and other leaders, the constant visitors, the little rivalries within Moshe's large family and various rabbis, and Moshe's complete and utter attachment to the only voice and face he feels comfortable with. But Sandra is dealing with it all with equanimity. "I will stay here as long as they want. It could be three months or one year or three years. Moshe wants me in front of his eyes all 24 hours." With time, he will settle, but for now, Sandra is the anchor of his broken little world.
