Manisha grew up in a remote village in India, a daughter of a lower class Muslim clan. • Contrary to family opinion, she left the village, graduated with two degrees in physics - and now comes to her doctorate in Bar-Ilan. She reveals that her family members secretly cross with her: "Suddenly I realized that I became a kind of legend"

• "I knew that if I didn't teach physics and do something else, something in me would die." Ismail // Photo: Eric Sultan

As she walks through the lawns of Bar-Ilan University, she does not attract attention. Brunette, low-floor student in jeans and T-shirt. But for Manisha Ismail (26) everything is exceptional here. Six months have passed since she came here from India, and she is still in a kind of culture shock. Men and women sit together and undisturbed, and when the darkness comes down, and the instinct arises in her to stay in the room, because a woman does not go out alone in the dark - she depresses him and leaves. freedom.

Manisha still dreamed of this freedom as a child in Aloba, a Muslim village near the city of Cochin, India. She could continue to live in her village, inside the big clan, and like any woman there - get married, have children, wait for her husband to come back from work and listen to his description of the day. But Manisha had other dreams. "Madness," they called it family.

Her parents don't know how and when it happened, just under their noses. Maybe it started from the unorthodox name her father chose: "Manisha" means "intelligent" in Sanskrit. He did not imagine that his daughter would become a source of shame in family terms, and that in the small village they would point to him as the unsuccessful father, the man who failed to educate his unbelieving daughter.

The father, Muhammad (58), a government official with a high social awareness, sought to impart extensive education and general knowledge to his children. At home there were always many books and political magazines, and little Manisha eagerly swallowed everything. For her seventh birthday, she received "her diary of Anne Frank" from her father. The classic bestseller was called by her with a breath, and since then she has called the word "Jew" to one specific girl who lived during the Holocaust.

Her mother, Wahida, 55, was also a "non-educational" model, in terms of the clan. She chose to move out of the house and work as a burner. Although she was wearing a sari as usual, but not like the village girls, who by 9 years had their heads covered in hijab - her hair and face remained visible. She did not see a great ideal in bringing many children into the world, even though she and her husband were born into large families. For her, it was enough for two children.

Despite the relative openness, Menisha's parents did not think for a moment to leave the village and move away from the clan. Nadim, the eldest son, who is three years older than Manisha, an engineer by profession, did not stray from the fur. He married at the age of 27 and set up his home in the village, near his parents.

Only the rebellious daughter, who was not married at age 19 or 20, chose to be a scientist and, as if that were not enough - her doctorate in physics she chose to do precisely in Israel, as far as possible from her village and the mentality in which she grew up. In fact, she is the first woman to dare to leave the village.

***

"My teachers and parents didn't know how to deal with me." With her parents Wahida and Muhammad, and her brothers Nadim

The dominant figure in Ismail's clan is Manisha's uncle, her father's older brother. A devout and strict Muslim cleric, who hand-leads the extended family life. Even today, thousands of miles away, Manisha refuses to give his name and weighs her words carefully, lest the article reach him.

And there is another uncle, quite different in the picture: Anwar Ali (53), her mother's brother, a writer who wrote about freedom and modern ideas. In the extended family, he was an undesirable personality, not invited to family events, and if he happened to come, the participants of the event would try not to be seen next to him.

But Ali's books were not absent from the bookshelves in Manisha's house. His stories enchanted her, and through her imagination she saw herself leaving the poor, simple village and living in distant districts where women have utterance and power. She admired him as if he were a rock star. When she was growing up, she also teamed up with the works of Kamala Suraya (Das), a bold Hindi writer and poet who wrote about femininity and politics, and at the age of 65, fell in love with a Muslim, converted to Islam and married.

The gap between the exciting world of Manisha in books and the reality of her life was unbearable. "My parents' economic and social status was considered low," she says. "I was sent to a public school, and by the fifth grade, I was in a mixed class of boys and girls. From the fifth through the twelfth grade, I learned, as is customary, with girls.

"The level of schooling was low, and I was very bored. I was out of classes and used to write stories for myself. The first story I wrote was at age 9. He was called an 'orphan,' and he tells of my schoolmate, whose father left her mother easily after saying only three words: "Divorced, deported, deported." And she was like an orphan.

"I already knew then that I wanted to live a different life. My teachers and parents did not know how to deal with me. On the one hand, I was very successful in the tests. On the other, I did not go into classes."

Have you shared anyone in your inner world?

"I had schoolmates, but no soulmates. None of them had thoughts like mine. At one point, I was disturbed by the fact that I was an exception, I told myself it couldn't be that everyone was wrong and I was right. On the other hand, I couldn't lie to myself."

The gifted girl also turned out to be a music lover, but was rather attracted to Hindu Krishna music played in Hindu temples, not the prevalent musical style in the district - a mixture of Arabic songs in Tamil and Malayalam (the language spoken there). She sings bells, songs of longing and emotion related to Krishna. This secret, of course, is also kept from the clan's head. Her mother would accompany her to the choir where she would sing, and wait outside until the class was over.

As a Muslim, she was forbidden to sing at performances in Hindu temples, but once, in a moment of inattention by the organizers, at the age of 10 she was able to infiltrate and sing in the temple. The story of the little Muslim singer singing in a Hindu temple has become a headline in a local newspaper.

"My parents were very excited," she says with glittering eyes, "Mother even cut this piece out of the paper and kept it. My uncle, Anwar Ali, also encouraged me, he believes art should be universal and shared by everyone and not some religion. Let's just say the extended family Less enthusiasm. "

***

Although Muslims in India are considered citizens of equal rights, there is inherent tension between them and Hindus. It occasionally erupts in the form of violent events. Muslims are forbidden to enter the Hindu temples so as not to defile them, and it is even clear that marriages cannot be brought with them. A rural girl from a Muslim minority, however gifted, has almost no chance of breaking these boundaries.

However, the combination of strong will and excellence in studies, and especially in physics studies, also led Manisha's teachers to conclude that this was an extraordinary phenomenon. "Physics and music have given me anchor in the world," she says. "Music makes sense in the spirit world, and physics makes sense in the material world. I enjoyed solving physics problems so much that I borrowed higher-level physics books from affluent relatives who attended private schools."

At the age of 17, she graduated with honors from high school, and the next target she set for her was a bachelor's degree in physics at the University of Calcutta. This was the stage where she was invited to a call by the clan's head, her father's brother.

"He explained to me that with all due respect to my studies success, I must realize that I am a Muslim woman and that I should marry. In the end he said that my behavior was a negative example of family life. I did not argue with him, but I continued with mine.

"He did not give up. Once a week he would invite me to a call. At the same time, he put pressure on my parents to marry me, and they too began to talk to me about marriage. But when I got a bachelor's degree in physics at university, it was clear to me that I would never give up my entry card ever. Great - even at the cost of a confrontation with the family. "

How did your parents react?

"They already know me. They know I'm stubborn, and when I decide, I do, too. I know they appreciate me, even though there is a party in them that would like me to be like everyone else."

At one point, his uncle and parents tried to channel her to study medicine - so that she could return to the village, open a clinic, get married, and have children. She refused.

***

In 2010, she began studying undergraduate physics at the Indian Institute of Science and Research in Calcutta. It was her first disengagement from the clan: she lived in a dorm, and began to taste the taste of freedom. Occasionally, she would return to the village for short breaks during which she endeavored to stay at her parents' home so as not to run into extended family members.

Have you had a social life in Calcutta?

"Sometimes I would go out with friends to the Calcutta Bridge, there are all kinds of pubs there, and sometimes I even drank."

Did you have a spouse?

"I'm not going to answer that question."

She graduated with honors at the age of 20. The next target was to pursue a master's degree in physics at the Indian Institute of Science in Bangalore, with an emphasis on nanotechnology. At that time, however, her mother became ill, and Manisha was again invited to her uncle's call.

"He assured me that my mother was sick because of me, that I had to leave all this 'academic nonsense', go back to the village and get married. Parents also clicked. They told me, 'All your girlfriends are getting married - what will you do? Who wants you?'"

This time too, Manisha refused to give up, and moved to Bangalore. There, she found out how her schoolmates, Hindu in Motzan, easily rent out living rooms in the city, while being rejected for her Muslim origins. Eventually, she found a room in a hostel with Muslim owners.

Her home in the village was back only for holidays, and when she attended family events, she felt an outcast. Even her cousins, with whom she grew up, refrained from communicating with her, lest they adversely affect them.

In this alienated atmosphere, she fondly remembers her 77-year-old grandmother, Anazar, her mother's mother, who told her, "One day you will marry, and it will be with the man you deserve." These words, from an elderly woman who never strayed from the clan's laws, were a blessing for her.

"Outside of the academy, I felt how all the doors were closed to me, whether it was because I was a Muslim in a Hindu society or because I chose not to act as a Muslim in rural society. Only in the academic world could I feel how the doors open. In this world there is no discrimination, all students study in English, and the students receive scholarships, No matter the origin or religion, there I could go ahead and succeed.

"My inspirational model was Prof. Rohini Godbula, a great Indian scientist who also participated in the particle accelerator project in Switzerland. When I was pressured to get married, I consulted her. She asked me why I was studying physics. I said that if I didn't learn it and do something else, something would die.

"She told me, 'Don't do things you won't be happy about, but don't fight your parents. Tell them you're going to get married - and after a few months, they'll understand for themselves that there's no point in continuing to pressure.' That's what I did."

***

Another crisis point came at the conclusion of the Master's degree. Manisha's mother fell back to sleep again, and the pressures she carried were full of resentment.

"I realized that if I went back to the village, I would be forced to get married, and then I would not go back to academia anymore. I started sending doctoral applications to labs in my field - Cambridge, Oxford and Israel, at Bar-Ilan University."

"Her personal story intrigued me." With Prof. Aviad Friedman, Head of the Nanotechnology Lab at the Bar-Ilan Physics Department // Photo: Eric Sultan

The answer from Bar-Ilan came first, and she didn't wait for answers from elsewhere. "For my extended family, the choice in Israel was a blow. How does a Sunni Muslim family choose to go that far, and in all places in the world - especially in Israel? My parents were mostly disturbed by the fact that now I really don't want to find someone to marry me."

What did you know about Israel then?

"Not much. I knew very well that there was a conflict with the Arabs, but only before I arrived did I read more about the country and the conflict.

"I've been in Israel for six months, and most of the time I'm at a university, where I live in the international dorms. In general, most of the people I've met are friendly."

Manisha is one of the 11 researchers on the team of Prof. Aviad Friedman, head of the nanotechnology lab at the university's physics department. The team includes six students from Israel, one from China, and four from India. They are all at different stages of a master's, doctoral or post-doctoral degree.

"I saw the work that Manisha did in her master's, and I thought she could continue to work here with the techniques she learned in India," says Professor Friedman. "Her instructor in India told me her personal story, and she intrigued me a lot. We talked in Skype, and the curiosity only grew.

"I wasn't sure she would find a dormitory. I told her she would probably have to find an apartment in the city. She asked me if it was okay for a single woman to live alone, because in India it was considered unassuming. When we found a room at the international dorm, she asked if she could get out of the room. In the dark hours. "

Half a year ago, the long-awaited funding approvals arrived, and Prof. Friedman himself traveled to the airport to pick up the new student. It was the first time Manisha had crossed India's borders.

"She looked embarrassed," says Prof. Friedman. "She did not know if she was allowed to sit next to the driver, because she was sitting in the women's village behind."

***

Manisha in a childhood photo with her older brother, Nadim

We meet in one of the lab rooms in Bar-Ilan, where she feels most at home. In the next room, she is experimenting with graphene (Graphene) - a graphite layer, one of the solid formations of carbon, at a thickness of one atom. Graphene has unique physical properties, with exceptional strength and thickness and excellent conductivity, and is compact and transparent. It can be used to produce almost any nanotechnology component in the computer, optics, automotive and medical industries. A Chinese company has even been able to produce a smartphone graph. According to Prof. Friedman, this is one of the materials that will replace the silicon industry in the future.

Manisha explains that "The world of physicists is divided into two groups, theorists and experimenters. Theorists sit in front of a computer, develop an equation and predict processes. The experimenters enter the laboratory, experiment and ask nature what he says. I love being in the second group."

On the girls' floor in the international dormitory, it has its own small room, with a single bed, closet and library. Among the books of physics are four items from her old world: the Krishna figurine, which reminds her of her favorite music, her tavern (a Muslim prayer chain), which her mother gave her as a mascot, and two framed photographs: in one she looks as a child, in the arms of her revered uncle A traditional Indian, with her nads and brothers sitting at their feet, dressed in trendy jeans.

Her agenda is almost fixed. From 9:30 in the morning until 7 in the evening, she experiments in the laboratory, then returns to her room and cooks dinner in the shared dorm kitchen. She does not watch TV, but is connected via mobile to what is happening in Israel. From time to time, she travels to Tel Aviv, strolling the streets or sitting in a cafe watching passersby. On Saturdays, she practices poetry and reads books.

"I love the atmosphere in Tel Aviv. It's a colorful and vibrant city, with a tolerance for people from other cultures and beliefs. In a way, I even feel more comfortable there than in India. As a Muslim in India I have a feeling that I have to constantly prove that I'm patriotic, that I'm not terrorist or terrorist Potentially. Here I don't have to prove anything. "

What is the most difficult thing for you in Israel?

"It's hard for me that work week starts on Sunday and not on second. It's hard for me when I ride a bike, and the drivers drive on the right rather than the left like in India. And even the services here are different, because India uses a lot of places in the water and not toilet paper. But I get used to it."

Doesn't it bother you to be alone?

"I don't feel lonely. I have student friends from Israel, India, Russia, Italy, England and China. I write to the drawer quite a bit, impressions and thoughts. I'm tickled to write a blog about the status of women in India, but I decided it was not appropriate for this stage of my life, because I want to concentrate on studying. A day will come and I will publish things. "

Do you miss the homeland?

"Sure. I miss my childhood in the village, the smell of the earth after the rain, the mom, the conversations with Dad. Although we communicate in Wetsap, it's not always enough."

There is also a longing for the extended family?

"Not at all. To my surprise, just after I came to Israel, several young cousins ​​contacted me secretly, Wetsap, and E-mail. Suddenly I realized that I had become a role model for them, a legend, the only woman who managed to leave the village."

Go to India on vacation?

"I guess so, I would like to visit my family. I deserve a vacation once a year, depending on my power by then."

After you finish your PhD you will return to India?

She pauses and weighs her words. "The answer to this question causes me pain. Since the BJP party came to power, the Muslims in India are exposed to acts of violence, hate crimes and ethnic cleansing. I fear there is a threat to the central idea of ​​our constitution, which is a democratic and secular sovereign republic, which is committed to protecting every citizen .

"Our ancestors fought for freedom, and today my family lives in fear. I know I want to go back to my homeland and live where I can continue my work as a physicist, I still don't know which city. I would like to catch up with more people in my passion for physics, and science in general - especially children and teens. Think that the more discourse based on science and rationality, the weaker the caste and prejudice systems will be. And when that happens, the economic gap between rich and poor will gradually diminish. "

Do you have any concerns that, because of your choice, you really won't have an end to parity?

"For me, putting the couple in first place means giving up on the dream, the academy. I know it's hard to find a married woman in India who has graduated from the academy, but I'm more afraid of giving up on the dream than staying alone."

Do you think you have a non-Muslim spouse?

"For my family it will be a disaster, I will never be able to return to the village. But that is a price I am willing to pay."

shishabat@israelhayom.co.il