Shabbat in Turkey

My colleague Heather recently went to Turkey do some reporting. Turkey has one of the oldest and most distinctly Sephardic Jewrys in the world. What's amazing is that the Jews of Turkey have endured so much persecution. Many left for safer havens, yet, as Heather eloquently points out, tens of thousands have stayed and endured through it all---l'dor v'dor.

--------

I have had the privilege of celebrating Shabbat, or more specifically experiencing Friday night services, in many countries around the world. For sure Israel stands out for so many reasons, primarily for the profound connection I felt to the Jewish people and our history, echoed in Kabbalat Shabbat in the Negev Desert as much as at the Kotel in Jerusalem. But being in Izmir, Turkey on a recent trip, and over Shabbat, has markedly expanded my perception of spirituality and Jewish identity.

The one-room synagogue above a community recreation room is intimate, with a prominent yet modest wooden ark beside the pulpit. People of all ages, from teenage boys in hooded sweatshirts to elderly men in more traditional pants and sweaters, packed the pews and row of seats that line the perimeter of the rectangular sanctuary. A little girl, preciously adorned in a lace dress, accompanied her young father, and a number of women in their 20s and 30s greeted each other warmly.

Though I didn't know most of the tunes, which were Sephardic, I didn't mind in the least. Everyone else sang soulfully, with the cantor animating the group to even greater volumes. And all I could think was that in a country where the beautiful sound of the muezzin pierces the buzz of daily activity as the Muslim minarets do the magnificent skyline, the Sephardic tunes transcended time and space, asserting that Judaism is still alive and well in the former Ottoman Empire.

In Izmir, where the Jewish population is some 1,900 (from what was once some 40 times that), there is a remarkable determination on the part of the community to hold onto their Jewish identity despite the growing realities of diminishing numbers. Solely on the merit of the community's commitment to maintain Jewish tradition and knowledge, it is easy to understand its historical reputation as a center of Jewish learning, from which its nickname of "Little Jerusalem" was derived.

A few of the women in the community shared with me that today, most young people leave Izmir for its larger Turkish neighbor, Istanbul (of some 12 million people, approximately 20,000 Jews), make aliyah to Israel, or immigrate to the United States for superior educational and professional opportunities.

Still, these dynamic women – striking, articulate, educated, warm – insist on the need to instill Jewish identity in their children, as much if not more so because they do "leave the nest". Women in their thirties through sixties who volunteer their time each week in various capacities are the pillars of the community. As Izmir no longer has a formal Jewish education system, this network of volunteers has taken it upon themselves to teach the youngest in the community about Jewish traditions and identity. They have implemented a Jewish Sunday school curriculum, and care for each other's children and families as their own. I have never witnessed a more authentic implementation of the principle that "all Jews are responsible for one another." There was remarkable evidence of this principle in action in the Istanbul community, as well.

The Izmir community's commitment to a Jewish future is also illustrated by the remarkable leadership and dedication of the teenagers. Again, without a formal structure in which to nurture Jewish identity and forge relationships with their Jewish peers, young people lead their cohorts in Jewish education, as well as regular get-togethers characterized by passionate performances of Israeli dance, skits, and events ranging from baking and a disco to various contests and celebrations. They run a Jewish summer camp and organize youth gatherings each week – all without adults mandating that they do so. Their ideas are self-generated, and so is their enthusiasm for Jewish life.

It sometimes feels that in places where we are surrounded by Jewish offerings and are free and comfortable to practice our tradition, we take for granted this genuine liberty. For me, the most inspiring Jewish spirit is often found in the remotest corners of the world – in the small, remote communities of Romania and India, in cities like Izmir – where Jewish identity is not so much seen as a right, but rather valued as a treasure and meticulously nurtured as a communal responsibility.

Romanian rebirth

Michael is a JDC volunteer based in Israel. He recently participated in an information gathering tour of Jewish Romania. For many hundreds of years, the area that is now Romania was a major center of Jewish life. All but wiped out by Naziism and communism, what is left of Jewish Romania has, for the last 17 years, been picking up the pieces of its rich legacy. The community has now reached a critical point where a cadre of Jewishly educated young leaders in their 20s has emerged, the elderly are once again reclaiming fragments of their observent youth and young children are enthusiastically diving into Jewish life through ritual, song, dance and community involvement; every single day they are building new bridges to the world in which their grandparents grew up.

Sadly the middle generation has been, for the most part, lost. By energizing Jewish youth (Talmud Torahs, summer camps, youth groups, leadership programs and cultural societies have seen an explosion of growth in recent years) the hope is that parents will eventually feel the excitement and want to encounter their heritage in some way, shape or form, as it is never too late. Below are a couple of very short but touching anecdotes from Michael's trip.

------

Following the Chanukkah ceremony in Falticeni, an elderly man came forward to make an intriguing statement. He claimed that people today make the mistake of treating the two-horizontal-dot tzere as a three-dot segol—i.e. pronouncing the words chamehsh (five) and shehsh (six) as opposed to chameish and sheish. I was fairly stunned; not that he would not know this, but that it felt as if he had been waiting years to let this out and the chance finally came.

-------

At Shabbat's end in Piatra Neamt, the Chanukkiadah group gathered for havdalah, expecting a crowd of local youth. Although none of them arrived, Irwin's (very active in youth dept.) grandparents did join us. I davened maariv there and I noticed that the grandfather began to cry. Irwin told be later that his grandfather lamented the fact that he forgot most of the prayers—otherwise, he would have joined me!

Headphones

My colleague, Gideon, just returned from Ethiopia where he was part of the recent and historic Operation Promise mission. Operation Promise is a special campaign by our partners, United Jewish Communities (UJC), to raise $160 million over three years in order to help Israel absorb a new wave of Ethiopian immigrants and to provide increased welfare and education services in the former Soviet Union.

Gideon's story highlights the level of help many Ethiopians need as they try to make their way in one of the world's most technologically and economically advanced societies. Because of experiences like the one Gideon shares below we are able to better understand the context in which we're providing social services to Ethiopian immigrants.

------

On the plane, I decided it would be an important and worthwhile experience to sit next to one of the new immigrants. My point below will not highlight a specific JDC program, but will rather highlight why our longterm integration work in Israel is monumentally critical.

So, the flight attendant hands out headsets for the pre take-off video. The approximately 20- year-old mother of at least two children looks at me with a blank stare and quietly, without any facial expression, lets me know that she has no idea what this device actually does, or what it's good for.

And so, I tear open the plastic, put the foam ear coverings on the headphones themselves. I then proceed to plug the headphones into the arm rest---she's taking my lead, but has no understanding of what this ceremony is all about.

At this point, after 43 hours of no sleep, I nodded off for a few hours. I woke up and found the headsets on her ears with no volume, no channel, no nothing. In short, she was convinced that in order to fly, one must go through this protocol and cover ears to ensure safety during flight.

Digital, social, cultural gap. And my friends this is the beginning of our work; in fact, this is perhaps the easy part. This experience only validates all of the culturally-sensitive interventions that we implement across Israel. For us, a flight from Ethiopia is simply 4 hours, while for these new immirgrants it is a 1000+ year journey---catapulted overnight into the 21st century.

Bar Mitzvah in Siberia

One of my colleagues, Allan, has sent this dispatch from Ekaterinburg, Siberia, where he recently attended a mass Bar Mitzvah. The Jews of Siberia are perhaps the most isolated in the world. They live in small communities several hundreds of miles apart. During the communist era, we were able to reach and connect with Jews in the larger cities of the former Soviet Union. While we couldn't run the types of robust operations we run today in cities like Moscow, Kiev, Minsk, Tiblisi, Kishinev and St. Petersburg, we were able to reach thousands of people and keep them connected in some way, shape or form.

The Jews of Siberia were a different story. Their physical remoteness left them isolated and almost completely cut off from Jews in the bigger cities of the western USSR and the rest of the world's Jewry. Thus, in may ways, we are starting from scratch, developing communal institutions and basic Jewish education programs.

-------

There was tremendous excitement in the air as 100 children prepared to join their Rabbi on the bima to recite the Torah blessings. In groups of 10, they encircled the Rabbi, smiling, giggling andacting nervous. Many of the boys wore tefillin and white dress shirts. Local TV and news reporters were there, all capturing these moments as boys became men and girls became women.

Then came the actual ceremony. Young girls and boys were recognized, one by one, as they share their russian and hebrew names. The prayers were in Hebrew and the commentary in Russian.

The cafeteria at this this JCC in Ekaterinburg (it houses a Chabad shul and a "Hesed" welfare center) was transformed into a celebratory hall. At the party, following the ceremony, each participant was given a siddur after they recited basic promises, such as not stealing, wearing a kippah, keeping Shabbat and sounding the shofar.

I can't help but contrast this with the Bar Mitzvah ritual as it has taken shape in the US. What with the bands, gifts, and lavish cocktail hours it's easy for both kids and adults to lose sight of the true essence of what is really happening. I've seen this happen all too often. Seeing how this experience has impacted these kids and what it has meant to them has, for me, returned some of the purity of a Bar Mitzvah celebration.

Jews in Iran

Of all the well-traveled Jointniks, few if any have as many passport stamps as Stanley. Currently a JDC country director for the central Asian republics of the former Soviet Union, Stanley has been with the Joint for more than five decades. He has compiled a collection of 1st-person stories. Each story offers a fascinating glimpse into life in some of the Jewish world's most exotic places. From time-to-time I will post Stanley's gems, such as the one below about a Jewish family he came to know in Shiraz, Iran and its tragic fate following the revolution.

-----

Shiraz, Iran---The Jewish community in Shiraz, Iran was the second largest after Teheran. Over twenty thousand Jews lived in Shiraz, most of them in the Mehaleh, the Jewish ghetto which was even poorer and more miserable than the one in Teheran. Some Jews however managed to leave the Mehaleh, move into the newer sections of Shiraz. Among them was Mr. K, reputed to be the richest Jew in Shiraz.

In 1949 when I first visited Shiraz he was in his fifties, a short, lean man; one would say skin and bones. He was a quiet and calm, never raised his voice, but was determined, obstinate in his decisions.

He built a spacious house for the family on the main boulevard, the Khiaban Zand. The house was built at the back of a flower garden so that it was invisible from the street. The garden was full of flowers and had a few fruit trees. Shiraz is famous for its roses in the spring. Aziz Kohanim loved the roses in his garden. This was his only hobby except for the export-import business he ran.

Mr. K was the chairman of the community committee. In fact he decided all community affairs. No one would dare to contradict him or even question his decisions. He helped in most of the urgent cases. The Jews of Shiraz could approach him with their requests on the Sabbath when he attended the Kohanim synagogue in the Mehaleh.

Mr. K had three sons, the oldest being about sixteen. The older daughter was married and had two children. Four girls were in the house. Three were the their own children. The fourth girl aged thirteen was taken into the house a few years earlier. She was destined to become the wife of the oldest son. The parents decided on this match. She was brought up in the house together with the other girls so she could get used to the family. The son knew that she was his future bride. At the moment she was a sister, the same as the other girls. The parents would decide when the marriage should take place. After the marriage the young couple would continue to live in the house with the rest of the family.

When JDC decided to start a welfare program for the children and the needy adults it was obvious that everything would have to be discussed with Mr. K. The funds would be channeled through him. His business accountant would open a separate ledger for the JDC. One could rely on Mr. K that accounts would be kept and all the money would be used for the purposes agreed on. All government officials knew Mr. K. I am sure that they all received favors from him. Whenever anything had to be settled with the authorities, Mr. Kohanim would take care of this.

It was decided to buy a school building for the Jewish children in Shiraz. Mr. K contributed his share. The JDC and the Ozar Hatorah, the Sephardi education organization through which JDC worked in Iran and in Morocco, contributed their share. It was agreed that the wealthier community members should also participate.

This was easier said than done. The approach to the families was made by visits to homes. A Hassidic rabbi of Polish origin, the late Rabbi I.M. Lewi, dressed in the usual long black rabbinic coat visited the homes. He was the director for Ozar Hatorah in Iran. As local customs dictated, he was offered fruit and tea. But the rabbi refused to taste anything until he received a gift from the housemaster. This was seen as a real tragedy for the household. They could not agree that a rabbi would visit their home and not make a blessing on some food. The type of food was not important, but the blessing was essential. Having come into the home, he could not leave without making some blessings.

The arguments, the pleas were heartbreaking. The house owner declared that he could not contribute the money. The rabbi stood up to leave, the ladies of the house broke out in tears pleading that he could not leave without a prayer over the food. His departure would be a disaster for the house with tragic and unforeseen consequences for the future. This struggle between Rabbi Lewi and housemaster went on for quite some time until a donation was received.

The same method was used in all the households. Rabbi Lewi did collect some money – but at what cost to his nerves, maybe even to his health? The school building was bought. The children attended this community school for many years, until the revolution of Khomeini in Iran.

The revolution meant tragedy for Mr. K's family. He was well known in Shiraz and the revolutionary zealots led by Mullahs invaded his home. They carried off precious carpets and other invaluables. They also beat up Mr. K. He died soon after this attack. His widow and sons managed to leave some time later, reaching the States where they settled. The good, kind, quiet Mr. K never imagined that his life's labor would be destroyed so cruelly. The remaining Jews in Shiraz were left without a protector who for over half a century took care, as far as he could, of communal needs.

Tu B'Shevat in Warsaw

Each year, JDC sends a handful of volunteers to live and work in an emerging overseas Jewish community. Their assignment is to work on a person-to-person level in order to create new avenues through which members of the community can encounter their Judaism. Many of our Jewish Service Corps fellows are recent university graduates and bring a tremendous level of energy and creativity to their work. Jordan, one of our current volunteers, recently helped to organize a Tu B'Shevat seder in Warsaw, Poland. She describes the experience in a short essay below.

-----

Warsaw, Poland---Marked by chilly winds, icy sidewalks, wool hats, and myriad mugs of herbal tea, Winter in Poland remains in full-swing. But on Tu B’Shevat, the Jewish community welcomed the awakening of nature and ushered in a season of growth and renewal. On February 13th, seniors and volunteers gathered together at the Jewish Senior Club in Warsaw for a Tu B’Shevat Seder to celebrate the fruits of the earth and reaffirm the Jewish obligation to care for the environment.

With four cups of wine to drink and four new fruits to taste, the Seder was aimed to draw connections between the seasons of nature and the human life-cycle. The first cup of wine was white, symbolizing the color of winter. As we blessed the wine, we recalled that nature has been dormant for many months in anticipation of the warmth of spring and the annual cycle of rebirth. The first kind of fruit we ate was the fig, a fruit that can be eaten entirely. As a fruit without a protective shell, it reminded us of some of the distinct characteristics of childhood: innocence, sensitivity, and vulnerability to be hurt.

The second cup of wine was white but tinted with red symbolizing the beginnings of springtime and the earth’s reawakening. Together we imagined the pink and white flowers in Israel that dot the hills and mountains during this season of the year. We blessed the date, a fruit that has an inner pit which cannot be eaten. Its tough inner core reminded us of the need to reinvigorate our hearts. With a strong heart and a pure vision, our lives grow richer and deeper. Like the date palm that bears her name, the Biblical woman, Tamar, had to reach deep down within herself to draw upon energies to make her fruits grow. Just as a tree draws water through its roots, Tamar drew upon an inner strength that enriched her life and helped sustain future generations. Similarly, each member of the Polish Jewish community must reach deep within herself to nurture strength for the continuity of Jewish life.

The third cup of wine, mostly red but with some white, represented the full arrival of spring. Together we imagined the red tulips and buttercups blooming in Israel and brightening the countryside. We took comfort in thinking about the soil that is warmed and softened as spring arrives. It is so very different from the frozen soil in our own community Warsaw! The third type of fruit we ate was the avocado, a fruit with both an inner pit and a hard outer skin. This fruit was meant to remind us of the tensions that come from both the inner and outer forces of our lives. We reminded ourselves that joy is often found in and around these tensions.

The fourth cup of wine was completely red, symbolizing the full glow of summer. During the summer, both in Israel and in Poland, the crops are growing and flowers are in full bloom. We looked forward to the months ahead when nature will provide many varieties of fruit for our delight and sustenance. The pomegranate, the fourth fruit in our Seder, has a hard shell and is difficult to open. This fruit reminded us of the traps of adulthood, of being closed and hard to our world, and of the things that often make us feel frightened and vulnerable. Rather than being closed and shut off, we committed ourselves to staying open, to welcoming new ideas, to sharing new experiences, and to nurturing relationships with people in our community.

After a few rounds of Hashkeidiya Porachat and Etz Chaim Hi sung in several different melodies and in three different languages, we made drzewa kreatywne (creative trees) out of plastic water bottles and other recyclable material. It would have been ideal to plant trees, but alas, the February chill is not particularly conducive to planting a community garden. Our artistic trees are showcased on the Senior Club window ledge next to the community hanukkiah. They serve as a quintessential reminder of the richness of the Jewish tradition and of the creative energy that we draw upon from our Polish Jewish roots.

The Rescuer

In my time with Joint, perhaps the most memorable person I've met is Syla. Affectionately known in her shtetl as "the Babushka", her untold story is inspirational and tragic. Syla is a real-life Jewish heroine whose bravery during the darkest times of Nazi occupation is the stuff of Hollywood movies and whose squalid state of living more than 60 years later should make us all take a step back and think about the debt we owe to some of those among us.

---JDC News Service---

Korostichev, Ukraine---Born in a small Ukrainian town populated by merchants from Germany, Syla learned to speak German from neighbors. This was rare among Jewish girls—so rare, in fact, it would eventually save her life and those of countless others.

In 1941, Hitler's army occupied Ukraine. The Einsatzgruppen, mobile Nazi killing squads, went from town to town in Ukraine, Belarus and Lithuania and murdered nearly every Jew they found. Speaking German without any trace of an accent, Syla managed to convince the occupiers that she and her three children were German. So the Nazis gave her amnesty, and she routinely opened her home to Einsatzgruppen officers passing through. Syla turned her small house—she lived with her ailing mother and three children—into a de-facto Nazi pub. Ever the hostess, she served food and beer. She also paid close attention when the Nazis got drunk and boasted about the massacres they were planning.

The information Syla gathered became the basis of a crude but effective warning system for Jews in neighboring shtetls. Through her two sons—they made regular rounds under the cover of darkness—Syla delivered bags of salt to the doorsteps of Jews targeted for slaughter. Upon seeing the salt, the Jewish neighbor or friend knew he and his family had less than 24 hours to flee eastward.

It's impossible to know how many Jewish people Syla saved and how many young people today owe their lives to her. But we do know that this babushka, a Yiddishe Harriet Tubman, does not live like she should. When the Soviet Union collapsed so did the safety net Syla and those of her generation had taken for granted. Everything went up for grabs, and retirees were not educated or physically able to adapt to the free market. Moreover, the ruble imploded and, overnight, the money they had saved became worthless. The average retiree’s pension in Ukraine is $27 per month.

“When one takes into account the cost of medicines, especially for those suffering from chronic illness, survival becomes extremely difficult,” says Yitzak Averbuch, Ukraine country director for the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee (JDC). “Often the Jewish elderly have no family, relatives or friends, as their loved ones were murdered by the Nazis, and their friends have either died or emigrated.

“No savings, just a tiny pension; no relatives, spouses, children or friends--how do they cope when they get really old, especially those bedridden or homebound?”

Syla is widowed. Two of her three children have died, and she has no contact with the third. Her damp and dilapidated, two-room hovel in the one-time shtetl of Korostichev has neither electricity nor running water. Power comes from a generator sitting amongst half a dozen live chickens that scamper back and forth in an open shed. Due to leg ulcerations and arthritis, she is almost completely immobile; she also suffers from asthma.

Each week a HesedMobile stops in Korostichev and Syla receives homecare, Meals-on-Wheels, holiday food packages, medication and medical consultations, emergency home repairs, blankets and heating fuel for the bitter winter months.

The Russian Academy of Languages recently defined "Hesed" as a new Russian word meaning "the provision of services with special compassion." Since the early 1990s, Jewish communities in North America, through targeted donations and allocations to the United Jewish Communities Annual Campaign, have partnered with JDC and local Jewish communal organizations to establish more than 174 Heseds in the FSU. These centers provide on-site recreation, communal meals and coordination of welfare services to more than 240,000 elderly Jews. More than 86 Heseds, like Hesed Shlomo—the Zhitomir center, which cares for Syla—operate mobile units as well.

"I want to thank people like you," Syla says to a North American visitor, who has accompanied a Hesed worker to her home one cold and damp morning. "You have not forgotten people like me."

How could we ever?

Brochim Ha' Bayim

Welcome to Jointnik's Cafe, a guided journey around the Jewish world. Through its 91 years, JDC's staffers have traveled every nook and cranny of the world. Wherever there are Jews, there is the Joint in some way, shape or form. The purpose of this blog is to share our adventures and anecdotes as we walk with our fellow Jews on six continents (as far as we know there is not presently a Jewish community on Antarctica. But if you know otherwise, tell us and we'll be there!). Any Jointnik will tell you that we have our bags packed and passports handy at all times. These are our stories!