Enduring Jewish Communities around the World: Models of Effective Communication 1666913243, 9781666913248

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Enduring Jewish Communities around the World

Enduring Jewish Communities around the World Models of Effective Communication

Joshua N. Azriel

LEXINGTON BOOKS

Lanham • Boulder • New York • London

Published by Lexington Books An imprint of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www​.rowman​.com 86-90 Paul Street, London EC2A 4NE, United Kingdom Copyright © 2024 by The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available ISBN 9781666913248 (cloth : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781666913255 (ebook) ∞ ™ The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

Contents

Forewordvii Rabbi Dan Dorsch Acknowledgmentsxi Introduction 1 1 St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands

17

2 Halifax, Canada

31

3 Guatemala City, Guatemala

47

4 San Jose, Costa Rica

59

5 Sefwi Wiawso, Ghana

75

6 Bene Israel of India

85

7 Belmonte, Portugal

99

8 Sofia, Bulgaria

119

9 Iasi, Romania

133

10 Conclusion151 Bibliography159 Index 165 About the Author

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v

Foreword Rabbi Dan Dorsch

There is a classic story in the Babylonian Talmud where the great sage Hillel struggles to determine a matter of Jewish law (Babylonian Talmud Pesachim 66a). Hillel could not remember the proper date on the calendar for the Passover sacrifice. The Talmud indicates that Hillel believed the answer should have been simple. However, according to the legend, as a result of his arrogance, God led Hillel to forget the answer to an otherwise typical question. Befuddled for a brief moment, Hillel decided to address this legal question in the following way in Aramaic: puk chazai ama davai—“Go and see what the people are doing (how they practice).” At first, we could be tempted to see Hillel’s statement as being a capitulation to his divine punishment. However, in reality, I believe it represents something more significant. What we are seeing is an “aha moment” where Hillel acknowledges that sometimes simple questions lead us to more complex answers than we might have once assumed. What does Judaism look like in the twenty-first century? What constituted Judaism in the 20th century was at one point such an easy question that it hardly required explanation. Judaism was defined by the Torah and one’s lived experience. This was categorized as mostly Ashkenazic, as a result of one’s Eastern European ancestry, and sometimes Sephardic, a result of one’s Spanish or North African roots. There were occasional variations in practice, particularly in the North American context, defined by the extent to which we adhered to these traditions or embraced societal change in our communities. However, in our rapidly changing and globally connected world, and perhaps, in our arrogance, we now understand that this definition falls short. In particular, it fails to acknowledge a more nuanced answer to this question, vii

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especially when it comes to “emerging Jewish communities” across the globe. In the Jewish faith, we call these communities Shavei Yisrael. Loosely understood, the term is used to label the descendants of the 10 lost tribes that went into “captivity/exile” following the destruction of the first Jerusalem Temple in the year 570 B.C.E. Today, we now define these communities who “remain in captivity,” as ones whom the Jewish people desire to be welcomed and accepted back into the mainstream Jewish community. How do we know what twenty-first-century Judaism looks like? Hillel once charged us to “go and see what the people are doing.” My friend and congregant Dr. Joshua Azriel of Kennesaw State University has traveled throughout the world, visited, and conducted interviews with any number of communities across the globe. Using accepted theories of social science, he has studied their communal structures, which break the mold and challenge previously held assumptions about what Judaism looks like today. The stories that Dr. Azriel shares with us in this book are ones of Jewish communities living “off the grid” who sometimes spent generations living in isolation (often in harsh social realities), typically without any kind of recognition or acceptance from the mainstream. And yet, despite this lack of recognition, what is most heartening to the reader is that many of these communities persevered and maintained aspects of their Jewishness for ­ ­generations in often challenging circumstances. As a result, we gain a picture of a Judaism of the twenty-first century that is entirely more complex and diverse than our previously held worldview that enables us to see. Contained in these pages are profiles of communities across the globe, from Canada to Ghana, all of whom are working in their environments to live Jewish lives as they have to come to understand Judaism. Above all, as Dr. Azriel notes, what we read are inspiring stories of endurance and resilience of communities across the world. In this way, Dr. Azriel’s book harkens us back to the story of Hillel. Forget the Jewish legal complexities for a moment. Look at communities and see “what they are doing.” Read through the chapters. One cannot help but feel that this work is an important contribution that challenges conventional wisdom and enlightens regarding our assumptions surrounding “Jewishness,” encouraging all of us to broaden our understanding. On a personal note, I may also say that it has been a privilege thus far to partner with Josh in helping him in his personal mission to bring attention and notoriety to many of these communities. Some of these  Shavei Yisrael communities do seek recognition from the greater Jewish community and are looking for professionals, funding, and learning support, to reenter the Jewish world. The rabbinic sages famously debate the merits of study and action. Ultimately, our sages conclude that study is greater, provided

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that it leads one toward action (Babylonian Talmud Kiddushin 40b). The reader of this book may be proud to know that behind its composition lies a great deal of personal passion, love, and desire to support the communities described in its chapters. We continue to lack many of the answers to the fundamental questions about what twenty-first-century Judaism may look like in the future. But no doubt, with the help of this work, we can begin to uncover new and thoughtprovoking clues about what could come next.

Acknowledgments

In May 2019, I accompanied 10 graduate students and two colleagues to Bucharest, Romania, the capital. We visited for two weeks learning about local government and professional communication. Personally, it was an opportunity to meet cousins I did not know existed just a mere four weeks earlier and to visit Iasi in the northeast of Romania, the birth city of my great grandfather who emigrated from Romania to the United States in the early 20th century. This began my journey to learn about maternal roots. This trip of a lifetime allowed me to meet cousins who did not know that they had family who were not Holocaust victims. One year later, I started a similar path to learn about my father’s adoptive family from Turkey and his biological paternal roots in Ukraine. This personal genealogical quest became an academic project when I began understanding how Jewish people in Romania, Turkey, and Ukraine survived despite centuries of persecution and forced relocation. As a journalism professor, the research I publish focuses on communication often from a First Amendment freedom of speech perspective. While the prospect of a book about the centuries-long endurance of the Jews appealed to me, I needed to find an academic perspective. I delved into organizational communication, an area of research that focuses on how individuals and professional organizations communicate internally. This area of research led me to religion communication. Combined together, organizational and religion communication gave the theoretical toolbox to pursue this book. My next decision was to write about Jewish populations in locations that were not obviously well-known for its communities. New York, London, Toronto, and Montreal are cities with large Jewish communities with at least a century of history. I wanted to look at smaller locations both urban and rural each with a unique history that reflects the Jewish people, as a whole, with xi

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each telling an interesting story about its origins. The reader may be familiar with some of the locations profiled in this book, but hopefully not all of them. This book is written for students enrolled in intercultural communication, qualitative research methods, or Jewish studies courses. It is also written for someone who has a general interest in Jewish history and religion but is curious about Jews living in diverse locations such as St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands; Sofia, Bulgaria; or Ahmedabad, India. It is my hope that the reader’s curiosity will be fulfilled while learning about Judaism and its congregants from a communication perspective. This book is written in honor of my mother Marilyn Teitler Azriel. She unexpectantly passed away on September 23, 2022, at 85 years old. She read all but one draft chapter of this book. She was the granddaughter of Jewish immigrants from Romania, Austria, and Russia. She always spoke about her paternal Jewish Romanian ancestry with love and passion inspired by her immigrant grandparents. After I returned home from my 2019 trip to Romania, we spent hours talking about Iasi, the city where her grandfather was born. We also set up a video call for her to meet the two cousins who we learned were our extended family. I had the privilege of meeting Robert Teitler and his daughter Diana on my trip to Bucharest. His immediate family survived the Holocaust, and until we met in 2019, he believed that all Teitler cousins died in World War Two. Upon meeting him, there was no question in either of our minds that we are related. I am happy that Robert and my mother Marilyn (both in their 80s) were able to meet by video. There is a long list of people to thank who were instrumental in writing this book. My wife Michelle encouraged me to continue interviewing and writing during the worst of the Covid-19 pandemic when it seemed hopeless to travel. As the pandemic eased, I spent Shabbat with several of the communities in this book. Dr. Laura Beth Daws supported this project as interim Director of the School of Communication and Media at Kennesaw State University, by writing a letter of support for funding. Kennesaw State University Radow College of Humanities and Social Sciences generously awarded me a travel grant that was instrumental to this research. I am thankful to the following people who donated their time on Zoom and were patient with me as I followed up with numerous texts and emails to ensure that my facts were correct: Jael Silliman, Esther David, and Aviv Divekar in India; Alex Armah and Samuel Tetteh in Ghana; Maxim Delchev and Julia Dandolova in Bulgaria; Bercu Burrah and Albert Lozneanu in Romania; and Rabbi Shalom Pelman, Jeannette Orantes, and Alvaro Orantes in Guatemala. During Covid-19, at times when infection rates declined, I traveled for the research. The following people graciously donated their time with me in person teaching me their community histories: Bryan Acuña, Marcos Bubis, Freida Bubis, and Vilma Reifer in Costa Rica; Rabbi Elisha

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Salas, Abigail Salas, Elisabete Manteigueiro, and Rabbi Rueben Suissa in Portugal; Aviva Ruben Schneider, Sheva Medjuck, Rabbi Yakov Kerzner, Jon Goldberg, and Carol Lee Loebenberg in Halifax, Canada; and Rabbi Michael Feschbach and Rabbi Asher Federman in St. Thomas. Sadly, Rabbi Federman’s wife Henya passed away in February 2023. May her memory be a blessing for everyone. I want to thank my former graduate research assistant Kristen Ward. She was instrumental in keeping this project on schedule by editing my endnotes into correct Chicago style and editing my punctuation errors. Kristen’s judgment and understanding of the content were helpful in assisting me with my conclusion chapter. My research about the longevity of Jewish communities continues. I am eager to find out what my next research project will be in this field.

Introduction

After more than 3,000 years, Jewish religion, tradition, and culture survive. Most people think of Jews as a survival people but that is not quite the correct term. Endurance is the more accurate word. Despite the Holocaust, overt antisemitism, forced community exoduses, intermarriages, wars, inquisitions, and natural disasters, Jews endure.1 Being Jewish is not just following a religious practice; it can be a daily way of life that includes worship, education, and fellowship. Traditionally, Judaism is passed down from parents to children often in parallel with synagogue-based teachings, worship, and social gatherings. In Hebrew, this is known as L’dor V’dor, from generation to generation. Most Jews believe in specific directives about their religion and passed on these beliefs across the generations. Judaism’s history began with Abraham as the first Jew followed by his son Isaac and a growing lineage over generations that included Moses leading the ancient Israelites out of bondage from Egypt, and Joshua commanding an army that conquered the land of ancient Israel. The tenets of the religion include Moses receiving the Ten Commandments and the Torah from God. All Jews are the descendants of the Twelve Tribes of Israel who gradually scattered across the Earth after the destruction of the first and second ancient temples. The Jewish people migrated to Asia, Africa, and Europe.2 According to Shlomo Sand, despite the geographic distances between communities, the overarching belief is that all Jews are related to one another in both spirit and genetics.3 Anyone who converts into the religion joins the Jewish people with a new spiritual history rooted in these beliefs. For generations, Jews not only looked toward Jerusalem and Israel as their homeland, but their prayers reflected this by standing and facing the direction of Israel while praying. It wasn’t until the late nineteenth 1

2

Introduction

century that the modern Zionist movement emanating in Europe emphasized an actual return “home.”4 Shlomo Sand postulated that for more than two millennia, Jewish communities around the world maintained their bonds through shared solidarity.5 Rabbis and other religious scholars communicated with one another by debating texts, answering doctrinal questions, and updating rites and rituals over the centuries.6 Within the variety of religious discussions and debates, Sand said that a fundamental set of core beliefs united all Jews: For all the great differences between Marrakech and Kiev, Sanaa and London, differences not only in the secular sphere but in the religious practices, there was always a common core of rabbinical attachment to the Talmudic law, a shared concept of deliverance from exile, and a profound religious devotion to the holy city of Jerusalem, whence salvation would come.7

In Judaism, the Talmud is a text that reflects early deliberations about Jewish law. These debates influenced modern-day religious practice. They are based on rabbinic discussions of the Torah for about 300 years from the second through fifth centuries C.E. Beyond a common religious belief, Jews are united by stories in the Old Testament, the Talmud, and from post-biblical events that led to a “collective solidarity.”8 Throughout history, including the present era, many religious leaders and scholars advocated that beyond religion and a common history, Jews are united by a language and an overall common way of life. In addition to local or regional languages, biblical-era Jews in Israel spoke Hebrew and Aramaic; Sephardic communities in North Africa, Spain, Portugal, and Southern Europe spoke Ladino; Ashkenazi Jews in Europe spoke Yiddish; and Mizrahi Jews in the Middle East and Central Asia spoke mainly Arabic and Farsi. All these languages incorporated Hebrew words and phrase into their dialects. The common observances of religious life from all these Jews include specific commandments from God, including kosher dietary law, observing the Sabbath, fasting on Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement), male circumcision, and monthly body purification for women.9 Rabbis teach their congregants that the Torah has 613 commandments and required duties for every Jew to follow. There are Jewish communities on every continent around the world. Some countries, once home to centuries-old populations, have few, if any, Jews living there. This was often based on persecution stemming from governments in Middle Eastern countries, such as Egypt, Syria, and Iraq who opposed the creation of Israel in 1948. Other countries such as Iran and Cuba have established Jewish communities but traveling there can be difficult—often for political reasons—and comes with suspicion toward outsiders with the domestic Jews under watch by the governments. There are locations with

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well-known and large Jewish populations, such as New York, Montreal, and London. Other cities, including Kingston, Jamaica; Calcutta, India; and Cairo, Egypt, have only a handful of Jewish residents remaining and struggle to sustain active communities. There are other Jewish populations that endured over the centuries located in both urban and rural areas. They thrived at times or barely escaped annihilation and rebuilt their communities. Their populations may have shrunk, stagnated, or increased due to a variety of factors, including birth and death rates, antisemitism, war, or peril from Mother Nature. The challenges can be myriad, but these communities endured for generations. Over the millennia, Jews in many parts of the world worried about being singled out as an unwanted minority group. Consequently, they banded together in communities for “mutual encouragement” and protection.10 This often led to an “us versus them” mindset where many view(ed) themselves as outsiders. Even today, Jews take either an assimilationist approach toward the greater, outside non-Jewish community, or they affirm their identity as a distinct religion and culture but still choose to participate as citizens in wider society. Some Jewish communities, often Orthodox and Hasidic, segregate themselves in nearly all aspects of life. As with any other religious population, the amount of integration into the wider community often differed by region or country and accounted for a government’s political position regarding its Jewish citizens. From the Middle Ages through the nineteenth century, Jewish populations were often segregated within cities and limited to specific professions and industries. This often impacted their ability to integrate into society.

THEORETICAL FOUNDATIONS TO STUDYING RELIGIOUS COMMUNITIES Examining the endurance of Jewish communities around the world is possible through the lens of organizational communication theory that intersects with research in religious communication. Specifically, systems theory can guide us by explaining how a religion can endure in changing environments maintaining their cohesiveness. Most religious communities operate based on formal organizational structures. Strong internal communication is needed for a strong organization. Beyond liturgy, religions have several features including social fellowship, adult and youth activities, and formal governance structures. According to Mark Ward, these elements reflect order, patterns, systems, and structures that can be applied to religious communities.11 From an organizational communication perspective, the organization exists independently from any one person, and it serves the religion’s members.12

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Introduction

For this book, two organizational communication approaches are applicable to the Jewish communities: interpretive and functionalist. They serve as a means of applying systems theory to the Jewish populations discussed in this book. Through the interpretive approach, we understand a religious community through its members, their family histories and how traditions are communicated. We are also able to understand the community by how it operates as an institution. An organization exists and is maintained through its members’ communications that reflect their points of view. Each person’s perspective is critical for the organization’s overall success. Methodologically, we can learn about the successes and failures of the organization through in-depth interviews to gauge multiple perspectives. From the functionalist perspective, religious organizations communicate messages to its members. These messages are often information and instruction-based.13 Beyond the functionalist approach, religious organizations are also interpretive. They exist for its members and need their consensus to survive.14 They need to be engaged and active for the social structures to continue and endure. The internal organization’s structures are “reproduced by its members.”15 The long-term viability of any organization is heavily dependent on the ability of its followers to communicate with one another.16 An important element of this communication is creating a social reality that produces and contributes to a sense of identity. The functionalist approach sees the organization as focused on performing activities. Organizational communication, in this context, reflects the who and what of an organization. This book will illustrate how various Jewish communities around the world embody organizational models that directly impacted how they endured through the centuries. These models often include community-oriented communications. From an ontological perspective—understanding the nature of entities— realism and interpretive approaches assist us in studying how these communities endured. Organizations are often first created from the free will of their members, but as years pass, they exist in an independent structure beyond the needs of any specific member. In a way, an organization becomes the lifeline of a community and needs each individual to participate in its core functions. This “natural state” reflects stability and order. The needs of the community and often the synagogue, as the anchor of the community, supersede any one individual. How we understand community roles is often accomplished by direct observation of and interaction with the members. Each active person within the religious community contributes to the overall goals. According to Ward, five elements are needed to examine religious organizations.17 The first is the discourse. Scholars examine texts that reflect historic and cultural norms of the organization. Second, language shapes the organization. Text and language are often illustrated in websites, social media, and

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more traditional newsletters and magazines. Members understand the specific language of the religious institution. The organization is also not centralized. This means that members’ free will is often secondary to the goals of the institution. The fourth theme is a constant danger of the organization becoming fragmented rather than always unified by its members. Paralleling this fourth theme is the fifth and final one where the organization has multiple discourses and voices that air disagreements and can make the overall health of the organization unstable at times. To maintain longevity, consensus building is important. Jewish communities with the synagogue functioning as the preeminent organization reflect Ward’s five elements. The synagogue is composed of members who serve in specific leadership capacities and run it organizationally. The leadership team as well as other engaged members use specific terminology native to their specific congregation. This language is important within the religious context as a common way of convening shared meaning to its members. The need to keep the synagogue functioning is a team effort, and leaders often sacrifice their own personal needs for this greater goal. Common leadership positions include a rabbi, cantor, operations director, religious school director, president, vice president, and treasurer. Each member of the leadership team has an important voice in determining how the synagogue is managed, including adhering to specific religious traditions, maintaining the building’s physical structure, and monitoring the organization’s budget. Long-term conflicts on any of these three issues can result in a weakened organization. It is the primary role of the synagogue’s leadership to resolve any internal disputes and forge common policies. The synagogue’s leadership and other members of the congregation often serve on committees that oversee specific functions of the institution. These might include committees that provide oversight to religious education, senior citizen activities, fundraising, and external community engagement. These committees provide coordination and specific plans for the synagogue to host a myriad of activities.18 As will be discussed in this book, synagogues form their own unique cultures. The members reflect characteristic behavior, and the institution implements ideas into concrete plans including how religious traditions are celebrated by the community. In Judaism, synagogue boards and congregants “insert themselves in their history or culture only by possessing it, understanding it, enhancing it and handing it on to the next generation.”19 This is organizational theory put into common practice in Jewish communities. As will be discussed in this book, some Jewish communities’ synagogues are the center of activity. In other cities, the synagogue may play a secondary role to a Jewish community center, and it simply functions as a house of worship.

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RELIGION IS COMMUNICATION At the heart of any religion, communication is key. It is how doctrine is practiced. Communication includes symbolism and is critical in overt and discreet communications. Symbolism exists as language, cultural practices, appearance, dress, and religious rituals.20 Within Judaism, one of the most important and influential symbols is Israel and its place within the religion.21 Prior to 1948, Jews prayed for a return to the Holy Land. Since 1948, they pray for Israel’s safety. Many prayers invoke Jerusalem as the religion’s holy city. The practice of Judaism means using symbols, cultural understanding, and traditions passed from one generation to another.22 This paves the way for social fellowship, one of the more informal aspects of any religion.23 In many synagogues, sisterhood organizations, men’s clubs, and youth activities are examples of social fellowships. As Edmund Arens stated, “[R]eligion is itself a constitutive communication practice.”24 The act of religious practice throughout one’s life is a form of communication.25 This is often conveyed through prayer, sermons, reading liturgical texts, ritual practice, and singing hymns.26 These activities are communication by practice whether it is among members of a congregation or privately directed toward God. Arens noted these communication practices also form community. The religious rituals performed by each congregant are a part of the religion’s active story about God and its spiritual leaders.27 Within any religion, communication impacts all dimensions of the community. Primary communication occurs when religious leaders teach about “transcendent reality.”28 Arens explained that these are “propositions or statements” about God, creation, salvation, and our relationships to one another.29 These exist as religious content in the form of stories, prayers, and doctrines.30 These texts also include imagery and songs that emphasize religious doctrine. According to Arens, the texts are often on display at houses of worship. Cumulatively, these texts reinforce religious belief, an act of communication. Within Judaism, they include the Torah and prayer books for the Sabbath, weekday, and High Holidays (Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur). In addition to prayer books as written texts, the synagogue itself is replete with communication artifacts including the sanctuary itself. It is where religious services, weddings, and bar and bat mitzvahs are celebrated. It has an ark (small, enclosed structure) where Torah(s) are housed. The Five Books of Moses compose the Torah and a specific portion is read by the congregation each week on the Sabbath, Rosh Hashanah, and Yom Kippur holidays. The Torah is read on a bima, an elevated part of the sanctuary where the scroll is opened on top of a small table similar to a lectern. There is also an eternal flame or light, ner tamid, which symbolizes the seven-branch menorah that often hangs from the ceiling. It reminds Jews of the light that burned in the

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ancient temple in Jerusalem as well as the holiness of the Torah scrolls in the ark. Along with texts and symbols, history is an integral part of religion. That history includes remembering miracles and other events that formed the spiritual belief system. In Judaism, the biblical figure Abraham is considered the first Jew chosen by God. His direct descendants formed the first Jewish people. When God commanded Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac to prove his dedication, Abraham was going to comply. A messenger from God stopped Abraham from killing his son. This story serves as a symbol of the Jews’ love for God. It is integral to the identity of the religion. Each of Abraham’s direct descendants, notably Isaac and Jacob, played critical roles in forming Judaism. Moses leading the Jews out of bondage in Egypt is another key moment in the religion’s history and identity. In the story of Exodus, the Jews spent 40 years wandering the Sinai Desert after the liberation from Egypt. Remembering figures and events from the past is a collective practice in any religion. Victor Seidler referred to this as “desert thinking.”31 The exodus becomes a part of the religion’s memories.32 In turn, it helps create religious identity by answering “who we are,” “where we come from,” and “where we belong to.”33 This memory is vital to understanding religious practice. One of the Five Books of Moses, Exodus, tells of God’s explanation about the events that led to liberation and what happened afterward. The collective memory of the Jews’ bondage in Egypt is key to the foundation. As Arens noted, an event like this is a “cultural memory” for Judaism, since it occurs at a specific time on the religious calendar.34 Both the key religious figures and holidays unite Jews around the world. An important component in the communicative element of a religion is understanding how and why holidays are celebrated and their important meaning. During Passover, Jews gather together for the retelling of the Exodus during the seder dinner. This is an annual celebration of the holiday where the story of transition from slavery to freedom is retold by all generations. Sephardic, Ashkenazi, Mizrahi and other Jews celebrate the tenets of this holiday. Prayers, songs, stories, and specific foods are all tied into the holiday’s symbols. Prayer melodies and specific foods may differ among communities, but the essence of the holiday remains the same that evokes the liberation feeling and identity among Jews.35 The foods eaten during the eight days of Passover, especially matzah (unleavened bread), are an extension of the memories of the Jewish belief in the exodus from Egypt.36 This is communication at its basic level. The seder is an example of a communication tool that is “calibrated” so that Jewish families can tell the story of the Exodus in a language meant to be understood by all members.37 The traditional pre-Passover cleaning of the house to remove leavened bread is a

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physical and symbolic act that reflects the importance of the holiday and its meaning. The goal, as Francis Njoku describes it, is that a “theology of communication should devise an effective and timely means of transmitting the deposit of faith.”38 Hannukah is another holiday filled with stories, prayers, and symbols that evoke faith and remembering a fight for freedom. At its core, Hannukah is about a miracle after a battle against the Greeks. Approximately during 150–160 B.C.E, the Maccabee army fought for several years against Greek occupation of Israel including the ancient temple. The final battle for liberation of Jerusalem took place against the fortress of Antonius, near the holy temple. When Antiochus fell, the Maccabees cleansed the temple. When they proceeded to light the temple’s menorah, there was only enough oil for it to be lit for one day. But it stayed lit for eight days. That is the miracle of Hannukah. What is not as widely known about the Maccabees is that they were a religious community whose goal was to return Jews back to more traditional rites.39 Families light menorahs for eight nights and eat foods made with oil, often sufganiyot (doughnuts) and latkes (potato pancakes). The oil in the foods is symbolic of the oil that lit the ancient menorah. The lighting of a family’s menorah is a retelling of the fight for freedom and the miracle of the oil. Children play dreidel, a game with a four-sided spinning top. Judaism teaches children that the dreidel was spun by students as a game when Greek soldiers were nearby. It was a means of not getting caught violating Greek law prohibiting studying the Torah. The soldiers arrested Jews caught studying the Torah. The dreidel symbolically communicates how the Jews maintained their education under Greek rule and survived. The menorah, dreidel, candles, and specific foods are all communication artifacts of Hannukah. Each week on Friday night, Jewish families around the world light candles, pray, and eat together to commemorate the seventh day of rest, Shabbat. This weekly tradition is not just a holiday of rest from work but is a continual reminder of God’s creation of the Earth and the need to thank Him and show respect with a day of rest and prayer. Each Shabbat Jews communicate this important religious belief to each other. One of the goals to celebrating holidays within the family is communicating important Jewish meaning to younger generations while reminding older generations of key religious memories. As Seidler noted, “to know who you are, you also have to know where you come from and be willing to do the emotional and spiritual work that it takes to gain a greater sense of inner freedom.”40 Judaism, like other religions, is an example of organizational culture based on cumulative learning through the generations. This cumulative learning occurs during holidays, festivals, funerals, and other memorials. It brings a community together to remember. This reinforces not just organizational

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culture of the religion but affiliation and affirmation toward the religion. Edgar Schein stated that culture has six elements: (1) shared basic assumptions, (2) developed by a group of people, (3) for coping with problems of “external adaptation,” (4) that are valid, (5) can be taught to new and upcoming members, (6) as the correct way to think about an issue.41 The Jewish communities discussed in this book reflect Schein’s cultural elements. The six factors also contributed to each community’s endurance especially in difficult eras. This book aims to capture the spirit of the Jewish communities by analyzing and understanding the organizational and communication traditions which helped them exist and, at times, thrive. Part of any religion’s spiritual center is the leader of the institution. In Judaism, synagogue rabbis play that role. According to Knapp and Miller, narratives are a part of any organization.42 Rabbis are storytellers who create the narratives for congregants. As communicators, they use emotion and personal, learned experiences to convey religious doctrine from the Bible.43 The goal for rabbis, as storytellers, is to show how lived experiences are “endowed with meaning.”44 This is the heart of religious teaching and running a religious institution. Stephanie Coopman and Katherine Meidlinger explained that in times of transition, religious leaders often convey narratives to encourage their congregants to embrace new ideas.45 As with any religion, Jewish congregations evolved over time in how their prayers and traditions were practiced. This is often based on arrivals of new Jewish families who brought their own traditions or worship-style preferences. For example, as profiled in this book, after World War Two, the Hebrew Congregation of St. Thomas in the U.S. Virgin Islands began embracing the Reform Judaism model of worship and moved away from what was the synagogue’s Orthodox Sephardic worship style. Jews from the mainland United States moved to St. Thomas after World War Two and brought with them their Reform Jewish traditions. As their numbers increased at the synagogue, the older, more established Jewish families had to adapt to the influx of Reform Jews. The synagogue’s leaders were the ones to convince the legacy families to embrace these new traditions. These changes in worship style by the St. Thomas Jewish community, home to the oldest, continually used synagogue in the United States, reflect Garry Bailey’s research that showed large numbers of newcomers to any religious institution bring with them their own cultural practices.46

JEWISH COMMUNITIES ENDURE The Jewish populations discussed in this book pass down religious tradition from generation to generation, L’dor V’dor in Hebrew. Family relationships

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and the teachings of doctrine are at the center of most organizational structures of the religion.47 Children are prioritized in the religion. From an organizational perspective, the strong family connections affect “spatial proximity and spiritual proximity” of the communities.48 Simply stated, close bonds are needed. Communication with children is teaching the whys of the religion through the Bible, Hebrew, worship, and other traditions. They exist in synagogue’s religious schools and youth groups, as well as Jewish summer camps. These are all fixtures in communities around the world. The focus was continuing the faith and it was more or less replicated around the world for centuries. Historically, even during times of great societal social change, the religion remained intact and Jewish leaders tried to protect their communities from the challenges of rapidly changing political, economic, or social environments. The focus returned to religious practices including traditional Friday night Shabbat dinners, lighting Hanukkah menorahs, Passover Seders, and celebrating bar and bat mitzvahs.49 Parents, grandparents, and extended family play a key role in influencing the religious and spiritual lives of their children over their transformative years.50 They are the L’Dor V’Dor generational passing down of religious tradition and knowledge. Pérez termed this the “Jewish condition.”51 Anyone born into a Jewish community whose views are determined by historic context and the physical and psychological characteristics of the religion are heavily influenced by the community’s values.52 Religion informs a lot of parental decisions and aids in teaching the regulation of behavior and emotions. It is evident that religion became more complex across generations, and the level of personal spiritual experience varied based on the historical events within the generation.53 This added to the shared group history and collective solidarity of any Jewish community.54 As portrayed by the different histories of many Jewish communities, the persecution faced by generations often created a cohesive, internal community but also boundaries with the “outside,” non-Jewish world. Jewish communities around the world are known for close-knit bonds among families and friends. As explained in this book, one need not look any further than the Jews who live in Belmonte, Portugal, to see the important role of family. For about five centuries, this community was “hidden” as a means of surviving the Spanish and Portuguese inquisitions. Traditions were passed from mother to child, and each generation was told to keep its Jewish religious observance a secret and outwardly embrace Catholicism to avoid persecution. This community of hidden “Crypto-Jews” maintained its traditions based on family cohesiveness. For 500 years while their Jewish traditions changed, their collective memories did not. The reader will learn about the Jewish community in Iasi, Romania, that dates back to the early 1600s located on the western edge of the Ottoman

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Empire. As Jews immigrated to Iasi in the seventeenth century, they arrived from Poland, Turkey, Ukraine, and Lithuania often escaping persecution. For more than 200 years, Iasi was the city that served as a home to displaced Jewish families in nearby countries often as victims of pogroms. While the community flourished for hundreds of years, antisemitism was common through the twentieth century. They endured discrimination and violent attacks. Iasi Jews suffered from Nazi-led mass murders and forced transportation to death camps during the Holocaust. Thousands of people died. After the war, Iasi Jews survived Communism living in a country whose government was at best tolerant of the Romanian Jewish community. Yet, despite these difficulties, the close-knit community endured and is growing again. St. Thomas needed a strict governing structure to endure since the 1790s. There was never government-sponsored antisemitism under Danish and American island rule. Its location in the eastern Caribbean near Puerto Rico put it in harm’s way from natural disasters, namely hurricanes. Generations of families maintained the synagogue and repaired or rebuilt it in the aftermath of hurricanes. Accidental city fires were also a constant danger in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries on the island’s central city of Charlotte Amali. The St. Thomas Jews needed one another, since their community was small. Through the centuries, generations of the same core families served as synagogue leaders.

RESEARCH METHODOLOGY This book will show how Jewish populations endured over the centuries, and it will also analyze how they existed by embracing strong organizational communication and leadership skills. Community-focused communication is a vital means of not only ensuring survival but also showing power of endurance. Some communities, such as in Iasi, Romania, or Sofia, Bulgaria, grew after years of stagnation or decline in population. Internal messaging positively impacted their abilities to function and grow again. This book was written by conducting a series of interviews with Jewish families and community leaders in several communities around the world: St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands; Calcutta and Ahmedabad, India; San Jose, Costa Rica; Belmonte, Portugal; Halifax, Canada; Iasi, Romania; Sofia, Bulgaria; Sefwi Wiawso, Ghana; and Guatemala City, Guatemala. These locations were chosen since its Jewish leaders answered initial inquiries about them. Other locations such as Curaçao and Quebec City in Canada were not included because initial inquiries went unanswered. While there are many Jewish communities in Africa and Asia, it was important to include populations with roots dating back several centuries and accessible for interviews.

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The one factor all communities profiled in this book share is at least a century of uninterrupted existence. Part of the reason for their successful survival is how the Jews in each location had close internal bonds and were determined to maintain their identity with each other and among the wider, non-Jewish communities. For example, in the case of the Bene Israel community in India, famed Indian author Esther David stated that faith and a willingness to cling to it are the reasons she believes that India’s communities persisted for centuries.55 In addition to interviews, access to museums’ artifacts with a myriad of communication examples was critical to the research. Other scholars’ research from previous eras provided a historic record about many communities, especially the organizational and communication structures. Several follow-up interviews were necessary to ensure accurate information. This was a mixed methods study incorporating collections of data using anthropological, history, and communication research techniques. The research for this book was conducted during the Covid-19 pandemic. When possible, in-person visits were made to the different international locations with the aim of spending the Jewish Sabbath (Shabbat) with the community. This was an opportune time to sit down with elders and leaders to hear their stories. At other times during the pandemic, virtual, in-depth conversations occurred on Zoom. All interviews were transcribed, and part of the analysis for the book included examining common themes that explain why these communities endured. These themes, discussed in the conclusion, may be applicable to other Jewish communities around the world. They each have their own unique traditions and while they are part of local, non-Jewish cultures, they are also bound by a common faith. The fact that each has existed for centuries reflects strength, organization, and communication skills.

COMMUNITIES CHOSEN FOR THIS BOOK Each Jewish population analyzed in this book was chosen for a specific purpose. This is a book of nine different Jewish communities each with its own unique story of survival and endurance. Jews have been living in St. Thomas in the U.S. Virgin Islands since the 1790s and have the oldest, continually used synagogue in the United States. In San Jose, Costa Rica, a significant number of Jews immigrated to this Central American country in the 1920s from two Polish towns with centuries-old Jewish populations: Zelechow and Ostrowiec. These immigrants built a community at the same time their Polish relatives died in the Holocaust. Belmonte, Portugal, is home to a group of formerly hidden Jews who fled the Spanish and Portuguese Inquisitions a little more than 500 years ago. Over the centuries, they remained a

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13

close community modifying their religious observance to escape Inquisition authorities resulting in a hidden form of Judaism. Sofia, Bulgaria, has the largest Sephardic synagogue in Europe. Its Jewish population was one of the few European ones to be spared deportation to the concentration camps in Eastern Europe during World War Two. As noted earlier, Iasi, Romania, has been a home to Jews since the early 1600s. Its Jews came from Russia, Poland, Romania, Turkey, and other countries. The community survived pogroms, the Holocaust, and Communism. The Bene Israel community of India may be one of the oldest in the world. They trace their origins to a shipwreck off the western coast of India about 2,000 years ago. They make up the largest percentage of India’s 5,000-person Jewish community. Jews in Halifax, Canada, date back to the 1760s. Located on the Atlantic coast of Canada, many Jews in this region first immigrated to Canada after the British lost the American Revolution. They remained loyal to King George III and the British empire. One of the most compelling groups of Jews may be those who live in Sefwi Wiawso, Ghana. For nearly 400 years, they strictly observed the Sabbath, ate a kosher diet, circumcised their male babies, and celebrated the Passover holiday without self-identifying as Jewish. Only in the 1970s, when they made contact with Western Jews, did they realize their Jewish origins. An entire village practiced Judaism and acknowledged Jerusalem as a holy city but never knew the words Jew or Jewish. While not a formal part of this book, it must be acknowledged that the Ukrainian Jewish communities are the very symbol of endurance and survival. The 2022 Russian invasion of Ukraine must be briefly discussed. Jews have lived in Ukraine for more than 1,000 years. Collectively, they survived pogroms, Nazis, communism, and the recent Russian invasion. Historically, Ukraine was home to rabbis whose literary and doctrinal contributions to the religion cannot be overstated. Several Hasidic traditions originated in Ukraine, and at times the Jews comprised the largest minority in the country. Ukrainian Jews were part of the Pale of Settlement in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries that included Poland, Russia, Belarus, and Moldova. Thousands of Jewish immigrants to Canada, United States, and Israel emigrated from the Pale of Settlement. Unlike previous invasions and attacks, Ukrainian Jews now have both Israel and worldwide Jewish agencies that provide logistical and lifesaving support across the country. Along with their fellow countrymen and women, many Jews survived the Russian military onslaught with the help of local Chabad synagogues in Ukraine who provided shelter and food. Jewish organizations and the Israeli Ministry of Foreign Affairs worked in Poland to house Jewish refugees as many embarked to Israel. Romanian, Polish and Bulgarian Jewish communities housed and fed survivors as they fled Ukraine

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for other European countries. There is no doubt they will rebuild in Ukraine, and World Jewry will assist. This recovery effort will be the model of endurance and survival for future Jewish generations. Endurance does not mean that a community thrives with a growing population, nor does it mean that there is an imminent danger of it dying out from old age. How a community is organized and communicates internally plays a major role in its ability to persist. They survived through the centuries based on a commitment to maintain their Jewish faith and culture. No doubt, there are other Jewish communities that could fit the parameters of this book both in the United States and around the world in cities with interesting stories that deserve to be told. The order in which the Jewish communities’ communication activities are profiled starts in the Americas in locations that may be familiar to the reader and gradually extends in all geographic directions. The Jewish populations discussed in this book were chosen for their longevity in unique locations and circumstances. They have exceptional stories and are strong examples of organization and communication. While this book uses organizational structure and communication as its theoretical underpinnings, the chapters provide the histories and current statuses of the communities. The reader will learn how they share common religious traits but at the same time are unique from one another. NOTES 1. Vern Bengston, Families and Faith: How Religion is Passed Down Across Generations (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), vii. 2. Shlomo Sand, The Invention of the Jewish People (Brooklyn, NY: Verso, 2009), 17. 3. Ibid. 4. Ibid. 5. Ibid., 250. 6. Ibid. 7. Ibid. 8. Ibid., 29. 9. The Torah is the religious source for these and other religious requirements for observant Jews. 10. Vern Bengston, Families and Faith: How Religion is Passed Down Across Generations (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 166. 11. Mark Ward Sr., “Organization and Religion: Ontological, Epistemological, and Axiological Foundations for an Emerging Field,” Journal of Communication and Religion, Vol. 38, No. 5 (2015): 5. 12. Ibid. 13. Ibid., 8. 14. Ibid.

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15. Ibid., 10. 16. Ibid., 11. 17. Ibid., 14. 18. Francis O Njoku, “Philosophy of Communication, Culture, and Mission,” Journal of Communication and Religion, Vol. 40 (2017): 52. 19. Ibid., 56. 20. Ricardo Antonio Navarro Pérez, “The Jewish Community and Judaism in Costa Rica, From the Second World War to the Formation of the State of Israel: Interaction, Discourses and Representation (1939-1948),” Master’s Thesis, University of Costa Rica, 2019, 38. 21. Ibid. 22. Francis O Njoku, “Philosophy of Communication, Culture, and Mission,” Journal of Communication and Religion, Vol. 40 (2017): 52. 23. Ibid. 24. Edmund Arens, “Religion as Communication,” in The Social Psychology of Communication, ed. D. Hook et al. (London, UK: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), 256. 25. Ibid. 26. Ibid., 249. 27. Ibid., 250. 28. Ibid., 251. 29. Ibid. 30. Ibid. 31. Victor Jeleniewski Seidler, “Groundings: Embodying Desert Thinking and Hebraic Practices of Freedom,” Literature and Theology, Vol. 32 (2018): 232. 32. Edmund Arens, “Religion as Communication,” in The Social Psychology of Communication, ed. D. Hook et al. (London, UK: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), 259. 33. Ibid. 34. Edmund Arens, “Religion as Communication,” in The Social Psychology of Communication, ed. D. Hook et al. (London, UK: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), 259. 35. Francis, O. Njoku, “Philosophy of Communication, Culture, and Mission,” Journal of Communication and Religion, Vol. 40 (2017): 65. 36. Victor Jeleniewski Seidler, “Groundings: Embodying Desert Thinking and Hebraic Practices of Freedom,” Literature and Theology, Vol. 32 (2018): 232. 37. Ibid., 66. 38. Ibid. 39. Shlomo Sand, The Invention of the Jewish People (Brooklyn, NY: Verso, 2009), 155. 40. Ibid., 239. 41. Edgar Schein, “The Role of the Founder in the Creation of Organizational Culture,” in P. Frest et  al. Reframing Organizational Culture (Newbury Park, CA: Sage, 1991), 14–25. 42. Mark L. Knapp, Gerald R. Miller, and Kelly Fudge, “Background and Current Trends in the Study of Interpersonal Communication,” in Handbook of Interpersonal Communication, ed. Mark L. Knapp and Gerald R. Miller (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1994) 30.

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43. Francis O Njoku, “Philosophy of Communication, Culture, and Mission,” Journal of Communication and Religion, Vol. 40 (2017): 51. 44. Ibid. 45. S. J. Coopman and K. B. Meidlinger, “Power, Hierarchy, and Change: The Stories of a Catholic Parish Staff,” Management Communication Quarterly, Vol. 13 (2000): 567–625. 46. Garry Bailey, “New Church Member Perceptions of Socialization Strategies in High and Low Context Cultures,” Journal of Communication & Religion, Vol. 19 (1996): 29–36. 47. Ricardo Antonio Navarro Perez, “The Jewish Community and Judaism in Costa Rica, From the Second World War to the Formation of the State of Israel: Interaction, Discourses and Representation (1939-1948),” Master’s Thesis, University of Costa Rica, 2019, 36. 48. Ibid. 49. Vern Bengston, Families and Faith: How Religion is Passed Down Across Generations (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 182. 50. Ibid. 51. Pérez, Ricardo Antonio Navarro, “The Jewish Community and Judaism in Costa Rica, From the Second World War to the Formation of the State of Israel: Interaction, Discourses and Representation (1939-1948),” Master’s Thesis, University of Costa Rica, 2019, 36. 52. Ibid. 53. Vern Bengston, Families and Faith: How Religion is Passed Down Across Generations (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 182. 54. Pérez, Ricardo Antonio Navarro, “The Jewish Community and Judaism in Costa Rica, From the Second World War to the Formation of the State of Israel: Interaction, Discourses and Representation (1939-1948),” Master’s Thesis, University of Costa Rica, 2019, 38. 55. Esther David in discussion with the author, August 11, 2021.

Chapter 1

St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands

There is a grit and a grace to living here that is very powerful. The place inspires a great deal of loyalty. The question is always the nexus between history and destiny. The history is deep and profound.1 —Rabbi Michael Feschbach, Hebrew Congregation of St. Thomas Rabbi 2017–2022

It may be surprising to learn of a 225 year old Jewish community in the Virgin Islands embraced by islanders without a history of government-sponsored or public antisemitism, St. Thomas is home to the oldest synagogue in continued use in the United States. Since 1833, the historic synagogue, the Hebrew Congregation of St. Thomas, has never missed a Shabbat service. This remarkable record includes Shabbats in 2017 when category five hurricanes Irma and Maria struck the island. It is a distinction of pride for this small but enduring Jewish community. The synagogue is located in Charlotte Amali, the city in the southern part of St. Thomas. It is a historic landmark often visited by tourists, especially those coming ashore from cruise ships. The Hebrew Congregation of St. Thomas is one of two Jewish institutions on the island determined to move its congregation forward, especially in the wake of island-wide devastation from hurricanes Irma and Maria. On the eastern end of the island in the town of Red Hook, Chabad of the Virgin Islands runs a synagogue for Jews who live nearby. Where Charlotte Amali is urban, Red Hook is rural with resorts and condominiums for full-time and part-time residents. Many island Jewish residents attend both synagogues for holidays and other celebrations. The Hebrew Congregation is part of the Reform movement of Judaism that originated in nineteenth-century Germany. In the 1960s, the synagogue moved away from its Sephardic Orthodox religious practices toward 17

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the Reform observances as many of the island’s Jewish visitors from the northeast United States, most notably New York, sought a synagogue that reflected their Reform Judaism practices. In 1967, it formally joined the American Jewish Reform movement. Chabad arrived in 2005 when Rabbi Asher Federman and his wife Henya moved to the island. Their aspiration reflects the Chabad Lubavitch organization’s goal of outreach to Jews around the world. In their first eight years on the island until 2013, they owned a “welcoming center” in downtown Charlotte Amali where Jewish cruise ship passengers and other tourists on the island ate kosher meals, socialized, and performed mitzvahs (daily religious rituals).2 Unlike Reform Judaism that incorporates a more liberal interpretation of the faith, Chabad’s Jewish practices are traditional Orthodox. Reform and Orthodox Judaism differ in religious practices and rituals while believing in and observing the same Jewish holidays. Today’s story of St. Thomas’s Jewish community cannot be told without including both synagogues, its members, the full- and part-time residents of the islands, the destructive effect that Hurricanes Irma and Maria had on the community, and the limits the Covid-19 pandemic placed on the synagogues’ abilities to function and celebrate holidays. This small island of 60 to 70 Jewish families is determined to endure. Both Rabbi Asher Federman and his wife Henya believe that with the island still rebuilding from the hurricanes, more Jewish families are “discovering” St. Thomas and moving there permanently or seasonally. Henya was emphatic: “We are not just enduring, but we are thriving.”3 In addition to destruction from the hurricanes, the Covid-19 pandemic forced Jewish celebrations online, further dampening efforts to rebuild the island. During the pandemic, the synagogue moved its Shabbat services to the virtual Zoom platform, and when the Covid infection numbers started to recede, began holding face-to-face services with congregants wearing face masks. Chabad held Sabbath and holiday worship with masked congregants social distanced from one another. As Rabbi Feschbach noted in 2021 during the pandemic, “The Jewish population and the fate of the island goes in ups and downs. We are on a down now. I am hoping more people will move here. That’s the way it has worked before. It’s just waves.”4 In addition to its proud history as the longest active synagogue in the United States, the presence of Jews on the island predates 1833 when the historic, Sephardic synagogue was built. An island government tax document from 1795 showed a local Jewish population of 75.5 The Danish Crown, the governing authority in this era, approved a request to build the first synagogue in 1796.6 The new synagogue was named Kahal Kadosh Beracha VeShalom, the Holy Congregation of Blessing and Peace. It has kept this Hebrew name

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since 1796. It was a small, wooden building constructed with financial assistance from the Curaçao and American Jewish communities. Unfortunately, an 1804 citywide fire damaged the synagogue. A second fire in 1806 destroyed the newly rebuilt structure. In the early nineteenth century, most buildings on St. Thomas were constructed with wood; therefore, fires easily spread across the city. Archived records indicate a synagogue building by 1816 which might have been the refurbished older building from 1806. In 1823, the community finished construction on a larger synagogue for its growing membership. Sadly, an 1832 city fire demolished it. Three fires in 30 years destroyed the community’s synagogues, but the flames did not destroy the congregation. The Jews began an aggressive fund-raising campaign to construct the current synagogue building (in use today) with donations from Jews in the United Kingdom, Jamaica, Venezuela, and other countries.7 The building, completed in 1833, was built with brick and cement, more fire resistant than wood. The determination by the island’s Jews to rebuild from these early nineteenthcentury disasters reflected its enduring character. In the nineteenth century, in addition to the threat of fires, there were other challenges to living in St. Thomas, including hurricanes, earthquakes, and pandemics. Current synagogue member and past president Katina Coulianos’s family dates back to 1875 when her great-grandfather Israel Levin immigrated from Lithuania.8 In growing his business from peddler to general store owner, he survived the storms, pandemics, and an unstable island economy. Katina possesses a letter from the early 1900s that her grandmother wrote to her sister in Germany describing the economic downturn at the time, stating that it was one of several ongoing challenges for the community. Whether in 1833 or today, when congregants or visitors arrive at the synagogue, they enter a traditional Sephardic house of worship with sand-covered floors. The St. Thomas synagogue is one of five in the world with a sand floor. The sand pays homage to a centuries-old tradition from those Jews fleeing the Spanish and Portuguese Inquisitions when Jews shuffled the sand under their feet to muffle and absorb their prayers. The first Jews who settled in St. Thomas were Sephardic descendants of Portuguese and Spanish Jews still escaping the Inquisition. With both Portuguese and Spanish settlements in the New World, sadly the Inquisition often followed the Jews to the Americas. A sand floor was a tradition from this dark time in Jewish history. The other sand-floor synagogues are located in Curaçao, Jamaica, Suriname, and Amsterdam, the Netherlands. Indoors of the synagogue is rectangular in shape with stadium-style, leveled seating on two sides. The lights in the sanctuary are Baccarat crystal chandeliers also installed in 1833. The ark that houses the Torahs was built in 1833 and is located on the one side of the sanctuary, and the raised bimah where the rabbi and cantor officiate is on the other side. In addition to its

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sand floor, the synagogue is also home to seven Torahs, including one that survived the Holocaust. There are two Sephardic Torahs from the 1600s. One of them is housed in a wooden scroll-shaped box and can be read vertically instead of horizontally over a table.

PROMINENT JEWS IN ISLAND HISTORY The earliest Jews arrived from nearby Caribbean islands seeking business opportunities; others immigrated from Spanish and Portuguese colonies escaping the Inquisition; and some migrated from Amsterdam’s Sephardic community in the Netherlands. St. Thomas was part of Denmark’s Caribbean islands, and in the eighteenth-century, Jews took advantage of the king’s religious tolerance. The island provided them with religious freedom. There were few European powers that openly welcomed Jews during this era. There are records of individual Jews who settled on the island as early as the midseventeenth century, but they did not formalize a community until 1795. The history of St. Thomas is one of colonial occupations. For more than two and a half centuries, it was led under Danish rule, while occupied twice by the British Navy. In 1672, the Danish West Indies Guinea Company annexed the island, making it part of the Danish empire. Between 1801 and 1802 and again between 1807 and 1815, the British Empire temporarily occupied St. Thomas as part of its wider European military strategy regarding its conflicts with France (involving the French Revolution and Napoleonic wars). The United States purchased the islands in 1917 from Denmark for $25 million. It remains an American territory with its own autonomous government led by an elected governor and legislature. While small in numbers, during its history, several island Jews or those of direct island Jewish descent grew to prominence in their careers and achieved notoriety. For example, Florida’s U.S. Senator David Levy Yulee was born in St. Thomas in 1810. His Sephardic Jewish parents moved the family to Florida when David was a child. He was the first person of Jewish ancestry elected to the U.S. Senate. As an adult, he converted to Christianity as an Episcopalian, but he was known for pride in his Sephardic, Moroccan roots. Impressionist painter Camille Pissarro was born on the island in 1830. His father was of Portuguese descent and his mother was from a St. Thomas French Jewish family. With his love of painting, Pissarro left St. Thomas at age 17 and moved to Venezuela to begin his career. He made a name for himself as an impressionist in France. His family was well known on St. Thomas. His father and mother never married in the synagogue but instead received their marriage license from the colonial government.9 His father, Abraham Gabriel Frederick Pissarro, was from Bordeaux, France, and moved to St.

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Thomas when his uncle Isaac Petit died and left the local family business to Abraham. Part of Isaac’s last will and testament stipulated Abraham look after his widow Rachel. Abraham and Rachel fell in love. They were aunt and nephew not by blood but by marriage. Camille was born in February 1826, and the couple announced their marriage less than a year later. It caused a stir within the synagogue community, since they did not seek a Jewish wedding ceremony. St. Thomas had two Jewish governors in the twentieth century. In 1950, President Truman appointed Morris De Castro as the governor of the island. As a Panama native, De Castro moved to the island after he graduated high school and began a career in the civil service. He served as acting governor twice until President Harry Truman appointed him permanently to the post. Ralph Moss Paiewonsky was the second governor serving from 1961 to 1969. His parents were Lithuanian Jewish immigrants to the island. His father owned a general store and rum distillery. Ralph and his brother Isidor founded the West Indies Bank and Trust Company. Between 1940 and 1969, he was active in both island and mainland U.S. Democratic Party politics. The acclaimed author Herman Wouk, who wrote The Caine Mutiny, The Winds of War, and War and Remembrance, lived on St. Thomas from 1958 until 1964.10 As a member of the community for six years, Wouk wrote the preface for one of the earliest books about the community, Jewish Historical Development in The Virgin Islands 1869–1959.11 In the preface, he wrote about the Jewish community of the 1950s: “The voices of children studying Hebrew are heard once more on Synagogue Hill. Here as everywhere there is a revival of the Jewish spirit and learning; and here, as elsewhere, the revival is only beginning.”12

ORGANIZATION OF THE JEWISH COMMUNITY Beginning with the Covid-19 pandemic, Jewish communities around the world utilized Zoom, Microsoft Teams, and other virtual meeting platforms to hold congregation prayer services and leadership meetings. Globally, the different Jewish religious traditions—Reform, Conservative, and Orthodox—embraced the use of this technology. While Jewish religious observance has traditionally been in person with a minyan (minimum quorum) of 10 adults (only men in Orthodox congregations; men and women in egalitarian Reform and Conservative congregations), the pandemic forced the religious movements to adapt to meet the religious needs of congregants. Rabbis in the Reform and Conservative Jewish movements around the world issued edicts supporting this move to virtual religious observance on Shabbat and other holidays.

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The Hebrew Congregation of St. Thomas held all religious observances and leadership meetings online. At one point during the pandemic, Rabbi Michael Feschbach was the only person in the sanctuary while all congregants participated on Zoom. As the pandemic eased, more island Jews attended worship services in-person first with face masks and socially distanced and then without masks as Covid-19 infections receded. Chabad hosted its non-Shabbat events on Zoom and required its congregants to social distance and wear masks on the Shabbat and other holidays. Chabad of St. Thomas has a simple organizational structure. Rabbi Federman and his late wife Henya managed all activities. Federman noted, “My wife and I are equal partners in running this Chabad.”13 Husband-and-wife management of a synagogue is typical in Chabads around the world. Traditionally, a married couple arrives at a new location and piece by piece contacts local Jews and begins organizing religious observances. In St. Thomas, Asher supervises all Chabad House activities including weekly Shabbat services and holiday celebrations, ordering and distributing Kosher foods for their members and those Jewish visitors who stay at the nearby Ritz Carlton Hotel. Organizationally, the Reform Hebrew Congregation is run by the rabbi and the Board of Trustees. As with many synagogue boards, the officers include a president, vice president, treasurer, secretary, and immediate past president. As a unit, they manage the synagogue, including hiring of personnel, overseeing building repairs and maintenance, and reaching out to prospective members. What is unique and special about this Board of Trustees is that many of them are descendants of synagogue members who served on the board 50, 100, or 150 years ago. Family names, including Pomerantz, De Castro, and Paiewonsky, are historic Jewish families on St. Thomas and are still active in synagogue leadership. Since Hurricanes Irma and Maria, other long-term families left the island but their connections to the congregation continue through service. In the early years of the synagogue, there was an organizational structure in place. Beginning in 1796 after the Danish King Christian VII approved the community’s request to build a synagogue, the island’s Jews drafted the institution’s founding constitution and submitted it to the island’s colonial government for approval.14 The organization of the congregation in those early years paralleled the organizational models of Sephardic Jewish communities around the world. The congregation was run by a committee, Mahamade.15 There were seven members of the Mahamade, including a president and a treasurer.16 The president’s main function at that time was disciplinary in nature, ensuring behavior by congregants during religious worship.17 While the treasurer maintained the synagogue’s account balances, another person, the Samos, collected the dues and conducted all synagogue communications on the island.18 The Mahamade also ensured

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the health of the community by employing a doctor’s services. It was the treasurer’s job to help any poor island Jews see a doctor and provide overall financial assistance to families as needed.19 In the early 1800s, there was an influx of Jewish immigrants from Curaçao, a Sephardic Jewish community in the western Caribbean. This new Jewish majority revised the synagogue’s organizational scheme, and it resembled the synagogue structure in Curaçao.20 The new bylaws were called Haskamoth.21 These bylaws included many aspects of synagogue and Jewish life on St. Thomas. The roles of the president, treasurer, and other members were further defined. It included regulations for registering Jewish births, taxing Jewishowned businesses to raise money for the poor, interreligious dialogue, and forbidding a second congregation on the island.22 If any members seceded to form another congregation, they would be fined.23 Only one synagogue was permitted by the community. Throughout the 1800s, the bylaws were amended several times either directly by the congregation or in accordance with colonial law when every religious institution needed to update its governing practices. For example, the annual dues were adjusted as needed as well as a right to absentee membership and voting rights for those members who traveled frequently to Europe or across the Caribbean for business.24 By the mid-1800s, the leaders adopted the name Board of Representatives. The one area not amenable to change by the congregation was a refusal to recognize any attempt by Jews on the island to start a second congregation. According to Jewish culture scholar Judah Cohen, the bylaws helped keep the community cohesive in the nineteenth century.25 He pointed out one important example: the official recognition of Jewish marriages. According to Cohen, the synagogue registered marriages only if both partners were Jewish.26 Thus, it had the power to accord recognition to marital unions. Additionally, the synagogue only recorded child births if both parents were Jewish. This policy was counter to Jewish law. A child is Jewish under matrilineal descent if the mother is Jewish regardless of the religion of the father. According to Cohen, there were few interreligious marriages on St. Thomas in the nineteenth century.27 As discussed in this chapter, Jewish education is a primary function of all synagogues. The Hebrew Congregation of St. Thomas has operated a Sunday school since its founding days. Members of the congregation as well as the rabbis taught Hebrew and religion. The first confirmation ceremonies began in 1814, when, under Danish law, all Jewish children were required to “take a public examination of their faith.”28 Danish Jews, including those in St. Thomas, who did not receive religious confirmation graduation could not marry, obtain citizenship, establish a business, or seek university education.29 By the mid-1800s, the synagogue operated both a Sunday religious school

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and a non-denominational elementary school during the week.30 This Danish law meant that the congregation’s religious graduates became the United States’ first Jewish confirmation class after the island joined the United States in 1917.31 In many ways, these organizational rules served the population of St. Thomas well in the nineteenth century. The population was at its zenith at the mid-point of the century. A synagogue’s organization and communication are important to its success.32 The strict structures in which the community was organized within the synagogue contributed to its success in the 1800s. This community viewed itself as distinctive from other religious groups on the island and wanted to maintain cohesion. Applying the functionalist approach to St. Thomas’s Jewish community tells us that the organizational set-up of the community bound them together as a unit. It reinforced the Jewish identity. Scholar Judah Cohen’s book, Through the Sands of Time, is a functionalist perspective on the community and is a valued resource to understanding the challenges and opportunities the Jews faced that bound them together.33 Unfortunately, by the 1890s, many families moved away for professional, business opportunities in Europe, the Caribbean, and the United States. The community could barely sustain the synagogue into the twentieth century with fewer and fewer seats filled in the sanctuary. But in the early 1960s, a new generation of Jews moved to the island and gave the community a rebirth. When looking back on the twentieth century of Jewish activity in St. Thomas and what emerged in the 1960s and 1970s with a second burgeoning community, we gain a better understanding through an interpretive lens. The stories conveyed by these generations of St. Thomas Jews assist us in learning how important religion and Jewish tradition was to them. Each member’s perspective is vital to understanding how and why the community endured. St. Thomas benefited from the American embargo against Cuba. After Fidel Castro came to power in 1959 and the U.S. government placed an embargo on Cuba in 1961, American tourism to the U.S. Virgin Islands increased, which in turn helped the island’s economy grow. Large corporations bought property and built hotels. Tourists, including Jews from the northeast United States, visited for the first time. Some decided to stay. This group of new Jews began outnumbering the older Sephardic families.34 A shift to Reform Judaism was inevitable. In fact, Rabbi Moses Sasso was the only person on the island in the early 1960s who could lead a Sephardic service.35 With the new Jews joining the synagogue, Rabbi Sasso adopted a Reform-style service for Shabbat and other holidays.36 When Sasso retired in 1965 after 50 distinguished years as synagogue rabbi, the next rabbi who was hired came directly from the Reform movement, cementing the synagogue’s new direction.

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In 1972, Hank and Penny Feuerzeig moved to St. Thomas from Washington, D.C. Hank, an attorney, was offered a job in the U.S. Virgin Islands Attorney General’s office.37 They were part of a growing population of Jews in the early 1970s. The island remains their home. When they moved to St. Thomas, they joined the synagogue, since it was the focus of the island’s Jewish community. Only five years earlier, it had completed its transition into the Reform movement. The Feuerzeigs raised their children with a Jewish upbringing and were happy with the quality of the Jewish education the synagogue provided. There was a “mass of Jewish children” who helped sustain the synagogue’s ability to provide religious education.38 They joined a congregation brimming with committees, a Sisterhood organization, and children’s activities.39

RELATIONSHIP WITH THE ISLAND COMMUNITIES Since the first Jews arrived in the late eighteenth century, they remained an important part of the island’s overall community as business owners and political leaders. Any visitor who walks around downtown Charlotte Amali will see names such as Gottlieb and Levin on the buildings. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, when a new rabbi was formally welcomed and installed as synagogue leader, clergy from local churches and local politicians attended. Weddings, births, and bar mitzvahs were published in the Tilde, the city newspaper. Under Danish rule, island festivities honoring the Danish crown would often be held at the synagogue. Rabbi Michael Feschbach, a relative newcomer to the island in 2017 who remained until 2022, recounted that after hurricanes Maria and Irma, the synagogue community received nearly 100 power generators from the Jewish Federation of North America. The congregation shared the generators with hospitals, doctors’ offices, and individuals across the island. According to Feschbach, “It was very important to me that if we are asking for help that we make it clear it isn’t just for our stuff that we are asking for material help for people in need on the island.”40 This reflects St. Thomas’s history of the Jews being a part of and caring for the island’s community. The synagogue partnered with the Virgin Islands Indian Association and the Rotary Club to distribute food and medicine at five locations across St. Thomas. Feschbach noted that his congregation had a moral obligation to assist as many people as they could. This continued the tradition of charity dating back to when nine Sephardic families founded the congregation in the 1790s. As Rabbi Federman stated, “The people on this island are my brothers and sisters.”41 The Jewish community’s close relationship to the wider public may be an important reason there is a lack of antisemitism. There has never been

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a community-wide or government-sponsored prejudice or discrimination against the community. After the October 27, 2018, synagogue shooting in Pittsburgh, PA, the U.S. Virgin Islands governor, Kenneth E. Mapp, released a statement reiterating his support for the St. Thomas Jewish community.42 Feschbach said that, after the Pittsburgh attack, the synagogue was filled to capacity for that week’s Shabbat service in a show of solidarity for the Jews. Another example of the close relationship between the synagogue and island is its annual awarding of Martin Luther King Jr. scholarships. Each year for the Martin Luther King Jr. holiday, the synagogue awards two $500 scholarship to high-school students who write an essay about the meaning of the holiday for them. One winner is from St. Thomas, and the other is from neighboring St. John. The winners read their essays during the week’s Shabbat service.

PROSPECTS FOR THE FUTURE Despite the numerous natural and man-made disasters over the centuries, the Jewish population has increased and receded in waves. The Jewish population increased dramatically in the mid-nineteenth century, ebbed in the early twentieth century, and increased again by the 1960s. Reflecting the normal ups and downs of populations around the world. What makes the Jewish community of St. Thomas unique is its endurance and impact on the island. Many Jews moved there for business opportunities, and others arrived for the religious freedom guaranteed by Denmark. This small island is not necessarily a location where one might expect to find a resilient Jewish community and home to the oldest, continually used synagogue in the United States. Before Hurricanes Maria and Irma ravaged the island in 2017, 100 Jewish families lived on St. Thomas. Afterward, several moved away (no numbers provided). Rabbi Feschbach pointed out that one way of providing for the longevity of the island is the synagogue membership named Chai which is available to anyone around the world for $36 per year. He stated he had 3,300 Chai members on his email list. Each time he emailed a synagogue update to the Chai membership, he received at least 600 replies.43 Many of these Chai members encountered the synagogue while on vacation or short-term stays. He remarked that at religious conventions, Chai members approach him and said hello.44 This is a strong example of external communication with the wider Jewish community. Chai membership to the synagogue could assist with the synagogue’s longevity. That long-distance connection could translate into future Jews visiting the island for a vacation or possibly moving there. This strategy parallels

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what Rabbi Federman predicted: younger American Jews will rediscover the island as a place to live and raise their children. Older couples may decide to retire to St. Thomas. St. Thomas’s history and the ability of the Jews to adapt to changing economic conditions may be its strength. Rabbi Feschbach provided an important perspective for why he believes the Jewish community endures: I will say the ironic thing I have learned here is that no one is an “island” despite the fact we are on an island. And I don’t think that we have every been a fully independent community standing on our own, originally not through our history and certainly not after the hurricanes and the pandemic. Our balance between the community that is here and our worldwide connections is what has enabled us to endure.45

Lifelong resident Katina Coulianos said she takes a long view about the community’s endurance. While the hurricanes often spur families to leave, she has also seen them move to the island during periods of rebuilding. She is hopeful that the ongoing post-Maria and -Irma recovery is another opportunity for Jewish immigration as it was after 1995 Hurricane Marilyn. Coulianos said the resurgence of construction in Charlotte Amali and other towns on St. Thomas may bring new Jewish families. She is realistic about the ups and downs for the community but is also confident that its Jews will endure. The future of the community may not resemble the resurgent 1960s and 1970s. During that time, Chabad was not a presence on the island. Rabbi Federman has goals that include expanding the size of his synagogue and building a Jewish community center. His family practices Judaism in the Orthodox tradition, and a lot of their activity is on the eastern part of St. Thomas. Many members of the Hebrew Congregation of St. Thomas practice Reform Judaism. There are vast differences in how Judaism is practiced including prayers, social customs, and maintaining a Kosher home, the dietary laws of the religion. The future Jewish newcomers may live as parttime seasonal residents or visit St. Thomas repeatedly. They may be Reform, Conservative, and Orthodox Jews, but between the reform Hebrew Congregation and Chabad, there will be religious options for worship. The historic synagogue in Charlotte Amali will continue as a tourist attraction for Jews and non-Jews alike. St. Thomas’s industries in tourism, medicine, and education will need to attract prospective professionals, including Jews. If the congregation continues to have a low birth rate, then it will need the support of its overseas Chai members to sustain it. One possibility is to organize holiday family celebrations aimed at this larger overseas population. The one strength the synagogue has is that the families who moved away

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maintain active bonds with the congregation. With Jews living on St. Thomas since 1795, Rabbi Feschbach noted: This is beautiful city with an amazing story of Jewish resilience and survival. Just as we have depended on that larger Jewish community for that survival, our history and story can also enhance and deepen the Jewish identity of visitors and anyone who connects with us.46

There is no doubt that their enduring spirit for the past 225 years will continue in the decades if not centuries to come. Rabbi Feschback stepped down in 2022. His successor Rabbi Julia Margolis continues the work of engaging with the islands’s Jews. NOTES 1. Rabbi Michael Feschbach, in discussion with the author, July 23, 2021. 2. Ibid. 3. Henya Federman, in discussion with the author, July 24, 2021. 4. Rabbi Michael Feschbach, in discussion with the author, July 23, 2021. 5. Judah Cohen, Through the Sands of Time: A History of the Jewish Community of St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands (Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press, 2012), 14. 6. Ibid., 15. 7. Ibid., 47. 8. Katina Coulianos, in discussion with the author, July 23, 2021. 9. Judah Cohen, Through the Sands of Time: A History of the Jewish Community of St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands (Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press, 2012), 38. 10. Carolyn Kormann, “The Virgin Islands, Rewritten,” The New Yorker, September 11, 2014, https://www​.newyorker​.com​/books​/page​-turner​/virgin​-islands​-re​ -written. 11. Isidor Paiewonsky, Jewish Historical Development in the Virgin Islands 1665–1959, (self-published by author, 1959). 12. Ibid. 13. Rabbi Asher Federman, in discussion with the author, July 24, 2021. 14. Judah Cohen, Through the Sands of Time: A History of the Jewish Community of St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands (Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press, 2012), 16. 15. Ibid. 16. Ibid. 17. Ibid. 18. Ibid. 19. Ibid. 20. Ibid., 21.

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21. Ibid. 22. Ibid., 22. 23. Ibid., 22–23. 24. Ibid., 85. 25. Ibid., 53. 26. Ibid. 27. Ibid. 28. Ibid. 29. Ibid., 72. 30. Ibid., 84. 31. Rabbi Michael Feschbach, in discussion with the author, July 23, 2021. 32. Vern Bengston, Families and Faith: How Religion Is Passed Down across Generations (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 10. 33. Judah Cohen, Through the Sands of Time: A History of the Jewish Community of St. Thomas, U. S. Virgin Islands (Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press, 2012). 34. Ibid., 214. 35. Ibid., 215. 36. Ibid., 217. 37. Hank Feuerzeig and Penny Feuerzeig, in discussion with the author, July 23, 2021. 38. Ibid. 39. Judah Cohen, Through the Sands of Time: A History of the Jewish Community of St. Thomas, U. S. Virgin Islands (Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press, 2012), 222. 40. Rabbi Michael Feschbach, in discussion with the author, July 23, 2021. 41. Rabbi Asher Federman, in discussion with the author, July 24, 2021. 42. “Governor Mapp Condemns Attack on Synagogue,” U. S. Virgin Islands Government House, October 31, 2018. https://www​.vi​.gov​/governor​-mapp​-condemns​ -attack​-on​-synagogue/. 43. Rabbi Michael Feschbach, in discussion with the author, July 23, 2021. 44. Ibid. 45. Ibid. 46. Ibid.

Chapter 2

Halifax, Canada

I love Halifax and I love the community. I wouldn’t leave. —Aviva Rubin Schneider

Colonial English settlement on the Atlantic coast, the American Revolutionary War, Eastern European antisemitism, and career opportunities—these are the reasons Jews sought out a life in Halifax, Canada, since 1750. Halifax played a major role in Canada’s immigration history. Between 1928 and 1971, nearly one million immigrants were processed in Halifax at the Pier 21 entryway on the harbor. This included 740,000 immigrants between 1945 and 1972 and Holocaust survivors who rebuilt their lives as new Halifax residents. Halifax, the largest Canadian city east of Montreal, is the capital of Nova Scotia province, with a population of nearly 417,000. Its neighboring city Dartmouth across the Halifax Harbor has a little more than 100,000 residents. Located off the Atlantic Ocean, the province of Nova Scotia is on the eastern shore of mainland Canada and directly south of Prince Edward Island. It is northeast of Maine across the Bay of Fundy. As will be discussed in this chapter, Halifax’s Jews contributed to the city’s growth from its early days as a settlement colony to the modern period as Nova Scotia’s capital. Several played a prominent role in local and regional politics. Myra Freeman served as Lieutenant Governor from 2000 until 2006 as Queen Elizabeth’s representative to the province. Joseph Zatzman served as the mayor of nearby Dartmouth in the mid-1960s, and Jerry Blumenthal was a Halifax city councilor from 1994 to 2004. In the 1980s, Connie Glube served as the chief justice of the Nova Scotia Supreme Court and of the Court of Appeal from 1998 until 2004. 31

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The city’s Jewish population is in the midst of a major population transition and confronts demographic challenges. Halifax has Orthodox and Conservative synagogues, a Chabad House, and a large population of unaffiliated Israelis. The Atlantic Jewish Council (AJC) serves as both an administrative and communication point of contact for all Jews who live in Canada’s four provinces: Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, Newfoundland and Labrador, and New Brunswick. Many Jews living in Halifax have roots in these four provinces. In fact, what is ironic about Halifax’s location is that many of the city’s Jews born in the 1930s and 1940s across Nova Scotia in towns such as Yarmouth, Sydney, and Glace Bay followed professional and educational opportunities that brought them to Halifax. Now, decades later, their children and grandchildren are pulled to the larger Jewish communities of Toronto and Montreal which have more religious and social networks than Halifax. The challenges confronting Halifax’s Jewish leaders are similar to those of other communities discussed in this book, specifically Iasi, Romania, and St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands. The city’s history, discussed in the next section, played a role in the formation and identity of the Jewish population, but as will be demonstrated, community decisions in the past 20 years directly impacted its current status. A measure of the effectiveness in the various Jewish organizations’ communications played a role in the dynamics at play in Halifax.

EARLY JEWISH HISTORY The British government founded Halifax in 1749 and encouraged English Jews to immigrate across the Atlantic Ocean to settle there. At first, only a few made the voyage. In the 1750s, the few Jews who lived in Halifax were from the American colonies.1 Local Halifax businesses contracted supplies from Jewish American colonial merchants.2 Ironically, the last will and testament by resident Isaac Levy may be one of the first records written by a Jew from this era.3 City records showed that 30 Jews lived in Halifax in 1752.4 Later in the decade, more Jews from the colonies moved north to Halifax. By the end of the 1750s, more English Jews crossed the Atlantic to settle there. The early Jewish settlers were a mix of English Jews and those from the American colonies.5 The Hart, Levy, and Nathan families were the prominent ones to establish the Jewish presence both in business and on behalf of the British Empire. These first Jews were not religiously observant. Traditionally, the first action by any Jewish community was to purchase land for a cemetery. In the 1750s, Halifax’s Jewish families bought land, but city leaders decided to have one

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cemetery with a separate Jewish section within it. Historical records showed that one of the Jews, Nathan Nathans, was popular among all Halifax residents. He was known for his annual celebration, the Festival of St. Aspinquid, where he toasted the British monarchy and honored local native tribes and the governor of Nova Scotia.6 This was a major annual social event in the young settlement. The American Revolution impacted Halifax’s Jews living under British rule at the time. They were divided on who to support. Beginning in 1776 at the onset of war, some local Jews traveled south to fight against the British. Other Jewish loyalists aided the British by providing provisions to the British army during the war.7 Samuel Hart, who lived in New York at the outbreak of war, relocated his family to Halifax. He converted to Christianity and did not engage religiously with the Jewish population. While Christian in religious practice, he was the first Jewish-born person to serve in the Nova Scotia legislature. In this era, because the oath of office included an affirmation of Christianity, only Christians could be elected and served in office. When the Revolutionary War ended in 1783, 60,000 British loyalists, including Jews, left the United States and immigrated to Canada.8 The Hart family of Newport, Rhode Island, was among the Jews who relocated to Halifax. Abraham Florentine from New York City immigrated to Digby, Nova Scotia, 142 miles west of Halifax.9 Other Jews resettled on the east coast of Canada. Historic documents from the Jewish community itself and the Halifax census figures about Jewish residents are incomplete between 1824 and 1861. Jewish leaders are not sure if there was an exodus from the city or if the records are lost. During this time, it is widely believed that the number of Jewish families decreased to single digits.10 A spike in population came in the second half of the nineteenth century. More detailed census records from 1901 show that Nova Scotia was home to 449 Jews including 118 in Halifax.11 They worked as grocers, tailors, watchmakers, and jewelers. By 1890, the Jews reached a consensus to build a synagogue. Up until this time, they rented halls for holiday celebrations, weddings, and bar mitzvahs. Weekly Shabbat services were held in members’ homes. They dedicated the Baron de Hirsch synagogue building on February 19, 1895. It was a renovated former Baptist Church purchased for $1,700.12 Donations came from both Jewish and Christian families. The synagogue hosted its first Jewish wedding immediately following the dedication ceremony. By 1914, the Jews supported two synagogues in the city and they maintained their own cemetery. They also had access to kosher meats, since a trained slaughterer lived in Halifax. Halifax’s Jews played an important role in two important footnotes from early twentieth-century Canadian history. When the Titanic sank on April 14, 1912 in the North Atlantic Ocean, Halifax’s Jews were called upon to provide

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a final resting place for 10 unidentified and unclaimed Jews who died on the ship.13 Controversy erupted one year later in 1913 as the community united to defend the local kosher butcher Aba Gershom Levitt, who was accused by the local animal organization for cruelty in how he slaughtered animals.14 A well-known and trusted Montreal rabbi and a Halifax professor testified in court that Jewish ritual slaughter was not cruel treatment of animals. A local court exonerated Levitt. This ruling ensured that Jews could purchase locally sourced kosher meats in Canada. A major city explosion brought the Jewish and Christian communities together in 1917. Halifax was literally rocked and destabilized on December 6, 1917 when the munition ship Mount Blanc collided with the freighter Imo in the city’s harbor. The explosion was the largest in Nova Scotia history. More than 1,700 people died and nearly 9,000 were injured as one square mile was flattened. The Jewish community was not spared. One of the synagogues was damaged beyond repair.15 Luckily, its Torahs were not damaged.16 Several Jewish families, along with other Halifax families, slept in shelters. The ensuing reconstruction of the city brought an influx of new Jews whose companies supplied materials for repairs.17 With one of the synagogues destroyed, Christian communities offered their churches for services along with the local Moose and Salvation Army halls.18 The community opened a new synagogue in 1922.

WORLD WAR TWO Halifax played a critical role during World War Two, aiding Canadian servicemen sent to the European front lines. Its harbor served as the location for Canadian naval ships to embark for Europe. Arriving by train from across Canada, thousands of soldiers and sailors temporarily called Halifax home before deployment. This included Jewish servicemen. Local Halifax Jews provided needed resources through its War Efforts Committee.19 It operated a servicemen’s club that provided meals and religious services. In 1943, 400 Jewish soldiers celebrated Passover together, and each week, more than 500 soldiers attended Shabbat services.20 The War Efforts Committee also sent letters and supply packages to Europe for Jewish soldiers. When the European part of the war ended in May 1945, Halifax served as the point of reentry into Canada for veterans. Once the servicemen disembarked their ships, they remained in Halifax until it was their time to take a train home. The Jewish community supported these efforts as well. It provided housing and religious resources before the Jewish veterans traveled home.21 The same infrastructure created for Jewish soldiers and sailors was extended to Holocaust survivors who immigrated to Canada in the years after

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World War Two. Halifax became a port of entry for displaced Europeans. The Jewish community prioritized the needs of Holocaust immigrants in 1950 as it assisted 2,934 Jews as they disembarked in Halifax.22 They were given the needed financial resources to travel to their final destinations. Holocaust orphans were helped; many housed with local Jewish families until it was time for them to continue their journey to their new homes. Some orphans who did not have relatives in Canada restarted their lives in Halifax and were adopted by local families.23 Postwar Years The community infrastructure created to assist Canadian Jewish soldiers during the war and afterward evolved into the formal Halifax Jewish Community Council. It became the umbrella organization for numerous social, educational, and religious committees, including the Baron de Hirsch Benevolent Society, a local B’nai B’rith chapter, Hadassah, ladies’ social clubs, and Zionist councils.24 Combined, these organizations served the religious, educational, and social needs of the community. They also reflected a growing Jewish population that was nearly 1,000 by 1960. New immigrants arriving from Europe contributed to the increased number of Jews. As the number of Jews increased, as with many communities discussed in this book, a larger synagogue was needed. The two synagogues in Halifax merged into the Beth Israel Congregation. The new building, opened in 1957, seated nearly 500 worshippers with space for concerts and musicals as well as classroom space for children’s religious education and a kosher kitchen. Halifax’s Jewish community stabilized at about 1,000 from the early 1960s through the 1980s. In 1953, a segment of the community no longer wanted an Orthodox synagogue. Ninety-six members formed a committee and founded the Conservative Shaar Shalom Congregation. This was the second attempt in Halifax Jewish history to form a second congregation. The doors to the new synagogue opened on October 31, 1955. CONTEMPORARY HALIFAX Today Halifax’s Jews are served by the Orthodox Beth Israel congregation, the Conservative Shaar Shalom, and a Chabad synagogue founded in 1995. Chabad’s outreach is across Atlantic Canada and directed toward Jewish students at the local colleges, including Dalhousie University, Mount Saint Vincent University, and Nova Scotia Art and Design University. A local Hillel organization serves the needs of local Jewish university students in Halifax.25

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The Atlantic Jewish Council operates the summer Kadima sleepaway camp. It draws children from across the Atlantic region and Ontario. Founded in 1943, in past summers (prior to Covid-19), 300 children traveled to Lake William in Barss Corner Nova Scotia for six weeks. The camp is located 70 miles west of Halifax. In summer 2022, 200 children attended camp after a two-year Covid-19 pause.26 There is a camp scholarship fund for Jewish families who live in the four provinces. The Atlantic Jewish Foundation, a committee of the AJC, also manages a scholarship program for college students. Any college-bound Jewish student from one of the four provinces can apply for up to $5,000 per year in scholarships to attend college in Halifax.27 In 2022, 36 out of 38 applicants were awarded funds.28 Beth Israel and Shaar Shalom jointly run a Hebrew school for children’s religious education. According to Beth Israel’s Rabbi Yakov Kerzner, most of the enrolled students are from Shaar Shalom.29 His Orthodox synagogue has only a few children who attend. The curriculum is jointly administered by both synagogues’ rabbis. The primary goal of the Hebrew school is to prepare students for their Bar and Bat Mitzvahs but also for children to have enough grounding so that they could enter most any Jewish community in the world and feel a sense of confidence and understanding. . . . This includes providing them skills to help prepare them for their Bnai Mitzvah celebration. All students will learn to read and write Hebrew. Students will also have the option to master an elementary-level understanding of the Hebrew language.30

The school serves children in first through seventh grades. According to Rabbi Kerzner, one of the reasons why the Conservative synagogue is responsible for most of the Hebrew school’s enrollment is an imbalance in family demographics between the two synagogues. This led to the formation of the joint Hebrew school in the last 20 years. More families seek out the Conservative synagogue instead of his Orthodox Beth Israel. This imbalance in school enrollment is a symptom of a broader challenge for the Jewish community in Halifax. Rabbi Kerzner’s synagogue has about 90 members; whereas, Shaar Shalom has a similar number of congregants, but with more children. The overall demographics of Rabbi Kerzner’s Orthodox congregation are aging. In about a decade, the average age of its members will be in the 80s. He says that most members believe that the synagogue might be open for just another 10 to 15 years unless younger members join. Weekly turnout for Shabbat services average 20 to 25 including men and women. Yet, in the Orthodox tradition, only men count toward the needed 10 for a minyan, the quorum required to hold a service. Five years ago, weekly attendance was 35. Shaar Shalom’s weekly Shabbat services draw about the

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same number of people, but as a conservative synagogue, they count men and women for the 10-person minyan. Shaar Shalom does not just skew younger in demographics. As already noted, its children are the vast majority of the joint Hebrew School. Several of the parents are interfaith couples, and in some instances, several spouses converted to Judaism through classes taught by Rabbi Gary Karlin, the synagogue’s rabbi. During the Covid-19 pandemic, Shaar Shalom’s membership increased as Conservative and Reform Jews from Toronto moved to Halifax. Despite the two synagogues moving in different directions, Rabbis Kerzner and Karlin are good friends. Karlin often attends Beth Israel’s minyans. Kerzner also has a strong relationship with the local Chabad rabbi. The congregations of both synagogues know that the rabbis have strong working relationships and are personal friends. The friendship between the two men should serve as a symbol of unity for the congregations. Yet, the research for this chapter led to a different conclusion. Several congregants, leading members of their synagogues, expressed negative attitudes toward the other’s congregation despite the friendship of the two rabbis. Several congregants of the Orthodox Beth Israel expressed disdain for the conservative, more liberal synagogue and its welcoming stance toward interfaith marriages and its conversion practices. The new Halifax Jews seek out the conservative congregation. In addition to the two synagogues and its congregants, there is a growing number of Jews who are unaffiliated. Jon Goldberg, the former executive director of the Atlantic Jewish Council and member of Shaare Shalom, led an effort 15 years ago to bring Israelis of Russian and Ukrainian descent to Halifax. In the early 2000s, the goal was simple: help stabilize an aging community by attracting young Jewish families who would join the synagogues and settle into community Jewish life. It did not go as planned.31 Hundreds of Israelis now live in Halifax but are not members of either synagogue. Instead, they formed their own social connections. The idea of seeking out Israelis to move to Halifax was controversial with congregants at both synagogues. Jews are taught from childhood that Israel is the homeland, and once they start living there, they should not leave. Goldberg’s idea was to attract these Israelis who may want new professional opportunities outside Israel. He noted that for years, the Canadian Jewish Federation promoted Toronto, Montreal, and Vancouver as destinations for new immigrants but not Halifax. On a macro-level, this project was a success. There are now more Jewish families in Halifax than at any previous time. In 2022, 50 babies were born in Halifax and across Atlantic Canada to Israeli parents.32 Ninety families settled in Halifax between 2009 and 2014, about 400 Israelis in total.33 Since 2014, after the first wave of immigrants moved to Halifax, other Israelis followed. The newcomers obtained jobs as mechanics,

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engineers, nurses, construction workers, and truck drivers, all high-demand professions in Nova Scotia. The AJC estimates that one Israeli family will move to Halifax per month in the coming years.34 With the support of both synagogues, when this initiative started, the Atlantic Jewish Council partnered with both the Nova Scotia government and the federal immigration authorities to obtain visas for any Israeli who could work in these professions.35 With federal government support, a five-year wait for immigration to Canada was cut to just two years once Israeli families were offered the chance to immigrate.36 According to Goldberg, this project had precedent. From 1996 to 2004, 154 Jewish families from Argentina immigrated to Winnipeg for professional opportunities.37 Similar to Halifax, Winnipeg’s community was aging and declining in numbers. Jon traveled to Israel and met with prospective applicants. He consulted an Israeli immigration agency who, in turn, contacted prospective families who had already enquired about emigrating from Israel. On this trip, he recalled interviewing between 50 and 60 families.38 They had to be young married couples who had the financial assets to settle in Halifax as they looked for employment. At that time, their assets had to be at least $30,000 in Canadian currency.39 Jon noted that a welcome committee greeted each family at the airport and offered advice on temporary accommodations as well as longterm housing. Both synagogues offered a year of free membership to the new arrivals as a means of integrating them into Jewish life.40 Rabbi Kerzner moved to Halifax several years after the first group of Israelis immigrated to Halifax. He said that he was not surprised that most of them did not readily integrate into the community: They thought they would bring them and become part of the community and all the people keep saying they don’t go to the shul, but I and others kept saying they are from Russia and they are from Israel. They don’t have membership in a shul and most of them are secular.41

In Israel, synagogues are financially supported by the government, whereas, in Canada and the United States, this isn’t the case. Often, congregants pay a membership fee that supports the synagogue building, educational activities, and personnel salaries including the rabbi. Canadians and Israelis have different cultural approaches to practicing Judaism. Many Canadian Jews are raised in an environment where the synagogue is the center of their religious and social life. In Israel, as a Jewish country, everyday living reflects Judaism from buying kosher food at most grocery stores to national holidays scheduled on the religious calendar. Most businesses are closed on Shabbat. The synagogue is not the center of life for most secular Israelis. In his six years living in Halifax, Rabbi Kerzner said that Chabad attracted Israelis for some holiday celebrations: “Chabad

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is successful, when they have events, in getting Israelis.”42 He says that is because no membership is needed to join Chabad. One year he remembered a Chabad-sponsored Purim party that drew 150 Israelis.43 Kerzner remarked that the Israeli community organizes its own activities. For example, a karaoke event in 2022 drew 100 Israelis.44 They use Facebook to organize their own social activities. With their children either born in Halifax or arriving with their parents as babies and toddlers, many Israeli families send their children to the Shaar Shalom synagogue just for Hebrew language lessons, but these classes are not affiliated with the Joint Hebrew School. Israeli and Canadian Jewish children do not socialize at the synagogue; they are segregated in their learning.

ANTISEMITISM One of the issues discussed throughout this book is the presence of antisemitism in each of the Jewish populations. In Halifax, Rabbi Kerzner was definitive in his answer: “I personally have no experience with it.”45 He admitted that, decades ago, the older generations may have experienced prejudice, but today it is not visible. At the same time, only a handful of Jews openly wear yarmulkes on the street. Yet there are no stories of street-level prejudice. As Rabbi Kerzner remarked: The experience I have had is people are nice. I went to a church group and spoke, and they were interested and fascinated. They wanted to learn more. I did a menorah lighting at an air force base. . . . They were wonderful. I’ve only had good experiences.46

In interviews for this chapter and in informal conversations, the antisemitism of years past in the 1950s through the 1980s was similar to that across the United States. Membership to local golf courses, country clubs, boating clubs, and other social clubs was restricted. Older Halifax Jews pointed out that, decades ago, there were signs posted at these clubs that stated, “no Jews or dogs allowed.” But that era is over. Carol Lee Loebenberg raised her family Orthodox in the 1970s and 1980s. While her family’s life centered around the Beth Israel synagogue, her son played hockey and her daughters were ice skaters. She was emphatic that her children did not face any discrimination as Orthodox Jews.47 She found hockey teams and ice-skating leagues that did not practice or hold competitions on Shabbat. Her children were not restricted from pursuing the sports they enjoyed. Loebenberg’s synagogue rabbi called the local public schools’ principals each year to remind them the children would be absent on the High Holidays

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of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Carol Lee stated that she was not aware of any prejudice aimed at her children or other Jewish children by schoolteachers and administrators.48 When her family wanted to join the local boating club, many members of the organization had forgotten that Jews were excluded. The leadership quickly changed its membership rules.49 Carol Lee’s approach to living an openly orthodox Jewish life in Halifax was simple: be involved in the wider community, and when there were obstacles presented for the family or her synagogue, she was not shy about pointing them out and seeking solutions.50 As the capital of Novia Scotia and a university town, periodically in Halifax, there are protests against Israel, especially its relationship with the Palestinians. These protests have never been aimed at the synagogues. They are often vocal but never turned openly violent or antisemitic against Judaism. Sadly, in 2020 someone anonymously posted stickers around the city blaming Jews for the Covid-19 pandemic. One Israeli married couple informally interviewed for this chapter indicated that their children have Arab friends, and the husband works with people from the Middle East. They stated that in living in Halifax, they experienced few, if any, tensions with the local Arab community.51

COMMUNITY COMMUNICATIONS Despite the community’s challenges, it has strong internal communications. The Shaar Shalom synagogue publishes an annual bulletin at the High Holidays. Its website contains archival information dating back to the formation of the congregation in 1953. One of the most impressive parts of the synagogue’s communications is its website. Its online presence provides a solid guide for how the synagogue operates. Among this book’s case studies, Shaar Shalom is one of the few synagogues that post its internal policies for all to read, including how to maintain the building’s kosher kitchen, writing social media communications, its code of conduct, and the Covid-19 response plan from the pandemic.52 Similar to other synagogues profiled in this book, Shaar Shalom publishes the name of all committee leaders on its website.53 The synagogue also maintains a Facebook page. On average, it publishes posts about 10 times per month.54 The Beth Israel synagogue is not as active in its external communications. Its website does not contain historic documents or links to other communication messages. Rabbi Kerzner sends out newsletters by email. He records his sermons and sends them to his congregants in a Google group he created and uploads them onto YouTube before Shabbat.55 Yet these are not accessible through the synagogue’s website. During the Covid-19 pandemic, similar to many other rabbis, he began Zooming his adult classes. He decided to continue providing virtual classes in the post-pandemic years because he had more congregants using the virtual medium.56

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The Atlantic Jewish Council is active in its communications. As the organization representing Jewish communities in all four provinces of Canada’s Atlantic region, it is not surprising that it would maintain multiple communication channels. The AJC publishes the Shalom magazine each quarter. It highlights community activities across Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, Newfoundland and Labrador, and New Brunswick. In each issue, leaders from those provinces write updates about their communities’ activities. Shalom also includes columns written by the rabbis living in the four provinces. Specific to Halifax, the magazine includes columns by the AJC administrative staff focusing on social and welfare services, religious activities, and cultural activities in Halifax. For example, in the spring 2022 issue, there was an open call for artist submissions for an exhibit to be held at the Halifax public library.57 AJC’s Hillel director, Ran Ben Shabat, wrote a column about the Jewish activities from the 2021–2022 academic year at Halifax area universities.58 The magazine also began promoting its annual Atlantic Jewish Film Festival held each November and open to the general public.59 The spring 2022 edition included a call encouraging Jewish Atlantic Canada college-age students to apply for $5,000 in scholarship assistance for any Halifax university. In 2022, 36 applicants received scholarships of $4,800.60 In the fall 2002 issue, Edna LeVine, the director of community engagement, wrote a column describing AJC activities within and beyond the Jewish community.61 These included a June 2022 joint screening of a film with the Filipino Cultural Society of Nova Scotia, an October educators Holocaust seminar, and AJC activities associated with Holocaust Education Week.62 Within this issue, 12 out of 16 members of the Halifax Regional Council purchased a joint advertisement announcing its public support for the AJC.63 The city council is composed of elective officials, each representing a specific district of the city. Another effective form of communication occurs each Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah. The AJC mails out Jewish calendars across the four provinces. Each page displays a calendar month highlighting forthcoming AJCsponsored activities and past examples of engagement across the region. These include educational, charitable, and social activities as well as ongoing initiatives across Atlantic Canada to educate and fight antisemitism. FUTURE DIRECTION OF THE COMMUNITY The main challenge for the Jews living in Halifax is not whether there will be a community but what it will look like in coming years, specifically whether an Orthodox synagogue will exist. Rabbi Yakov Kerzner believes that the

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average age of his congregants by 2035 will be at least 80 years old.64 There are few families with young children who belong to his Beth Israel Congregation. Most younger families pay dues to the Conservative Shaar Shalom synagogue or are not affiliated with either congregation. Rabbi Kerzer was blunt when he stated the challenge in maintaining an Orthodox community. The first obstacle is a lack of observant, families.65 Many of his congregants are not Orthodox in their private lives. Even 20, 30, and 40 years ago when Beth Israel had a higher membership, many of its members were not Orthodox in their homes. He tells prospective Orthodox families from other Canadian cities that Halifax does not have a Hebrew day school.66 The intermarriage rate between Jews and non-Jews is more than 50 percent within Halifax. He fields inquiries from local non-Jews who are interested in conversion, but he tells them that they need to seek out the Orthodox communities in Toronto or Montreal for a conversion process. In Judaism, there is not one uniform way to convert into the religion. The Orthodox movement has its specific religious procedures. Rabbi Kerzner stated that there is no Orthodox support system in Halifax.67 This means there are not enough practicing families who can mentor and support potential Orthodox converts. A second and equally important challenge for Beth Israel is a lack of leadership by the younger generation of members, those who are in their 50s. The synagogue has 90 members, and while many are older than 70, there are several who are younger. According to Carol Lee Loebenberg, who has lived in Halifax most of her adult life, this younger generation does not want to take the reins of leadership and chair different synagogue committees.68 Her husband, when he was alive, served as the president of the congregation at different times, and she chaired several committees. She explained that from the 1970s to the 1990s when membership was substantially higher, there was needed ongoing outreach from synagogue leaders to the rest of the congregation for their involvement. Beyond Beth Israel, the future looks brighter for Shaar Shalom, the Conservative synagogue. Its religious practices are more liberal. It has welcomed interfaith couples who choose to raise their children Jewish. Several Jewish spouses converted to Judaism within the Conservative doctrine.69 Since Shaar Shalom has more children enrolled in the joint Hebrew School than Beth Israel, it has more children growing up within the synagogue. If these children live in Halifax as adults and raise families, they may be more likely to belong to Shaar Shalom for decades. The unknown component regarding the future of Halifax’s Jewish community is the Israelis who immigrated there. They are raising their children in Halifax. While most Israeli families are unaffiliated, most will seek Bar and Bat Mitzvahs for their children. Their options are returning to Israel for the

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ceremony, joining one of the two local synagogues, or not having a ceremony. The last choice is highly unlikely. In Israel, Bar and Bat Mitzvahs occur within the secular community. There is the possibility that these unaffiliated Israelis could formalize among themselves and institute their own religious approach to these celebrations. The AJC is forecasting that one Israeli family per month will immigrate to Halifax for the foreseeable future. A consistent increase in Israelis could evolve into a separate formalized Jewish community that more closely resembles the Israeli model of secular Judaism. A third factor for an overall optimistic scenario of Jewish life in Halifax is the engagement by the AJC. Its activities, including the university-based work of its Hillel and its constant sponsoring of annual activities such as the Atlantic Jewish Film Festival will continue bringing Jews from Halifax and the province of Nova Scotia together. The in-person socialization of Jews, especially after the Covid-19 pandemic, may be the most important ingredient to maintaining a Jewish identity in Halifax. Hillel’s engagement with Halifax college students may be key to the community’s longevity. There are approximately 300 Jewish university students who reflect a spectrum of religious observance. In 2021, Hillel director Ran Ben Shabat engaged with 210 of them at least once and about 85 of them six times or more.70 This means a substantial number of them continually attend Jewish activities. As Mark Ward noted, from the functionalist perspective, religious organizations communicate messages to members.71 These messages are often information and instruction based. The AJC’s publications follow these communication patterns. An organization’s members need to be engaged and active for the social structures to continue and endure. The internal organization’s structures are “reproduced by its members.”72 The long-term viability of any organization is heavily dependent on the ability of its members to communicate with one another. This applies to the Beth Israel synagogue. Its viability will be based on its communication infrastructure. As discussed in chapter 1, an important element within organizational communication is creating a social reality for the members’ sense of identity. This functionalist perspective sees the organization as focused on performing activities. The AJC practices communications in the functionalist manner, and to a lesser extent, the Shaar Shalom congregation does as well. While Rabbi Kerzner uses a Google group and YouTube to publish his weekly sermons, posting them on Beth Israel’s website and sharing them with the Halifax Hillel could increase the visibility of his synagogue. The AJC’s Hillel can further strengthen its outreach to university Jewish students. It can encourage both synagogues to reach out directly to the 210 Jewish university students and invite them to Shabbat services. Students are often shy about reaching out to synagogues and may need direct engagement from Hillel director Ran Ben Shabat and both synagogue rabbis. Halifax is

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geographically a small city. For any student without a car, they can walk or take a bus to the synagogues. With a Jewish presence dating back to 1750, Halifax’s Jewish community has played an important role in both local and national Canadian history. From meeting the needs of Canadian servicemen during World War Two to providing homes for Holocaust survivors and assisting grieving Jewish families in the 1998 Swiss Air crash, the community comes together in times of need.73 Its organizational and interpersonal communications were strong during these times. As the Jewish population looks toward the middle of the twenty-first century, it needs to continue having strong communications to engage with its current residents and new arrivals. Both the Shaar Shalom congregation and the Atlantic Jewish Council actively engage with their communities via electronic newsletters, printed publications, and social media. In-person and virtual engagement will be key for this community as prospective Canadian Jews show an interest living in Halifax. Communications directed at the Israeli community must continue despite the engagement challenges in recent years. One possible approach is a community newsletter in Hebrew that highlights the social and religious opportunities for all Jews. More communitywide activities sponsored by both synagogues and Hillel could bring the Israelis into more and consistent contact with Halifax’s Jews. NOTES 1. Baron de Hirsch Congregation: Over 100 Years of Jewish Life in Halifax (Halifax, Canada: Beth Israel Synagogue, 1990), 23. 2. Ibid. 3. Sheva Medjuck, Jews of Atlantic Canada (St. John’s, Canada: Breakwater, 1986), 30. 4. Baron de Hirsch Congregation: Over 100 Years of Jewish Life in Halifax (Halifax, Canada: Beth Israel Synagogue, 1990), 23. 5. Ibid. 6. Sheva Medjuck, Jews of Atlantic Canada (St. John’s, Canada: Breakwater, 1986), 30. 7. Ibid. 8. “The Jews of the Loyalist Diaspora,” United Empire Loyalists’ Association of Canada—St. Lawrence Branch, May 10, 2020, www​.uelac​.org​/st​-lawrence​/the​-jews​ -of​-the​-loyalist​-diaspora/. 9. Ibid. 10. Sheva Medjuck, Jews of Atlantic Canada (St. John’s, Canada: Breakwater, 1986), 30. 11. Ibid. 12. Ibid., 25.

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13. Ibid. 14. Ibid. 15. Ibid. 16. Ibid. 17. Ibid., 26. 18. Ibid. 19. Ibid., 27. 20. Ibid. 21. Ibid. 22. Ibid. 23. Ibid. 24. Ibid. 25. Hillel is the largest Jewish university organization in the world. Many universities have an on-campus or nearby off-campus Hillel that is part of the international organization. Its goal is to engage students from different Jewish backgrounds socially, religiously, and educationally. 26. Sheva Medjuck, in discussion with the author, September 16, 2022. 27. Ibid. 28. Ibid. 29. Rabbi Yakov Kerzner, in discussion with the author, September 15, 2022. 30. Halifax Joint Hebrew School, About Our Program, available at: https://sites​ .google​.com​/site​/hal​ifax​join​theb​rewschool​/about​-our​-program. 31. Jon Goldberg, in discussion with the author, September 16, 2022. 32. Ibid. 33. Philip Moscovitch, “Leaving Israel, Russian Jews find a New Home in Halifax,” Tablet, July 8, 2014, https://www​.tabletmag​.com​/sections​/community​/articles​/ russian​-jews​-in​-halifax. 34. Aviva Rubin Schneider, in discussion with the author, September 16, 2022. 35. Jon Goldberg, in discussion with the author, September 16, 2022. 36. Ibid. 37. Myron Love, “Winnipeg Community Looks to Argentina for New Members,” Canadian Jewish News, January 17, 2020, https://thecjn​.ca​/news​/canada​/winnipeg​ -community​-looks​-to​-argentina​-for​-new​-members/. 38. Jon Goldberg, in discussion with the author, September 16, 2022. 39. Ibid. 40. Ibid. 41. Rabbi Yakov Kerzner, in discussion with the author, September 15, 2022. 42. Ibid. 43. Ibid. 44. Ibid. 45. Ibid. 46. Ibid. 47. Carol Lee Loebenberg, in discussion with the author, September 18, 2022. 48. Ibid. 49. Ibid.

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50. Ibid. 51. The Israeli couple provided this information on background for context in living in Halifax, not in a formal interview. 52. Shaar Shalom Congregation, Policies and Guidelines, https://theshaar​.ca​/policies/. Twenty five policies are listed on the website. 53. Shaar Shalom Congregation, Leadership, https://theshaar​ .ca​ /about/​ #leadership. The members of 11 committees are listed. 54. Shaar Shalom Congregation, social media service, Facebook, 2022, https:// www​.facebook​.com​/Sha​arSh​alom​Cong​regation/. 55. Rabbi Yakov Kerzner, in discussion with the author, September 15, 2022. 56. Ibid. 57. “Call for Submission,” Shalom, Spring 2022, 2. 58. Ran Ben Shabat, “Campus News,” Shalom, Spring 2022, 15. 59. “Atlantic Jewish Film Festival,” Shalom, Spring 2022, 39. 60. Ibid., 4 and Sheva Medjuck, in discussion with the author, September 16, 2022. 61. Edna LeVine, “From the Desk of . . .,” Shalom, Fall 2022, 7. 62. Ibid. 63. “Supported by Halifax Regional Councilors” advertisement, Shalom, Fall 2022, 12. 64. Rabbi Yakov Kerzner, in discussion with the author, September 15, 2022. 65. Ibid. 66. Ibid. 67. Ibid. 68. Carol Lee Loebenberg, in discussion with the author, September 18, 2022. 69. Within the main branches of Judaism—reform, conservative, orthodox and Hasidic—anyone who converts within the conservative movement is not recognized as Jewish by orthodox and Hasidic Jews. Rabbi Kerzner explained that despite his colleague Rabbi Gary Karlin at Shaar Shalom conducting conversion in a traditional, near orthodox manner, he is forbidden by Canada’s orthodox movement to recognize these converts as Jews. 70. Ran Ben Shabat, “Campus News,” Shalom, Spring 2022, 15. 71. Mark Ward Sr., “Organization and Religion: Ontological, Epistemological, and Axiological Foundations for an Emerging Field,” Journal of Communication and Religion, Vol. 38, No. 5 (2015): 5. 72. Ibid., 10. 73. On September 2, 1998, Swiss Air flight 111 crashed in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Nova Scotia. All 229 passengers died including ten percent of the passengers who were Jewish. Grieving families arrived in Halifax to identify the remains of their dead relatives. These included orthodox Jews. The Halifax community provided Kosher meals and homes for accommodation to any grieving relative.

Chapter 3

Guatemala City, Guatemala

The Jewish people here are warm, interested, and involved. They are thirsty for Yiddishkeit. —Rabbi Shalom Pelman

The ratio of Ashkenazi to Sephardic Jews in Guatemala is 60:40. This does not include a smaller but growing number of Jews converting into the religion and others now discovering they are Anusim, descendants of those who escaped the Spanish Inquisition centuries ago. Guatemala, located in northern Central America bordering Mexico to the north and Honduras and El Salvador to the south, is slightly larger than Virginia. It is the model of a small enduring community thriving in a country with a close diplomatic relationship to Israel. Guatemala’s Jewish community has three unique features: peaceful existence since the late 1800s in an overwhelmingly Catholic and evangelical Christian country; a growing community of Jews by choice; and home to a town populated by many Israelis. The community faces the challenge of younger generations not finding Jewish spouses and moving abroad for career opportunities. In past years, intermarriage negatively impacted the community with parents not teaching their children about Judaism.1 Those who remain in Guatemala City are actively trying to build a vibrant community so that it can stay intact and endure.2 Despite the small community of 800 to 1,000 Jews, it is organizationally very strong. It has a board of directors that represents the community and operates a Jewish Community Center and educational institutions. Internally, each synagogue, except Chabad, also has its own administrative structure that includes presidents, vice presidents, treasurers, etc. Even though each synagogue has its own membership and board, one rabbi serves the Ashkenazi and 47

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Sephardic synagogues.3 One rabbi for two synagogues may be unique, but in this context, these two houses of worship in Guatemala City are not competitors, since they reflect two different cultural groups of Jews. Despite worshipping the same holidays, Ashkenazi and Sephardic Jews often worship with different prayer tunes and foods. The rabbi serves the critical organizational communication function discussed in chapter 1 of coordinating celebrations, synagogue activities by communicating with the congregants.4 EARLY HISTORY The first Jewish settlers in Guatemala arrived in the late 1800s from Prussia, specifically from the towns of Empen, Ostrowo, and Pleschen located in modern-day Poland. They did not settle in the capital, Guatemala City, but instead in Quetzaltenango located east of the capital in the southwest region of the country. These first Jews were drawn to Quetzaltenango for the business opportunities in the coffee-growing region.5 Many worked in textile and fabric businesses traveling across the country selling their products.6 While Jews settled across the Guatemala, by the early 1900s, many families relocated to Guatemala City for new professional opportunities. By 1913, they established the Israelite Society of Guatemala. Its goal was to encourage further immigration: provide aid to the needy, collaborate with those Jews who are in transit, provide jobs for those who need it, take care of the sick, and acquire land to be used as a cemetery to bury the coreligionists according to Jewish ritual laws.7

Assisting with Jewish relocation and settlement is still an important goal. Francis Njoku reminds us that fellowship is key to the social nature of any religion.8 The Israelite Society of Guatemala was the first formal organization of the Jewish community in Guatemala City that established an ongoing presence for more than a century and continues today. Its functions were key to stimulating the beginnings of formal Jewish organization. Its organizational success was vital as more Jews immigrated to Guatemala in 1920 from Poland, Russia, Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia.9 Upon arrival, the Israelite Society assisted them with jobs and housing. Many worked as tailors.10 When the Nazis came to power in Germany and the Hitler regime imposed its harsh policies on German Jews, the Guatemala community was able to assist with immigration. They accomplished this despite pre–World War Two laws in the country limiting emigration from Europe as war loomed. In 1942, the new Jewish arrivals from eastern Europe established their own social society, the Hebrew Center Association.11 While the original German Jewish community

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welcomed the eastern European Jews, the newer arrivals had a “desire to have a place where they could express themselves religiously and culturally according to their customs.”12 While German and other Ashkenazi Jews arrived, settled, and established businesses in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, a group of Sephardic Jews fled Turkey for Guatemala as their status became precarious after World War One. In 1923, they established the Sociedad Israelita Maguén David de Guatemala. It was a cultural home for this new community. It also prioritized establishing a Sephardic synagogue and “the building of a Synagogue and the hiring of a Rabbi.”13 This was the first form of organizational communication that defined the Sephardic community. As noted in chapter 1, communication plays an important role in the long-term success of not just a religion but also its specific communities.14 According to the historic documents of the Jewish community, “The Sociedad Israelita Maguén David acted as representative of the Jewish Community of Guatemala before other international Jewish associations.”15 In a short period of time, the Sephardic community organized itself: Starting in 1930, the Sociedad Israelita Maguén David began the construction of the first Synagogue in Guatemala with the financial collaboration of the members of the Society, and the particular contributions of members of the other Jewish societies. Finally, the Maguén David Synagogue was inaugurated on August 11, 1938. At that time the Ladies of Zion committee was created in order to organize socio-cultural and charitable events. In 1942 the first Jewish youth movement in the country, Maccabi, was formed.16

In the 1940s and 1950s, many Jews immigrating to Guatemala were Sephardic. In 2023, the Sociedad Israelita Maguén David celebrated its 100th anniversary, and the synagogue still serves a mainly Sephardic congregation. In the last 40 years, the distinctions between Ashkenazi and Sephardic communities in Guatemala lessened. In 1981, the two groups collaborated and built a Jewish community center now considered a home to the entire community.17 Today there are four synagogues, including a Chabad center, for Reform and Orthodox Jews in Guatemala City. Similar to the Chabad in St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands, Chabad’s goal in Guatemala is to interact with all Jews through education and worship. Beyond Guatemala City, there are two other Chabad centers that focus on Jewish tourists from abroad including Israelis who often visit Pedro and Antigua. Historically, with the exception during the 13-year dictatorship of General Jorge Ubico from 1931 to 1944, Guatemala does not have a history of antisemitism. Ubico, while not a political ally of Nazi Germany, considered himself an admirer of Hitler. He never enforced any antisemitic laws in Guatemala, but he prohibited Polish Jews from immigrating during World War

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Two.18 Ironically, in 1934, he welcomed Jews from Germany who were willing to resettle as farmers, but he prohibited them from opening businesses.19 Since World War Two, relationships between Guatemala’s Jewish and non-Jewish communities often exceeded simple tolerance to include friendship. Successive governments, even the controversial ones who waged civil wars against guerilla movements, were pro-Israel. Guatemala was one of the first countries to recognize Israel in 1948 and later moved its embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem in 2018. Isaac Farchi is one of the most prominent Jewish Guatemalan politicians and businessmen. The former presidential candidate, member of Congress, and dual Israeli and Guatemalan citizen is the Deputy General Coordinator of the country’s national business competitiveness program.20 Guatemalan presidents are often seen celebrating Jewish holidays at the synagogues.21

GUATEMALA AND ISRAEL While this chapter and book are not about Israeli politics, it needs to be noted that Israel had a close relationship with the Guatemalan military. It assisted with training Guatemalan soldiers during the country’s 26-year brutal civil war between 1960 and 1996. Guatemala’s military uses Israeli-made weapons.22 The U.S. government also provided military training during this time.23 Successive Guatemalan governments were accused by non-government organizations of human rights violations including those against the Maya population.24 In 2021, there was an Israeli government investigation by the state prosecutor’s office regarding arms deals between the two countries during the 1980s with possible links suggesting that the weapons could have been used by the government in human rights violations.25 As a close ally, Israel assisted Guatemala in the aftermath of natural disasters. In 2018, Israel sent rescue workers to the country following the Escuintla volcano blast that destroyed many homes. Nearly 13,000 Guatemalans evacuated and many of their homes were destroyed. IsraAid volunteers flew to Guatemala and stayed for 18 months assisting with emergency shelters, health care, and psychological counseling.26 The close relationship between Guatemala and Israel extends into public education. For one week each year, public school children are taught Holocaust education.27 Given the close relationship between the two countries over the decades, it is not surprising that Jewish life has flourished. One of the most interesting aspects of Guatemala’s Jewish community is the town of San Pedro. Four hours east of Guatemala City, this town of 10,000 people sits on Lake Atitlán. Nearly every restaurant has menus in Hebrew, and many business employees speak Hebrew on some level.28 Israeli companies

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and entrepreneurs invested heavily in Guatemala. According to Chabad Rabbi Shalom Pelman (who lives in Guatemala City), Israeli soldiers are drawn to the country’s outdoor activities and the chance to travel far away from home.29 Each year, the San Pedro Chabad rabbi rents out a local soccer field for a Passover Seder. In 2019, 300 Israelis attended the Seder.30 Pelman nearly sounds like a member of the country’s tourist board when he explains why Israelis are attracted to Guatemala: its numerous climate zones, the Pacific and Caribbean Seas, jungles, volcanoes, lakes, and Maya communities.31 Chabad’s Success in Guatemala Rabbi Shalom Pelman arrived in Guatemala City in 1996. He found the local Jews to be “very committed” to the religion and that as a community, there “is no such thing as unaffiliated.”32 One of his main challenges all those years ago was setting up a steady supply of kosher foods for the community: When we came kosher food was very difficult to find and we had to bring everything from abroad. There was no challahs for Shabbat. My wife started making challahs and that grew later on to be a full bakery so people can get kosher challahs. Then we opened a kosher store. Then we brought a shochet a few times a year.33

A shochet is a person specifically trained in slaughtering animals according to Jewish law. Pelman said that with the shochet visiting on a consistent basis, kosher meats and chicken are now available all year. Chabad’s success in Guatemala can be reflected in the annual attendance of its Passover Seders. According to Pelman, with three Chabad locations in the country, each year, they host a 100-person Passover Seder in Guatemala City, 100–150 people in Antigua, and 300 in Pedro Laguna, many of whom are Israeli tourists.34 Pelman states his experience, as a Hasidic rabbi has been overwhelmingly positive.35 He noted that there is some ignorance about Judaism but said that it occurs on rare occasions. Guatemalans “mostly project a love toward Israel and the Jewish religion.”36 Pelman said this is supported by the government’s public celebrations of Hanukkah and Holocaust Remembrance Day, where ceremonies include the country’s presidents.37 As the Chabad rabbi in Guatemala City, Pelman participates in local community projects including school construction, expanding clean water infrastructure, and feeding the hungry. When asked what makes the Guatemalan Jewish community special, he answered that the lack of internal division is remarkable. While there are Sephardic and Ashkenazi synagogues, they often share congregants. Synagogue affiliation is nearly universal among the community. Families seem to all know one another: “It’s small but the fact that it’s small gives you a chance

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to know each one, to know his family and his grandparents and to really be part of his family so to speak and they become part of your family.”38

A GROWING COMMUNITY OF JEWS BY CHOICE A unique feature of the Guatemalan Jewish community is a synagogue with a membership comprised mostly of converted Jews. Adat Israel is home to about 35 members. Under the mentorship of Canadian Rabbi Elyse Goldstein, this congregation is a member of the Reform and Progressive Judaism movements. A group of Guatemalan City residents came together in 2005 and started studying Judaism on their own. A Reform rabbi initially guided them through the conversion process, but it was not recognized by the Reform movement. Rabbi Goldstein stepped in and spent two years beginning in 2011 teaching the community. Her efforts came to fruition in February 2013 when a Bet Din rabbinical court, composed of both Reform and Conservative rabbis, formally completed converting the congregation.39 Goldstein and other volunteer rabbis continue their efforts with the community as it slowly grows and welcomes new members. Two members of the synagogue’s board, husband and wife Alavaro and Jeannette Orantes, grew up Catholic but felt a strong pull towards Judaism once they began studying the religion. Jeannette said she enjoys being part of a larger community in Guatemala City: “The values of Judaism we think are the same in all the [religious] streams. But the way you practice is different, that’s all.”40 They raised their children Jewish, and their daughter studied as a rabbinic student at Hebrew Union College.41 She is now a rabbi with her own congregation. Jeannette noted that while Adat Israel is the smallest of the city’s synagogues, the congregation believes that it is respected by the wider Jewish community.42 As Jews by choice, she and her husband’s extended Catholic families respected their choice of religion. They believe they were called to Judaism by a higher power. Alavaro often dreamt of the Star of David and felt drawn to paint it. Jeanette felt a certain emptiness inside of her before converting: “You have something inside with needs that have to be filled. With Judaism it is a treasure that you have to find.”43 As two of the synagogue’s original congregants, both Alavaro and Jeanette served as the presidents of their synagogue at different times and in other positions, including public relations and executive director. Additionally, she has traveled across Latin America to different Progressive and Reform Jewish conferences introducing her synagogue to other Jewish populations. Regardless of where she travels, for example, to Mexico or Costa Rica, Jews are surprised to learn about her synagogue whose founders sought out Judaism.44

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As a recognized community by both the Reform and Progressive communities, Adat Israel is now able to participate in regional Jewish conferences and organizational memberships. This is the social fellowship that is key to all religions engaging with their core constituencies.45 Rabbi Alyse Goldstein, the full-time rabbi of the City Shul Reform congregation in Toronto, Canada, met the members of Adat Israel nearly by coincidence. In 2011, she was on an education mission to Guatemala City with Access Education Guatemala Children’s Fund, a Canadian charity.46 She found Adat Israel in her own outreach to local synagogues for a place to spend Shabbat.47 She initially contacted the Ashkenazi Orthodox synagogue, Centro Hebreo, but was informed that they did not accept visitors for Shabbat. She then called Adat Israel, which at the time met at a congregant’s home. A bond was immediately formed between them and Rabbi Goldstein. When the congregation told her of their interest in formally converting to Judaism, Rabbi Goldstein implemented a rigorous learning program. She organized their conversion classes, assisted in establishing a youth education program, and urged rabbinical volunteers to travel and teach them the basics of Judaism including leading Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur worship services. Despite her job as a full-time rabbi in Toronto, Rabbi Goldstein was deeply involved with the community’s conversion: They had to take conversion classes which last a year. I found the rabbis who speak Spanish to teach that. I mentored them, answered their questions, and monitored their observances and then I presided over the Bet Din [rabbinical conversion committee].48

New prospective members who are not Jewish but want to convert must meet with Rabbi Goldstein, and she institutes a conversion program for each person. Converting to Judaism is not easy. Reform, Conservative, and Orthodox movements differ in how they interpret proper conversion practices. Any prospective Jew must take classes for at least a year, observe all holidays and rituals, and be active in synagogue life. With the conversion process of Adat Israel, several rabbis from the Reform and Conservative movements assisted Rabbi Goldstein and traveled to Guatemala City. They led Shabbat and High Holiday worship services and taught the conversion classes. On a weekend in 2013, they formally converted with Shabbat prayer services, and a religion test before the three-member Bet Din rabbinical court . The men provided a drop of blood for symbolic circumcision, and everyone immersed their bodies in a mikveh, a purity bath.49 Two married couples chose to remarry under a chuppah (canopy), and the ceremony was conducted according to Jewish religious law.

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In addition to her teaching and mentoring, Rabbi Goldstein assisted with the congregation’s efforts in renaming the synagogue to Adat Israel and worked with them on internal organization. She noted that once Adat Israel joined Reform Judaism, they received assistance and training with how to organize and lead a synagogue.50 The support the Reform movement provided Adat Israel reflects Mark Ward’s research that religion supports a community’s ability to organize providing needed structure and activities.51 In 2016, Rabbi Goldstein played a pivotal role in assisting Adat Israel in receiving its first Torah. Sadly, Temple Anshe Emeth in Pine Bluff, Arkansas, closed its doors due to a shrinking congregation.52 It needed new synagogue homes for its two Torah scrolls. With assistance from both Rabbi Goldstein and the World Union for Progressive Judaism, Temple Anshe Emeth was able to deliver one of its two Torahs to the small Guatemala City congregation.53 What was a sad religious ending for one synagogue turned into a blessing for another. Overall, Rabbi Goldstein believes the congregants of Adat Israel worked hard to establish their role within Judaism and its reform movement. She believes its future is bright: I hope it’s thriving and I hope there’s more people. I hope somehow the young people involved find Jews to marry but I don’t know how that’s going to happen. I hope to one day to make a congregational trip to Israel.54

She noted that the main obstacle to visiting Israel is the cost but is hopeful that the younger generation of Jews can take a Birthright trip to Israel.55 Birthright is a free trip to Israel sponsored by the Israeli government for young Jews who have never visited. While they have not experienced overt antisemitism in Guatemala City, many in this congregation, like other Jews around the world, have encountered ignorance about Judaism at work and in their schools.56 Rabbi Goldstein said that Adat Israel’s members are stubborn in their adherence to their faith: They are very passionate, extremely passionate and committed. They don’t let any racism and Jewish internal politics get in their way of that passion. They have been through a lot trying to be taken seriously as converts as brown Jews, Jews of color, and a lower socio-economic congregation.57

While Adat Israel’s founders Jeannette and Olavaro Orantes’ practice of Judaism differs from Hasidic Rabbi Shalom Pelman’s, both agree that Guatemala is a country accepting of its Jewish communities. According to Jeannette, “Being Jewish in Guatemala is easy because no one is judging you. There is a wide space for all of us.”58 This history of tolerance directly

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contributes to the Jews’ ability to not only practice their religion peacefully but also endure as a minority religion.

NOTES 1. Jeffrey Freedman, “Har Carmel in Guatemala, Rebuilding and Growing a Central American Jewish Community,” Kulanu, https://kulanu​.org​/communities​/guatemala​/har​-carmel​-guatemala​-rebuilding​-growing​-central​-american​-jewish​ -community/. 2. Ibid. 3. Jewish Community Guatemala, Our History, https://www​ .mi​ -kehila​ .com​ / nosotros. 4. Francis O. Njoku, “Philosophy of Communication, Culture, and Mission,” Journal of Communication and Religion, Vol. 40 (2017): 52. 5. Jewish Community Guatemala, History, http://gt​.comunidadjudia​.com​/paginas​ .asp​?id​=2548​&clc​=74. 6. Ibid. 7. Ibid. 8. Francis O. Njoku, “Philosophy of Communication, Culture, and Mission,” Journal of Communication and Religion, Vol. 40 (2017): 56. 9. Ibid. 10. Jeffrey Freedman, “Har Carmel in Guatemala, Rebuilding and Growing a Central American Jewish Community,” Kulanu, https://kulanu​.org​/communities​/guatemala​/har​-carmel​-guatemala​-rebuilding​-growing​-central​-american​-jewish​ -community/. 11. Jewish Community Guatemala, History, http://gt​.comunidadjudia​.com​/paginas​ .asp​?id​=2548​&clc​=74. 12. Ibid. 13. Ibid. 14. Francis O. Njoku, “Philosophy of Communication, Culture, and Mission,” Journal of Communication and Religion, Vol. 40 (2017): 56. 15. Jewish Community Guatemala, History, http://gt​.comunidadjudia​.com​/paginas​ .asp​?id​=2548​&clc​=74. 16. Ibid. 17. Ibid. 18. World Jewish Congress, “Guatemala,” https://www​.worldjewishcongress​.org​/ en​/about​/communities​/GT. 19. The Sentinel, “Guatemala to Admit Jewish Germany Refugees,” July 26, 1934. 20. Sandra Vi, “Isaac Farchi, Former Presidential Candidate, Assumes Coordination of Pronacom,” Republica, March 2, 2020, https://republica​ .gt​ /economia​ /2020​-3​-2​-18​-59​-14​-isaac​-farchi​-excandidato​-presidencial​-asume​-coordinacion​-de​ -pronacom. 21. Facebook, Comunidad Judía de Guatemala, December 2, 2021, https://www​ .facebook​.com​/comunidadjudiagt.

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22. Robert Carle, “A Central American Jerusalem,” Wall Street Journal, November 28, 2019, https://www​.wsj​.com​/articles​/a​-south​-american​-jerusalem​ -11574967187. 23. Rebecca Bodenheimer, “The Guatemalan Civil War: History and Impact,” ThoughtCo., March 21, 2020, https://www​.thoughtco​.com​/guatemalan​-civil​-war​-history​-and​-impact​-4800364. 24. Ibid. 25. Netael Bandel, “Israeli Defense Ministry Delays Giving State Prosecutor Info on Guatemala Arms Sales,” Jerusalem Post, February 17, 2021, https://www​.haaretz​ .com​/israel​-news/​.premium​-israeli​-defense​-ministry​-delays​-giving​-state​-prosecutor​ -info​-on​-guatemala​-arms​-sales​-1​.9544430. 26. Bob Diener, “Guatemala Loves Israel—The Inside Story,” Jerusalem Post, January 4, 2020, https://www​.jpost​.com​/opinion​/guatemala​-loves​-israel​-the​-inside​ -story​-613109. 27. Ibid. 28. Robert Carle, “A Central American Jerusalem,” Wall Street Journal, November 28, 2019, https://www​.wsj​.com​/articles​/a​-south​-american​-jerusalem​ -11574967187. 29. Rabbi Shalom Pelman, in discussion with the author, December 15, 2021. 30. Robert Carle, “A Central American Jerusalem,” Wall Street Journal, Published November 28, 2019, https://www​.wsj​.com​/articles​/a​-south​-american​-jerusalem​-11574967187. 31. Rabbi Shalom Pelman, in discussion with the author, December 15, 2021. 32. Ibid. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid. 35. Ibid. 36. Ibid. 37. Ibid. 38. Ibid. 39. Jeannette Orantes, in discussion with the author, December 15, 2021. 40. Ibid. 41. Ibid. 42. Ibid. 43. Ibid. 44. Ibid. 45. Francis O. Njoku, “Philosophy of Communication, Culture, and Mission,” Journal of Communication and Religion, Vol. 40 (2017): 52. 46. Rabbi Alyse Goldstein, in discussion with the author, January 21, 2022. 47. Ibid. 48. Ibid. 49. The New Jews of Guatemala. Produced by Jeff Cipin and Rabbi Elyse Goldstein. Kulanu, 2019, https://kulanu​.org​/communities​/guatemala​/new​-jews​-of​ -guatemala/ 50. Ibid.

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51. Mark Ward Sr., “Organization and Religion: Ontological, Epistemological, and Axiological Foundations for an Emerging Field,” Journal of Communication and Religion, Vol. 38, No. 5 (2015): 5. 52. Jan Jaben-Eilon, “Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Match My Torah,” Tablet, June 13, 2016. 53. Ibid. 54. Mark Ward Sr., “Organization and Religion: Ontological, Epistemological, and Axiological Foundations for an Emerging Field,” Journal of Communication and Religion, Vol. 38, No. 5 (2015): 5. 55. Ibid. 56. Ibid. 57. Ibid. 58. Jeannette Orantes, in discussion with the author, December 15, 2021.

Chapter 4

San Jose, Costa Rica

I feel Costa Rican. I was born in Costa Rica. I grew up here; I know all the food and the customs. This is my country. —Vilma Reifer

In Costa Rican Spanish, there is a word, polaquear. It means to sell door to door. The first Ashkenazi Jews to arrive in Costa Rica were from Poland, and they earned their living selling goods to businesses and homeowners as peddlers. They were the first to establish a credit system, an early version of the modern-day credit card system of payment.1 Since these Jews were from Poland, they became associated with polaquear. They were called klappers, people who rode from town to town on their horse-drawn carts. Sephardic Jews settled in Costa Rica beginning in 1507 but never established permanent synagogues with ensuing generations becoming Catholic. Four hundred years later, the first Ashkenazi Jews immigrated to Costa Rica in 1926. The arrival fees cost less than other countries in the western hemisphere. Most came from Zelechów and Ostrowiec, Poland. These were shtetls, small towns located one to two hours south of Warsaw. These first immigrants were poor, single men who settled in Cartago, the former capital of Costa Rica, located 45 minutes east of San Jose in the center of the country.2 They lived as Orthodox Jews working hard to establish themselves professionally and saving money to bring their families from Poland to join them.3 Jewish immigration to Costa Rica came in three waves. The first was before World War Two, especially 1926–1939, escaping Polish antisemitism just before the Nazi invasion of Poland. These Jews built the first, permanent synagogue in Costa Rica. The second group of immigrants were those who 59

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survived the Holocaust in Eastern Europe and settled in the late 1940s. The third wave is Latin American Jews now migrating to San Jose. This chapter focuses on how San Jose’s community grew from the first Ashkenazi Jews arriving from Zelechów and Ostrowiec, Poland, before World War Two. What makes the origins of the modern-day Jewish community unique is that, for 13 years, these new settlers moved from Zelechów to Costa Rica instead of the United States, Canada, or the United Kingdom. Immigration laws in those countries restricted migration. Costa Rica had fewer restrictions. These Jews arrived in a rural country with 50,000 people living in San Jose, the capital. No other city had a population of more than 8,000 people. Costa Ricans identified these Jews as Polish. They joined a growing immigrant community of Syrians and Chinese. These Polish Jews continued their 300 years of religious beliefs and customs in Costa Rica. This is the very definition of endurance and survival. They established the Orthodox synagogue which served as the main house of worship for decades. Their direct descendants are both synagogue leaders and established members of the San Jose community. As will be discussed later in this chapter, communication served a vital role in their endurance and success. Today, the Jewish population is between 3,000 and 3,500. San Jose is home to Reform, Conservative, Orthodox, and Chabad synagogues. There is a Jewish day school from kindergarten through twelfth grade, two kosher groceries, and summer day camps. The orthodox Israel Zionist Center of Costa Rica is the largest and oldest synagogue. B’nei Israel is Reform and has existed for more than 30 years and there is a Conservative Masorti synagogue too. Many of its members are expats from other countries as well as Costa Rican Jews including those who married non-Jewish spouses. As in other countries, Chabad provides adult education and children’s activities including camps attended by many families in San Jose. Its goal is to encourage all Jews, especially those who are unaffiliated, to embrace religious practice. Since the first immigrants in 1926, the Costa Rican Jewish community has impacted the overall Costa Rican society notably in politics and government with two vice presidents, a president of the National Legislative Assembly, ambassadors, and elected members of the Legislative Assembly. Samuel Rovinski is a national leading author of numerous plays, novels, and short stories. Before his death in 2013, he served as the CEO of the National Theatre of Costa Rica. Vilma Reifer, whose family will be discussed in detail, is a nationally recognized author and artist. Several other Jews have long-lasting impacts on Costa Rican society. The first Jews may have migrated from Poland, but since the third wave of new arrivals in the 1990s, many immigrated to San Jose from Latin America, including Venezuela, Argentina, Panama, and Peru. Many of these Jews are Sephardic and fully integrated into Costa Rican Jewish life. Several married

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into Ashkenazi families. The Jewish community is diverse, and any distinctions between Ashkenazi and Sephardic traditions are rare, if at all. Franco and Raquel Menasci exemplify this diversity within the community.4 They immigrated from Rome, Italy, to San Jose in 1991. They chose Costa Rica for the weather and its location near the Pacific Ocean. At the time, they did not like the direction of Italian politics and changes in society. They said that living in Rome became stressful. After they moved to San Jose, they opened an Italian restaurant in San Jose. The Menascis raised three children in San Jose and are the only Italian Jewish family in San Jose. They identify as Costa Rican, Italian, and Jewish. After closing their San Jose restaurant, they opened a kosher take-out pizzeria in their house that includes authentic Italian pasta dishes. Their business is certified kosher by synagogue Rabbi Yitzchak Prober of the Orthodox synagogue. Customers call with food orders at all times of the day and night except on Shabbat. Their house has a specially built pizza oven in a designated kitchen used for baking. Most of their customers come from the 3,000 Jews in the city. Marcos Bubis is another example of the Jewish diversity in this community. He was born in Venezuela but abandoned his dream of owning a restaurant when Hugo Chavez was elected president in 1999. Chavez’s election disrupted Venezuela’s economy. In March 2003, Marcos visited Costa Rica with a friend and decided to stay.5 He soon met his wife, Freida. Together, they own the Kosher Center, one of the two businesses that sell kosher meats and other foods. The Kosher Center is also the only kosher restaurant in San Jose. Marcos is a descendant of Romanian Jews who immigrated to Venezuela. His wife Freida is the descendant of Polish, Syrian, and Bulgarian Jews.6 Marcos and Freida reflected the typical, diverse Jewish families in San Jose before they immigrated to Israel in 2023. They still own The Kosher Center. Readers of this book may find the Costa Rican Jewish experience parallels the immigrant experience of American Jews. The first-generation immigrants were poor and scraped together a living. Growing up in Yiddish- and Spanish-speaking homes, their children were the first college-educated generation fully integrated into society. The grandchildren only know the immigration experience as stories told to them but do not have that firsthand experience. These grandchildren and their own young children know of the escape from Poland through stories, photos, visits to the synagogue’s museum, and food recipes handed down to them, L’Dor V’Dor generation to generation. JEWISH TRAGEDY IN TWO POLISH SHTETLS Located one hour southeast of Warsaw, Jews first settled in Zelechów in the seventeenth century with permission of the Catholic feudal landowners.7

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Non-Jewish farmers worked with Jewish business owners to sell their fruits and vegetables. At this time, 1,500 Jews lived in Zelechów, comprising the majority of the population.8 The population grew to 5,000 Jews with 2,200 non-Jews by the end of the nineteenth century.9 At this point, the Jews worked as craftsmen, builders, tailors, and grocers. World War One brought refugees from other parts of Poland and German occupations. Local authorities started accusing some Jews of spying for Germany.10 In 1920, during the Polish Russian war, the Bolshevik army occupied the city. After the Polish military defeated the Russian army, the economic situation for the Jews deteriorated. Antisemitism increased after the war with a boycott of many Jewish-owned businesses. The Jewish history and story in Ostrowiec are similar to those of Zelechów. Located two and a half hours south of Warsaw, Jews first settled in Ostrowiec in the early seventeenth century. From 1765 to 1925, a 160-year history, the Jewish population grew tenfold from 900 to 9,000. They worked in construction and cement factories and owned restaurants and taverns. In 1904–1905, they suffered from antisemitic riots but also fought alongside Poles against the Russians. By 1925, the city and its surrounding smaller towns had four large synagogues and dozens of smaller ones. When the Nazis invaded Ostrowiec and Zelechów in September 1939, the Jews ultimately suffered the same fate in both cities. As antisemitic laws were imposed on the two cities, the Jews lived in ghettos, had their property confiscated, and eventually sent to concentration camps. The Nazis forced them to wear the yellow star badge and work in forced labor camps. Prior to World War Two with the rise of the Nazis, some Jewish families started looking elsewhere for a safer life. Many immigrated to France. The others migrated to Costa Rica arriving by boat in Límon on the east coast. Having lived in the countryside of Poland in harsh winters, these Jews adapted to the tropical, hot rural life in Costa Rica. Working as peddlers, they rode around the country on horseback and ox carts selling household goods. They disrupted the more traditional brick-and-mortar businesses by working as traveling salesmen extending financial credit to customers. These first immigrants were able to save the needed money to bring other relatives, including siblings, wives, and girlfriends to Costa Rica. Once financially secure, many opened brick and mortar businesses selling household goods or groceries. It was common for husbands and wives to jointly run the businesses. Many of these first Jews did not live in San Jose but in the nearby towns of Cartago or Alajuela that are today suburbs of the capital. As the Zelechów and Ostrowiec Jews in Costa Rica built their lives, their relatives and neighbors who remained in Poland were literally dying. As businesses were established in Costa Rica, the Nazis confiscated those in Zelechów and Ostrowiec. Unlike their Polish relatives, Costa Rican Jews had

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freedom to worship. At the end of the war, only 50 Jews from Zelechów and 200 from Ostrowiec survived.11 Yet, ironically in Costa Rica, Jewish lives flourished. They married, had children, and opened businesses. Vilma Reifer, whose parents immigrated to San Jose from Poland, said that during World War Two, news from around the world traveled slowly to Costa Rica.12 As the tragic events unfolded in Poland, the Jews in Costa Rican were not immediately aware of the Holocaust and the danger to their families’ lives. They only found in later years after the war. UNIQUE QUALITY OF SAN JOSE JEWS According to historian Ricardo Pérez, the Costa Rican Jewish community is tight-knit. It carries on the religious traditions begun by the first immigrants from the 1920s who built a religious home for worship, educating their children as well as meeting the social and welfare needs of its members.13 These strong community resources aided the future arrivals from both Poland and Eastern Europe in ensuing years, especially those who survived the Holocaust.14 A strong family structure is inherently linked with forming strong bonds in the community. Immigrants from the same country often seek out each other for comfort and affiliation. Marriages took place among these families. Pérez noted that despite their status as immigrants, there was always a strong support for Zionism and equally strong support for Israel after it was created in 1948.15 This commitment is literally a part of the Orthodox synagogue’s name: Israelite Zionist Center of Costa Rica. Pérez said that, from its early years, the community had two goals: support for one another as Jews and for Israel.16 The Orthodox synagogue served as a magnet for both.17 In this capacity, the Israelite Center fulfills multiple purposes: supporting Zionism, religious practice, study of Hebrew, and teaching of customs and traditions.18 The roles of the Israelite Center, the Reform synagogue, Chabad, Jewish day school, and summer camps all reflect the theoretical foundations of this book. Religion and community go hand and hand. In the Jewish tradition, passing the religion’s teachings from one generation to the next is vital. It reflects shared group history and collective identity by using symbols as forms of communication within this context.19 One Family’s Story: Vilma Faingezicht Reifer In 1929, Abraham Faingezicht immigrated from Zelechów with little money and few clothes.20 Seven years later, his brother Moises followed. They escaped antisemitism in Poland looking for a better opportunity. They did not

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speak Spanish, only Yiddish. They left behind parents, siblings, and cousins. They chose to immigrate to Costa Rica because they could afford the arrival port fees.21 They worked as peddlers, the klappers. They traveled across the country selling housewares out of a suitcase.22 Their customers often bought on credit, and the brothers visited their customers each week to collect small payments.23 Typical of these new immigrants, Moises and Abraham saved their earnings to bring their girlfriends from Poland and married them once they arrived.24 In the twenty-first century, we communicate by telephone, email, texts, and social media. But 100 years ago, Moises and Abraham had to write a letter, put money in the envelope, and entrust the contents to boat captains and train conductors and hope the letters and money safely traveled its way across the Atlantic Ocean and through Europe. Perhaps two or three months later, they considered themselves lucky if their girlfriends received the letters and monies from Moises and Abraham. Corresponding back and forth could take months, even up to a year. For their girlfriends to secure their passports, visas, train, and boat tickets and arrive in rural Costa Rica to find Moises and Abraham was nearly a miracle. Yet this experience was not unique. A typical journey from Poland to Costa Rica included train travel to Germany, Belgium, and France, and then boat passage with stops to Trinidad, Venezuela, and Panama. From Panama, they finally arrived in Límon on the eastern, Caribbean side of the country. Then they still had to journey toward Cartago or hope Moises and Abraham could meet them in Límon at the port. Each male immigrant from Zelechów worked hard and saved money for their brothers, wives, and children to immigrate. Eventually, as their financial situations stabilized, they moved on from peddling and opened their own merchandise stores. These first immigrants were able to assist the next generation of relatives who immigrated in opening their own businesses. Moises and Abraham helped their brother, Simon, not only to immigrate but also to establish a business selling household items.25 These newcomers to Costa Rica remained peddlers only as long as financially necessary. While Vilma’s uncles reflect the typical Polish Jewish experience in the 1930s, sadly her parents, Simon and Ester, also reflect the experience of Holocaust survivors who migrated to Costa Rica in the second wave of immigration after 1945. They arrived in 1946. Her parents were the only members of their immediate families in Poland to survive the death camps.26 Vilma’s grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins perished. Simon and Ester escaped the fate of nearly all the Jews from Zelechów. As difficult as it was for her uncles Mosies and Abraham to immigrate from Poland before World War Two, we can never know the emotional pain they felt losing nearly their entire family except their brother Simon. This family of Jewish immigrants literally rebuilt their lives in Costa Rica. That fateful decision in 1929 to move to a

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tropical, hot rural climate was a brave one and eventually saved a few lives and rescued the family lineage. There was no way for them to know how their new lives in a foreign land would turn out. For any immigrant to make this fateful decision reflects how difficult life was in their region of Poland. Born in 1947, Vilma is one of three sisters. She grew up in both Jewish and non-Jewish worlds. Her parents were among the founding members of the Orthodox synagogue, Israel Zionist Center of Costa Rica. She received her education in public schools including an all-girls high school.27 Vilma said she and her sisters grew up with both Jewish and Catholic friends.28 Costa Rica was and still is a majority Catholic country. Vilma is a nationally known painter and author. Her sisters became active in politics and served in different governments as ministers, ambassadors and members of the National Assembly.29 Vilma’s first husband was born in San Jose and served as synagogue president. His family immigrated to San Jose from Zelechów. Her late, second husband was Jewish and born in Ostrowiec. She raised three children who chose to remain in San Jose. Vilma’s childhood life was filled with her parents’ stories of life in Zelechów, including cooking family recipes: “The Jewish people lived in Poland for more than 1,000 years. The food is important. In my parents’ house they used to make all the Jewish celebrations.”30 While not Orthodox in their home, her parents maintained all the culinary Jewish traditions from Poland: Every celebration there are different foods. The traditions and the foods were very important in my house. For Purim, Shavuot, Pesach, in every celebration we have different foods, Jewish foods. The Kreplach was very good in my house.31

Kreplach are dumplings filled with meats and mashed potatoes, a common Jewish delicacy from Eastern Europe. Vilma and her first husband visited Poland a few times including Zelechów. Yet she could never convince her parents to travel with them. She said that they simply could not psychologically travel back to the town and its surrounding woods where they were nearly killed: “They survived for two years hiding in over 15 places.”32 Vilma said driving into the city where her parents were born was a special and personal experience: “The first time I went to Zelechów, I said, ‘It’s true, Zelechów exists.’ To walk and stand in the place that my family came and then I felt that my past exists. For me that was very important.”33 Despite her upbringing in an immigrant home, Vilma identifies as Costa Rican: Even if I feel a lot of love to Israel, and I studied history for two years in Jerusalem, I feel Costa Rican. I was born in Costa Rica. I grew up here, I know all the food and the customs. This is my country.34

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Growing up in San Jose in the 1950s, Vilma said she experienced very little antisemitism. She attended public school, and many of her friends were Catholic.35 The only prejudice she was aware of came from her high-school teachers. But she said this was based on ignorance about the Jewish religion rather than outright bigotry.36 As an adult, she leads a life as an artist and author. She wrote a book, Tales of the Jewish Girl, based on her life about a fictional Jewish girl growing up in a Catholic country. This book is widely read in public high schools across Costa Rica. Vilma is a frequent guest speaker in Costa Rican schools. ANTISEMITISM IN COSTA RICA The life stories of Vilma Reifer’s parents and uncles are not only remarkable because they immigrated to rural, tropical Costa Rica and escaped destruction and murder in Poland, but they also reflect the lengths that people will go to find peaceful existence. While Costa Rica delivered that promise, it was not without antisemitic challenges. Open prejudice against the Jews occurred in the 1930s and during World War Two. The antisemitism was written and verbal without violent incidents. Many business owners opposed peddling and its system of payments. The national Chamber of Commerce published editorials attacking both peddling as a business venture and the Jewish religion. They accused the Jews of disrupting traditional business profits. Some Catholic newspapers ran bigoted editorials. While the government of President Ricardo Jiménez openly encouraged the immigration of Polish Jews from 1932 to 1936, his successor León Cortéz did not.37 Under Cortez, the antisemitic accusations increased. Merchants who owned brick-and-mortar businesses did not like the peddling trade and requested the government conduct investigations into any laws allegedly broken by the Jewish peddlers.38 Between 1936 and 1940, the Cortéz government restricted immigration from Poland by increasing the entry fees.39 The government openly banned Polish immigrants along with Syrians, Armenians, and Chinese.40 The Polish government protested and Costa Rican authorities acceded to its demand that restrictions on immigration only be focused on Polish Jews not Catholics.41 The Cortéz government followed up with a ban on all European Jews. At one point, according to community leader David Weisleder Budszinski, Jews were put in a line in the park where the presidential house was; there was an office there, and we had to go with front and side view photographs, even of the babies; they took our fingerprints, they interrogated and searched us.42

The Cortéz government literally counted and tracked the Jews.

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Budszinski also noted that across San Jose, it was common to see public signs attacking Jews, including “Death to Poles” and “Death to Jews.”43 The terms Poles and Jews were used interchangeably, but everyone knew the prejudice was aimed at the Jews. The San Jose Chamber of Commerce was often the source of information for the articles written in the local press.44 Despite peddling as a profit-making business, ironically the Chamber of Commerce accused these Jews as communists and even Soviet spies.45 This added to the suspicions the Cortéz government had about these new immigrants. During this time, there were growing calls for mass deportations.46 The young community responded to the accusations by the Chamber of Commerce and other business leaders. In the October 27, 1933, edition of the La Tribuna newspaper, the Action Committee of the Polish Colony wrote: We have come to Costa Rica simply to work, to fight, to promote what is within our reach in the worthy branches of human effort: Commerce, Industry and Agriculture. In our Colony there are not only merchants as has tendentiously been said. There are those with farms, with factories, with shoe stores, with cabinetmakers, with diverse industries . . . it shows supreme ignorance to say that because we are Poles we must be bad people. What we are interested in stating, very clearly, is that our race is made up of good, hard-working and healthy people.47

They reminded the public that they were not just peddlers but also business owners who employed more than 1,000 non-Jewish Costa Ricans.48 Despite this article, antisemitic writings continued to appear in the press. Four days later, the Anti-Invasionist Committee responded to the La Tribuna article with one published in La Prensa Libre newspaper that said these Polish Jews were distinct from Ashkenazi and Sephardic Jews and were a low class within the religion.49 They argued that many of the Jews arrived illegally despite any lack of evidence to support this claim. The written attacks had an effect. By 1936, the government prevented more Polish Jews from immigrating to Costa Rica.50 One prominent member of the Jewish community, Enrique Yankelewitz, asked President Cortéz to intervene and stop the antisemitic publications. The president refused citing freedom of the press. Former President Jiménez publicly defended the community.51 He said the antisemitism was really about using the community as a scapegoat in order to reduce business competition.52 His words had no effect on the government’s position. In September 1939, Jewish tourists were ordered to leave the country. The government suspected them of using tourism visas to escape Europe and attempting to resettle and earn a living in the rural countryside.53 The Cortéz and successive Guardia governments simply stopped issuing visas to European Jews during World War Two often with the official excuse that only “Aryans” would

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be admitted.54 In 1939, well-known engineer Fabio Benavides published an article in La Prense Libre newspaper telling Costa Ricans that prejudice against the Jews contradicted Jesus’s teachings of loving one’s neighbors.55 He advocated asylum for Europe’s Jews. In the mid-1940s, the verbal antisemitic assaults continued especially after Holocaust survivors immigrated to Costa Rica from Poland, Ukraine, Russia, Austria, Romania, and Hungary.56 A political earthquake occurred in 1948 that had long-term positive effects for the Jews. Between March 12 and April 24, 1948, the country experienced a brief civil war. The political party of President Rafael Ángel Calderón Guardia refused to acknowledge its defeat by candidate Otilio Ulate. The government’s chosen candidate was Teodoro Picado. Guardia’s increasingly authoritarian government accused Ulate of voter fraud. Businessman José Figueres Ferrer living in the south of the country organized armed resistance and defeated the Costa Rican army and its allies, the communists. Picardo and President Guardia fled the country. Ferrer and his allies proposed a new constitution written by an assembly. As the president of Costa Rica, Ferrer’s government openly supported the Jewish community and the antisemitic verbal attacks disappeared. During his successive administrations, business leaders finally began welcoming Jewish business owners into different professional fields, civic clubs, and organizations.57 Open antisemitism is in the past. Marcos Bubis, an immigrant from Venezuela, who owns the Kosher Store with his wife Freida, is openly orthodox wearing a yarmulke and tzitzit, the ritual-fringed undergarment shirt. While living in San Jose, he said he was often greeted with “Shabbat Shalom” by strangers when he walked to synagogue.58 Rabbi Yitzchak Prober echoed those sentiments. He said any anti-Jewish statements he hears are born out of ignorance and not a dislike of the Jewish people.59

LARGEST SYNAGOGUE IN CENTRAL AMERICA The Israel Zionist Center of Costa Rica is the largest synagogue in both Costa Rica and Central America. Its congregants remember their humble roots started by poor immigrants. Barely visible from one of San Jose’s busiest avenues, there is a lot of security patrolling the property. The multi-acre Israel Zionest Center houses a kosher café, small kosher grocery, history museum, senior citizen activity center, three mikvehs (ritual cleansing baths), and a large sanctuary for more than 1,000 members. These parts of the Center surround a large, grass courtyard with a view of the mountains located just outside the city. The current location of the Israel Zionist Center is the synagogue’s fourth home in San Jose. As the community grew, there were continuous needs

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for larger facilities. Prior to the 1950s, the Jews met in rented spaces for Shabbat and other holiday observances. They purchased the first property in 1953 for a school and sanctuary.60 It was called Shaarei Tzion. In 1964, the property was demolished and rebuilt to make way for more space including social and administrative activities.61 The current home for the Israel Zionist Center began in 1999 with a fundraising campaign and an international competition for architectural designs.62 The winner was Susan Merenfeld de Weisleder from Venezuela. The new complex opened in 2004. When viewed from above, the external design of the buildings on the property takes the shape of a seven-branched menorah. The main sanctuary has nine outside columns mirroring a Hanukkah menorah. From the sky, the shapes of the building resemble hands holding the property together. Even the courtyard is symbolic. It has six stone paths across the grass symbolizing the branches of a menorah.

INTERNAL COMMUNICATION AND ORGANIZATIONAL STRUCTURE As demonstrated in this book, many Jewish communities’ endurance and strength often lie within their ability to communicate with its members. The Israel Zionist Center’s complex is filled with literal and symbolic communication. As with most synagogues, symbols and artifacts are everywhere. It houses the only Jewish museum in Costa Rica that tells the story of the community’s humble beginnings in Poland. The museum hosts students from public schools so they can learn about Costa Rica’s Jews. On display are the first religious items from the first Orthodox synagogue in San Jose, including a Torah scroll and shofar, a ram’s horn music instrument. The artifacts housed at the museum are also those symbols that communicate the Jews’ past including religious items they brought with them from Poland. They were donated by families including Vilma Reifer, one of the museum’s founders. As the largest synagogue in San Jose, the Israel Zionist Center of Costa Rica effectively communicates with its members. It utilizes Facebook, multiple newsletters, and a magazine. Hayom is the monthly magazine with articles that profile notable Costa Rican Jews. Many of the magazine’s articles reflect how the Jews are a part of the wider San Jose community. What is notable about Hayom is that it does not forget its Jewish roots. Four of the six 2019 editions of the magazine published articles telling stories about the first Jews who arrived from Zelechów. For example, the September–October 2019 edition profiled the first eight Jews who immigrated to Costa Rica from Zelechów.63 In the next November–December 2019 edition, there was a short news brief noting how the community said Kaddish prayers for the Holocaust

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victims from Zelechów.64 Kaddish prayers are recited for the deceased. It’s notable that the synagogue’s Jews recite these prayers for Zelechów Holocaust victims. It shows the community has not forgotten its roots. In addition to the written communications published by the Israel Zionist Center and its museum, the organizational structure of the synagogue is similar to those described in other chapters of this book. Rabbi Yitzchak Prober is the religious leader. As with other synagogues, the board of directors includes a president, vice president, secretary, and treasurer. There are also specific leaders dedicated to communication, culture, education, and youth activities. The Israel Zionist Center and its members are strong representations of both the functionalist and interpretative approach to communication. The ability to consciously remember a population’s origins, as San Jose’s Jews do, reflects the interpretive nature of communication. The synagogue’s museum’s aim is to teach and remind both Jews and non-Jews about the community’s first immigrants and why they immigrated to Costa Rica. The synagogue’s organizational structure and its Hayom magazine are functional communication. The congregation is actively engaged in synagogue activities. Combined, the synagogue’s overall internal communication with its members is strong.

A THRIVING MINORITY For a population ranging from 3,000 to 3,500, the Jews have contributed a lot to Costa Rica in the last 100 years. As a small minority within a country of five million people, they have not only endured but also thrived. Costa Rica, similar to Guatemala, is not a country where one naturally thinks about a Jewish population. But the reality is that the Jewish experience in the last 100 years is similar to that of the United States. Immigrants arrived in order to escape antisemitism, and they built a new life. Yet, unlike the United States, the first modern Jews in Costa Rica were mainly from two Polish towns. They formed the foundation of the community that attracted other Jews from Eastern Europe and eventually around the world. In the twenty-first century, there are enough Jews living in San Jose to support Reform, Orthodox, Conservative, and Chabad congregations. As a tourist haven, Costa Rica also attracts American Jews and Israelis. Jaco Beach on the Pacific Coast has a large number of Israeli permanent residents and seasonal visitors to support a kosher hotel with a small synagogue. The future is bright for the Costa Rican community with one caveat. Most of the Jews belong to the Israel Zionist Center of Costa Rica, the Orthodox synagogue. There is little affiliation among the four congregations.

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As in any community, rivalries can start among the synagogues that can harm Jewish unity, especially when they form a very small community. The Jews have done a wonderful job integrating Ashkenazi and Sephardic families. These four congregations should strive to find common ground, especially in an increasingly hostile, antisemitic world. While there is little bigotry by nonJewish Costa Ricans, a strong and united community can be a strong antidote to any future, emerging prejudice. The roots of this community stem from fleeing persecution for a safer life. The founders were brave to leave Poland and settle in a country foreign to everything they knew: the language, culture, food, and climate. As Latin Americans, Costa Rican Jews continue traditions started not just from two towns in Poland but also from across Eastern Europe. It has welcomed Jews from around the world. Its legacy can be strong with a united community that shows all Costa Ricans that it is enduring, thriving, and vibrant.

NOTES 1. Bryan Acuña, in discussion with the author, March 7, 2022. 2. Susana Weisleder, Israeli Zionist Center of Costa Rica (Venezuela: Oscar Todtmann Editores, 2018). 3. Ibid. 4. Raquel Menasci, in interview with author, March 8, 2022. 5. Marcos Bubis, in interview with author, March 7, 2022. 6. Freida Bubis, in interview with author, March 7, 2022. 7. Peter Reich, “The Jewish Community of Zelechow Poland,” ANU Museum of the Jewish People, http://www​.anumuseum​.org​.il. 8. Ibid. 9. Ibid. 10. Ibid. 11. Ibid. and Brief History of Ostrowiec, Jews of Ostrowiec History Project, http:// www​.jewsofostrowiec​.com. 12. Vilma Reifer, in interview with author, March 8, 2021. 13. Ricardo Antonio Pérez Navarro, “The Jewish Community and Judaism in Costa Rica, From the Second World War to the Formation of the State of Israel: Intersection, Discourses and Representatives (1939-1948),” Master’s Thesis, University of Costa Rica, 2019, 32. 14. Ibid., 35. 15. Ibid., 46. 16. Ibid. 17. Ibid., 47. 18. Ibid. 19. Ibid., 38. 20. Vilma Reifer, in interview with author, March 8, 2021.

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21. Ibid. 22. Ibid. 23. Ibid. 24. Ibid. 25. Ibid. 26. Ibid. 27. Ibid. 28. Ibid. 29. Ibid. 30. Ibid. 31. Ibid. 32. Ibid. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid. 35. Ibid. 36. Ibid. 37. Susana Weisleder, Israeli Zionist Center of Costa Rica (Venezuela: Oscar Todtmann Editores, 2018), 23. 38. Ibid. 39. Ibid., 24. 40. Ibid. 41. Ibid. 42. Ibid. 43. Ibid. 44. Ronald Soto-Quirós, “Polish Jews and Xenophobia in Costa Rica: 1929-1941,” Revista del Cesta, No. 4 (2002): 174. 45. Ibid. 46. Ibid., 176. 47. The Action Committee of the Polish Colony, “Paid Field,” La Tribuna XIII, No. 3900 (October 27, 1933): 5. 48. Ibid. 49. Anti-Invasionist League, “Paid Field: Before the Invasion of False Poles,” La Prensa Libre, Vol. XXXI, No. 9886 (October 31, 1933): 8. 50. Ronald Soto-Quirós, “Polish Jews and Xenophobia in Costa Rica: 1929-1941,” Revista del Cesta, No. 4 (2002): 1, 182. 51. Ibid., 184. 52. Ibid. 53. Ibid., 185. 54. Ibid. 55. Fabio Benavides, “El Éxodo Judio,” La Prensa Libre, Vol. XX, No. 5908 (October 6, 1939): 4. 56. Susana Weisleder, Israeli Zionist Center of Costa Rica (Venezuela: Oscar Todtmann Editores, 2018), 25. 57. Ibid. 58. Marcos Bubi, in interview with author, March 7, 2022.

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59. Rabbi Yitzchak Prober, in interview with author, March 7, 2022. 60. Ibid., 27. 61. Ibid. 62. Ibid., 28. 63. Hayom, September–October 2019, Edition 249, Israel Zionist Center of Costa Rica. 64. Hayom, November–December 2019, Edition 250, Israel Zionist Center of Costa Rica.

Chapter 5

Sefwi Wiawso, Ghana

What I want the world to know about us is the Sefwi community is real. They have to look at us as brothers and sisters. If they have any helping hands to give us, please! There is nothing preventing them from coming to visit us here. They can come over anytime and help. Then we can learn from each other. —Samuel Tetteh

As this book demonstrates, Jews endure in locations one might not think there would be a population. As extraordinary as the stories of St. Thomas’s and San Jose Costa Rica’s Jews are, a similar captivating community of Jews lives in the Sefwi Wiawso region of Ghana, specifically in the village of New Adiembra. This is a small village located in western Ghana three hours east of Côte d’ Ivoire (Ivory Coast) and eight hours west of Accra, the capital. The Jews of Sefwi Wiawso, also called the House of Israel, learned their religious history by oral tradition. Local tribal chiefs tell the story of the Sefwi community who practiced many tenets of Judaism for the past 300 to 400 years.1 The community speaks Bia, a language of the Akan people in Ghana.2 The Sefwi believe that they followed Jewish rituals for centuries. This includes matrilineal descent of Jewish lineage.3 According to local chiefs, the Jewish commandments of observing the Sabbath, male circumcision, following kosher dietary laws, hand washing before meals, and female purity laws were passed down for generations. The female purity laws include immersion in a mikveh, a ritual bath to cleanse the female body at the end of the menstrual cycle, niddah. The mikveh water is naturally collected. In Sefwi Wiawso, women use the nearby Sobre River. Of all these religious commandments, according to their oral history, the Sefwi adhered most to the Shabbat.4 As farmers, over the centuries, they did not cultivate the land on the Sabbath. 75

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The community also holds an annual yam festival, a celebration of the first harvest. Judaism also celebrates first harvests of farmers during Shavuot, an ancient ritual when the first fruits of the vine were brought to the ancient Temple to honor God.5 Families gathered together annually to tell the story of Passover liberation from Egypt. They spoke of Moses leading the “fore parents to redemption and freedom.”6 There are other parallels to Jewish practice. They believe that prayer to God should occur within a small group (similar to the ten-person minyan) and observance of the new moon, comparable to the monthly Rosh Chodesh celebration of the first day of the Jewish month marked by the birth of a new moon. Their specific practices of mourning the newly deceased are similar to how Jews conduct shivah during the first week after a relative’s death.7 Prior to the arrival of Christian missionaries in the 1950s, these practices were wide spread among the Sefwi. Tribal chiefs speak of stories where missionaries dissuaded communities from observing all these practices, since they originated in the Old Testament and were linked to Judaism. Many Sefwi Jews stubbornly clung to these traditions despite the missionaries’ efforts to change their religious and cultural practices.

ORIGINS OF THE SEFWI While the Sefwi, through oral tradition, have community memory of the past few centuries, there is no common agreement about where they originated from.8 There are five possibilities. The first is that they are the descendants of Jews from North African countries, such as Libya, Egypt, and Tunisia who, over the centuries, migrated southwest to Ghana. The second possibility is that they are descendants of Ancient Israel who migrated west from the Holy Land thousands of years ago. Another hypothesis is that hidden Portuguese Jews escaping the Inquisition taught local Ghana businessmen Jewish religious customs when Portugal had colonies in West Africa in the 1500s. This included the region of Ghana where the Sefwi live. The fourth possibility is that they are descendants of Sephardic Moroccan Jews involved in the trans-Saharan trade over a period of several hundred years and established communities in Mali and Gambia before arriving in Ghana.9 This hypothesis is plausible because there was a well-known Jewish presence in Mali dating back to the 1400s.10 New Adiembra is about 800 miles south of Mali. The final theory is that Saharan Jews fled the Almoravid wars in the ninth century as the Arabs swept south into Ghana from northern Africa.11 The last two theories spotlight a common belief that they arrived in Ghana from Mali as a result of war. As Jews migrated southwest in Africa, it is possible that locals converted to Judaism centuries ago.12

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Regardless of their actual origins, there is an oddity in that they are a community who practiced pre-rabbinic Judaism but did not know the words Jew or Judaism. In believing they are Jews, the Sefwi are not preoccupied with their ancient history and how they migrated to Ghana. Despite no knowledge of the words Jew or Judaism, several members of the community claim that they grew up hearing stories about Jerusalem and a love for Israel by their parents and grandparents.13 Israel and Jerusalem were interpreted as mythical places.14 The community was surprised to learn about Jewish origins once they connected with organizations outside Ghana. Jewish Practices in a Village In 1957 when Ghana achieved independence from the United Kingdom, Christian missionaries came to the western region. Many of the Sefwi started practicing Christianity and abandoned their Jewish practices.15 For 18 years after independence, a small group of self-identifying Jews quietly continued their faith. In 1975, Aaron Ahotre Toakyirafa had a vision that God told him he was Jewish. He founded the House of Israel Congregation in Sefwi Wiawso. Three years later, the community contacted the United Israel World Union. Visitors from this organization acknowledged and affirmed the community’s Jewish character. Other contacts followed in the 1990s including an important partnership with Kulanu, a Jewish organization that supports emerging and re-emerging Jewish communities around the world. In 1996, a synagogue in Des Moines, Iowa, sent a congregant to meet the community. Upon returning from the trip, the synagogue mailed prayerbooks and yarmulkes to the congregation. According to Harriet Bogard, the president of Kulanu, representatives from nearly all branches of Judaism have visited the Sefwi and spent time teaching them modern Jewish practices and beliefs.16 All visitors were impressed with their religious observance.17 Aaron Toakyirafa also believed that the community’s location in Sefwi may reflect a geographic area of safety based on fleeing persecution hundreds of years ago.18 Today the community numbers about 200 members. Nearly all the families are farmers with a few who work for the government. They all live within 20 miles of the synagogue. It is a Jewish community recognized by the Ghanaian government.19 Each week families from nearby farms walk or ride the bus to the one room synagogue. Others who live further away plan their Shabbat travels ahead of time, since most do not own cars. Over the years, synagogues and other organizations donated prayer books, talit (prayer shawls), yarmulkes, and a small Torah. There is no rabbi, but the community has a hazzan, a singer to lead the prayers. Each hazzan is trained by the previous one. Services emulate the Conservative Jewish movement’s worship style and traditions.

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Converting to Judaism Several years ago, Alex Armah was the leader of the community and served as its hazzan, led Torah study sessions, and taught the children Hebrew. Alex grew up in a Catholic home in Sefwi Wiawso, but he converted to Judaism. He studied Judaism for four years between 2008 and 2012 at a Yeshiva (Jewish educational institution of higher learning) in Mbale, Uganda, where he also formally converted within the Conservative religious tradition. Mbale is home to 2,000 Jews, the Abayudaya. As the previous leader of the Sefwi community, Alex said that their Christian and Muslim neighbors get along with them: We have been accepted by the Christian community and the Muslims. We live with them. Some of the Muslims and some of the Christians are our friends. Some of our members came from Christianity and converted [into Judaism] so we don’t have any problems with them.20

Conversion in this current context means joining the community and following the religious traditions. Traditionally, in Judaism, conversion is a long process involving years of intense study with a rabbi and a final interview with a Beit Din rabbinal court composed of three observant Jews who certify the conversion process. In Sefwi Wiawso, there are recent converts but also families who have practiced Judaism for generations. These newer members of the House of Israel simply quit their churches and started attending the synagogue for Shabbat and other religious services. They joined weekly education classes at the synagogue. As a group, while the Sefwi community practices Judaism, Alex’s goal is for them to formally convert for recognition by the wider global Jewish community: You don’t have any representative who is representing the Jewish community here in Ghana in Israel. Apart from the organizations from Kulano we don’t have any representatives in Israel.21

The Sefwi do not have a rabbi who can lead formal conversion classes. Alex said it is a struggle to gain wider acceptance from Jews around the world but he and the Sefwi community are determined. He believes a formal conversion would accomplish this goal. Alex strenuously believes that his community is Jewish: The reason why we believe that we are born Jewish is according to our traditions and customs which our forefathers have been keeping up by our generation. Compared to the laws of Hashem [God], compared to what the Jewish people throughout the whole world is participating that means we are part

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of the family, but we have not found out the exact line or tribe that we came from.22

In comparison to the well-known Jewish community in Ethiopia, the Sefwi have not been able to trace their religious roots to one of the 12 tribes of ancient Israel. Instead, they stake their Judaism on the reality of continuous religious practice for the past 300 to 400 years. Alex trained two brothers, Samuel and Angel Tetteh, to be the next hazzans, prayer leaders, of the Sefwi. The brothers were raised in a family with a father and a mother who were born to practicing Jewish parents. Yet, as adults, the parents converted to Christianity when the missionaries arrived. Samuel and Angel’s mother started attending the Seventh Day Adventist church. As adults, the brothers chose to follow Judaism. It can be argued that even though their mother converted to Christianity, the Jewish religion would still consider their mother as Jewish and, therefore, both Samuel and Angel are Jewish. As children, the brothers remember all four of his grandparents practicing different Jewish traditions including Shabbat. They emphasized that Shabbat was a day of rest commanded to them by God. The grandparents told them stories of practicing Jewish traditions when they were children. As Samuel raises his children Jewish, he knows of four past generations of his family up to his great grandparents who followed Jewish traditions. He agrees with Alex that a formal conversion is necessary, but he wants to convert for more spiritual reasons: We are in diaspora. We are Jews in the diaspora. Before we get to Eretz Yisrael [land of Israel] we have to do conversion. It strengthens you one with another. It binds you to the laws, covenant of Hashem [God]. It binds you 100% to Him. Although we are descendants and our people, our grandparents are practicing, when you do conversion, it bonds you to it.23

Samuel emphasized that the world’s Jewish community needs to know that it has “family” in Ghana: “What I want the world to know about us is the Sefwi community is real. They have to look at us as brothers and sisters.”24 He said the community is eager to meet more Jews from around the world.25 Both Samuel and Angel are taking conversion classes led by a Conservative rabbi in Uganda. As a people, Jews have survived prejudice and ignorance over the centuries from their neighbors, and Samuel said the same is true in Sefwi Wiawso. While there have been no overt physical threats made against the community, there is ignorance and doubt among many Muslims and Christians that a Jewish community exists in Western Ghana. He often hears people generally say, “You are in Ghana but are calling yourself a Hebrew or Jewish. How can that be possible? It’s not.”26 He often answers that the Sefwi believe they are “part

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of the lost tribes. That is what our ancestors were holding fast to and we need to conform to the laws of God; therefore, we are survivors.”27 Despite his Jewish knowledge of traditions and observances passed down over the generations, formal conversion to Judaism is not simple. Each of the three branches of the religion, Reform, Conservative, and Orthodox, has its own rules for conversion. Since Alex Armah converted in the Conservative movement, his Judaism is recognized by Reform and Conservative communities but not by Orthodox Jews. Many in the community attend weekly online conversion classes with Ugandan Conservative Rabbi Gershom Sizomu. If the rest of the Sefwi Wiawso Jews convert into the Conservative tradition, similar to the community discussed in Guatemala City, they would only be recognized as Jewish by the Reform and Conservative movements. This would allow them to attend and become active in conferences and other meetings within these two Jewish traditions. Potential immigration to Israel, aliyah, is a little more complicated. Legally, Israel recognizes anyone who converts overseas as Jewish regardless of whether the conversion is Reform, Conservative, or Orthodox. But there is no guarantee that individuals will be allowed to immigrate and be recognized as Jewish in Israel. A non-Orthodox conversion must show proof of active involvement in their local Jewish community and a detailed explanation of the conversion process written by their rabbi or community leader. Even with these documents, aliyah is not guaranteed. Without a resident rabbi in Sefwi Wiawso, this makes the immigration task more difficult.

Living a Jewish Life As the former hazzan of the Sefwi synagogue, Alex taught the community within the Conservative tradition, including specific prayers, songs, maintaining a kosher home, and other practices of Judaism. At first, he taught the children to read transliterated Hebrew prayers, and now they learn and read using the Hebrew alphabet. They are the next generation of Jews who will lead the community in the coming decades. Both Samuel and Angel now lead the synagogue and continue Alex’s work of teaching children. Similar to any American synagogue, the Sefwis congregation has a leadership board consisting of a president, vice president, treasurer, and secretary.28 The treasurer manages the overall budget to ensure the community is spending within its financial means. The secretary communicates with Jewish communities around the world on behalf of the Sefwi. There is not a major distinction between the role of president and vice president. Samuel Tetteh emphasized that the leaders of the community work in a collaborative fashion on most decisions.29

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Despite existing as a practicing Jewish community in rural Ghana, the Sefwis are no longer isolated from Jews around the world. The Kulanu organization, founded in 1994, works with isolated and reemerging Jewish communities. The organization’s former president Harriet Bogard stated that Kulanu worked with the Sefwi for many years. One of its efforts was raising money, so the community could become financially self-sufficient. The Sefwi have earned more than 50,000 dollars selling Challah bread covers through Kulanu’s website.30 Additionally, Kulanu assisted the community’s treasurer with opening a bank account to manage this income. Bogard pointed out that outside volunteers contributed money to complete construction of the synagogue’s visitor guest house and donated prayer books, yarmulkes, and other religious items. Kulanu also donated cell phones to each member of the Sefwis so that they can stay in contact with Jewish supporters outside Ghana.31 The overall goal is to assist in building both a religious and physical infrastructure so the community can grow and continue welcoming Jews from abroad. Bogard noted that visiting Jewish rabbis and rabbinical students have stayed for months at a time teaching the community and strengthening its connections with world Jewry. She was confident that the community is on a path to formal conversion within a few years.32

WHAT COMES NEXT FOR THE SEFWI? Rabbi Gershom Sizomu explained that he is ready to assist the Sefwi: “They have a small community; I saw the photos and people were meeting for Shabbat.”33 If the community is to be formally converted, then a community leader, who will also be its religious teacher, needs to permanently stay in Sefwi Wiawso.34 According to Rabbi Sizomu: All we want is for that community to get connected to rabbinic Judaism. As long as they are committed and they love what they want [Judaism], I did not bother to look at their history. The reasons why they became Jewish was not important to me but to continue their Judaism is what is important to me.35

He is focused on their future as Jews, not on their origin stories. Kulanu President Harriet Bogard believed that formal conversion will be completed in the coming years. The community will then achieve its goal of joining different global Jewish organizations and have its voice heard among Jews across the world. This includes the growing number of recognized Jewish communities across Africa including those in Uganda, Ivory Coast, and Nigeria.

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NOTES 1. Doing Jewish: A Story from Ghana. Directed by Gabrielle Zilkha (Montreal, Canada: Four Corners Publication, Inc., 2017). 2. Nathan P. Devir, New Children of Israel: Emerging Jewish Communities in an Era of Globalization (Salt Lake City, Utah: University of Utah Press, 2017). 3. Ibid. In Judaism, a baby is considered Jewish as long as he or she is born to a Jewish mother. 4. Doing Jewish: A Story from Ghana. Directed by Gabrielle Zilkha (Montreal, Canada: Four Corners Publication, Inc., 2017). 5. Rabbi Dan Dorsch, in discussion with the author, November 10, 2021. 6. Angel Tetteh, in discussion with the author, March 21, 2023. 7. Nathan P. Devir, New Children of Israel: Emerging Jewish Communities in an Era of Globalization (Salt Lake City, Utah: University of Utah Press, 2017). 8. Ibid. 9. Melanie Lidman. “Ghana’s Deep Spirituality Points Some, Joyfully, Spiritually, Back to Judaism,” Times of Israel, April 14, 2016, https://www​.timesofisrael​ .com​/ghanas​-deep​-spirituality​-points​-some​-joyfully​-back​-to​-judaism/. 10. Nathan Guttman, “After Islamist Threat Repelled, Spotlight Hits ‘Jews’ of Fabled Timbuktu,” Forward, February 22, 2013, https://forward​.com​/news​/171642​/ after​-islamist​-threat​-repelled​-spotlight​-hits​-j/. 11. Nathan P. Devir, New Children of Israel: Emerging Jewish Communities in an Era of Globalization (Salt Lake City, Utah: University of Utah Press, 2017). 12. Ibid. 13. Ibid. 14. Ibid. 15. Doing Jewish: A Story from Ghana. Directed by Gabrielle Zilkha (Montreal, Canada: Four Corners Publication, Inc., 2017). 16. Harriet Bogard, in discussion with the author, October 28, 2021. 17. Doing Jewish: A Story from Ghana. Directed by Gabrielle Zilkha (Montreal, Canada: Four Corners Publication, Inc., 2017). 18. Nathan P. Devir, New Children of Israel: Emerging Jewish Communities in an Era of Globalization (Salt Lake City, Utah: University of Utah Press, 2017). 19. Doing Jewish: A Story from Ghana. Directed by Gabrielle Zilkha (Montreal, Canada: Four Corners Publication, Inc., 2017). 20. Alex Armah, in discussion with the author, September 17, 2021. 21. Ibid. 22. Ibid. 23. Samuel Tetteh, in discussion with the author, October 7, 2021. 24. Ibid. 25. Ibid. 26. Ibid. 27. Ibid. 28. Alex Armah, in discussion with the author, September 17, 2021.

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29. Samuel Tetteh, in discussion with the author, October 7, 2021. 30. Harriet Bogard, in discussion with the author, October 28, 2021. 31. Ibid. 32. Ibid. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid. 35. Ibid.

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Memorial to Holocaust victims at the Israel Zionist Center synagogue in San Jose, Costa Rica. Photo courtesy of Joshua Azriel.

 

    ​​​​​​​​​​

Memorial to the June 28, 1941, Iasi, Romania pogrom in front of the Great Synagogue. Between 13,000 and 15,000 victims died. Photo courtesy of Joshua Azriel.

Stone engraving of the Ten Commandments outside the Beth Israel synagogue in Halifax, Canada. Photo courtesy of Joshua Azriel.

Belmonte, Portugal’s Jewish community in June 2022 welcoming the monthly new moon with prayers after Shabbat. Photo courtesy of Joshua Azriel.

Beit Eliahu synagogue in Belmonte, Portugal. Nearly all of Belmonte’s Jews attend Shabbat services each week. Photo courtesy of Joshua Azriel.

The Great Synagogue in Iasi, Romania. Built in 1670, it is in active use and designated as a World Heritage Monument. Photo courtesy of Joshua Azriel.

The sanctuary of the Hebrew Congregation of St. Thomas. It is both an active synagogue and tourist destination in St. Thomas, US Virgin Islands. It is one of six synagogues in the world with a sand covered floor. Photo courtesy of Joshua Azriel.

Sefwi Wiawso, Ghama community members Shmuel Tetteh, Angel Tetteh and Kofi Kwarteng. Several families have practiced Jewish rituals for centuries, and many members are undergoing formal conversion to Judaism. Photo courtesy of Angel Tetteh.

Yom Kippur Services at Magen Abraham Synagogue in Ahmedabad, India. The synagogue floor, the raised standing platform in the background (Bima) and chairs are covered in white cloths. Photo courtesy of Aviv Divekar.

Olavaro and Jeannette Orantes and their son Ismael (right) celebrating Hanukkah in their home. They are members of Adat Israel Reform Congregation, Guatemala City, Guatemala. Photo courtesy of Olavaro Orantes.

Chapter 6

Bene Israel of India

[W]hile persecutions drove the scattered race in turn out of England, France, Spain, Portugal, Holland and Germany .  .  . their brethren in the Far East, in the lands of the potentates of India, were living life of peace and plenty, far away from the bigots, the robber kings, the conversionists, the Inquisitors, and the Crusaders. —Sidney Mendelssohn (1920)1

India’s Jews are a micro-sized community with an oversized national impact. For many Indians, Lt. General Jack Farj Rafael Jacob from Kolkata is a military hero for his tactics in the 1971 Indo-Pakistani war. He led the capture of former eastern Pakistan which eventually formed the new country of Bangladesh. Benjamin Abraham Samson served as India’s first Commandant in the Naval Defense Academy and Flag Officer of the Indian naval fleet who commanded a fleet of warships from 1964 to 1966. Reuben David was a respected veterinarian and zoologist who founded the Kankaria Zoo in the city of Ahmedabad. He received one of India’s highest civil awards for his contributions to animal science. His daughter Esther David is a nationally recognized author and sculptor honored by the government with India’s Sahitya Academic Award in 2010 for English Literature. David Sassoon was a mid-nineteenth-century immigrant to Bombay, India, from Baghdad, Iraq. He owned and operated international companies in the cotton and opium industries and used his wealth to become one of India’s most well-known philanthropists in Bombay. His charitable contributions reached far beyond India. There are three well-known sayings associated with the Jewish communities in India: “Indian first and Jewish second”; “Israel is in my heart, India is in my blood”; and “India is our motherland, Israel is our fatherland.” All four Indian Jews interviewed for this chapter agreed with these statements. Aviv Divekar, 85

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the secretary of the Magen Abraham Synagogue in Ahmedabad, India, stated that these are common sayings because “India has given us love and respect.”2 The wider society, at large, allowed the Jews to be “born, raised and to flourish.”3 For nationally acclaimed author and artist, Esther David, Israel is a “homeland.”4 She explained that India as a motherland is based on the Jews speaking the native languages across India, the “mother tongue.”5 It is a country with more than 40 regional languages spoken by its nearly 1.3 billion people. In a country as diverse and large as India, it would be easy for a very small population of Jews to be integrated, assimilated, and never heard from again. Yet, for centuries, Jews left their mark. Unlike other large countries, the Jewish communities in India are distinct from one another, each with its own unique traditions. There are four main communities: Bene Israel, Baghdadi, Bene Menashe, and Cochin. They are geographically separated across cities and regions: Kolkata in the east to Mumbai in the northwest and Cochin on the southwest coast. Their origin stories are distinct from one another. Two communities, Cochin and Bene Israel, trace their origins to ancient spice trade routes from the Middle East to South Asia along the Indian Ocean. The Baghdadi Jews immigrated from the Middle East for business opportunities, and the Bnei Menashe might be descendants of one of the ancient tribes of Israel. Rather than focus on one Jewish community in a city or village, this chapter provides an overview of three communities, and a detailed communications focused introduction to the enduring Bene Israel who comprise the majority of Indian Jews. What unites these disparate communities are the Jewish practices of Kashrut, kosher dietary laws, adapted for India, Hebrew spoken in the synagogue, and observance of the Shabbat and other Jewish holidays. For example, rice and coconut milk are a major part of the kosher diet among Indian Jews.6 Coconut milk is widely used as a substitute for cow’s milk since the animal is sacred among the majority Hindu population. Rice is widely grown across the country and is a staple in most meals. Chapati is often baked for the Shabbat instead of the traditional, braided challah. Collectively, many Jews, similar to the non-Jewish population, are vegetarians. India is home to 17 synagogues, but with its small Jewish population, many of them are managed and maintained as historic sites by federal and state governments. The communities are not large enough to maintain an active presence in every synagogue. There are very few rabbis in the country with most synagogues led by lay members. With this book’s focus on enduring global Jewish communities, in India, one community endures while others are nearly extinct. The Bene Israel community, discussed later in this chapter, has endured for nearly two millennia, and its population remains stable. A major contributing factor to the other communities’ population decline is immigration to Israel since 1948.

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BNEI MENASHE An enduring community, the Bnei Menashe (children of Menashe) Jews, live in northeastern India in the regions of Manipur and Mizoram. These two Indian states are located to the west of Myanmar and east of Bangladesh. Bnei Menashe believe they are descendants of the lost Jewish tribe of Menashe. Their exile from ancient Israel occurred 2,700 years ago.7 This community numbers approximately 10,000, and its goal is mass immigration to Israel under the Law of Return. Israel’s Law of Return is the right of any Jew to obtain citizenship and move to Israel. The Israeli government recognized this community and approved its immigration. Nearly half of Bnei Menashe have relocated to Israel with the rest waiting for their turn in coming years.8 Within a decade, nearly all Bnei Menashe will live in Israel. According to their community’s historical narrative, the Bnei Menashe were exiled from ancient Israel around 722 BCE when the Assyrians conquered the Holy Land and exiled nine Israelite tribes from northern Israel.9 They believe that their tribe was the largest of those who were deported, and they headed east wandering for centuries through Persia (modern-day Iran) and Afghanistan before settling in what is today northeast India.10 They practiced an ancient form of Judaism and were “discovered” in 1975 by Rabbi Eliyahu Avichail, the founder of Amishav, an organization dedicated to finding the descendants of the original tribes. While their religious practices were an ancient form of Judaism, they maintained kosher homes, circumcised male babies on the eighth day, and wore tzitzit (undershirts with fringes) and tallit (prayer shawl) when praying. They had a song passed down through the generations commemorating the Israelite Exodus from Egypt: We must keep the Passover festival Because we crossed the Red Sea on the dry land At night we crossed with a fire And by day with a cloud Enemies pursued us with chariots And the sea swallowed them up And used them as food for the fish And when we were thirsty We received water from the rock.11

The Jewish outreach organization, Shavei Israel, works with the remaining Bnei Menashe community to prepare them for immigration to Israel. It established two local centers in northeastern India that teach Hebrew, religion, and culture.12 Bnei Menashe is a wonderful example of an enduring Jewish community. It kept its religious beliefs despite the community’s ongoing

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resettlements over the millennia. Once final immigration to Israel is complete, it will no longer be an active Jewish community in India. Its ensuing generations will integrate into Israeli society.

BAGHDADI In the mid-twentieth century, Kolkata in eastern India was home to as many as 5,000 Jews, many of whom were a part of the Baghdadi community. These were Sephardic Jews whose families emigrated to India from Iraq, Syria, Yemen, and Persia. Shalom Aharon Obadiah Cohen is the first known Jew to settle in Kolkata in 1798. He moved there from Surat in eastern India. Jews were active in Kolkata businesses and politics. Sir David Elias Ezra was the city’s sheriff in 1926 and eventually the president of India’s Reserve Bank, its central bank, in 1938–1939. David Sassoon was a Baghdadi Jew. He may be one of the most well-known Jews in India for his philanthropic gifts, including building hospitals and synagogues. Born in Baghdad, Iraq, he moved to Bombay escaping persecution and lived in Bombay. His textile businesses stretched across the country including Kolkata and to East Asia including Hong Kong and mainland China. When India was part of the British empire between 1858 and 1947, the Baghdadi Jews often served in the colonial government. They were mainly pro-British. As Jews who immigrated from the Middle East, they integrated into Indian society but did not assimilate. They maintained their Sephardic Jewish practices. Yet, once India became an independent nation, the Baghdadi Jews contributed to Indian society and the new government. For example, as noted earlier in this chapter, Lt. General Jack Farj Rafael Jacob, a Baghdadi Jew, served with distinction in the army and was key to the liberation and independence of Bangladesh. His grandniece, Jael Silliman, a noted author, artist, and academic, stated that Baghdadi Jews were prominent in Indian culture and society: “Some people were very well known in photography, Hindi film world, and as documentarians. The first Miss India in 1947 and we had one of the greatest magicians of all time.”13 Rebecca Victoria Abraham was crowned Miss India in 1947 before she became an actress starring in more than 30 Bollywood movies.14 According to Silliman, what was a vibrant Jewish Kolkata community of nearly 5,000 in the 1950s has now dwindled to 20–30 Baghdadi Jews. In the 1950s, the wealthier Jews helped assist those poorer Jews who immigrated from Europe after the Holocaust. They provided food, clothing, and housing to help settle the refugees in Kolkata.15 Beginning in the 1960s, many immigrated to Israel, the United States, and the United Kingdom for economic opportunities. She is adamant that antisemitism did not play a role in the emigration from Kolkata. In fact, Silliman, among others interviewed for this chapter, categorically stated that antisemitism does not exist in India:

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There were very few Jews in India. We were never a threat. I would go farther and say we were embraced in India and respected as a community. There were no professions or jobs closed to us. We could rise to the highest ranks during, before, and after Independence.16

She believes that across India, the majority Hindu population accepted the Jewish community as their neighbors. Hinduism does not have the “built-in” antisemitism of European Christianity.17 In Kolkata, there are three synagogues, two of which are recognized as national heritage sites. With the remaining tiny population of 20–30 Baghdadi Jews, these synagogues are managed and protected by the government. Silliman does not believe there will be a significant number of Jews moving to Kolkata.18 Instead, it will be the children and grandchildren who visit to remember the community that once was. COCHIN If this book had been written 75 years ago, then the Cochin Jews of southwestern India would have been the major focus of this chapter. With just a handful of Jews from this community still living in the Kerala state of India, these last remnants are the descendants of an ancient community that dates itself back 2,000 years. Most Cochin Jews live in Israel while others immigrated to Canada and the United States. Cochin Jews believe their origins date back to the era of King Solomon, and their ancestors were sailors in his navy. They traded spices and other goods along the ancient spice routes of the Indian Ocean.19 The Book of Kings in the Old Testament refers to Solomon’s navy bringing gold, silver, ivory, apes, and peacocks to ancient Israel from Chryse in the Indian Ocean.20 Chryse could mean modern-day India. Cochin Jews have oral songs and stories of their earliest settlements along the Malabar coast in Southwestern India in what is today Kerala state. These early immigrants were refugees from ancient Israel after the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 C.E.21 The earliest recorded history of Jews in Kerala was from 849 C.E. with Hebrew names engraved on copper plates.22 In 1000 C.E., Kerala emperor Cheraman Perumal Kulashekhara Bashkara Ravi Varman issued two copper plates granting right of settlement to Yemeni Jewish merchant Joseph Rabban.23 From this point in history until the founding of the modern Indian state, Jews across Kerala lived as equals and, through the centuries, served the emperors as soldiers and palace advisors. The copper plates that served as royal decrees are housed in the 460-year-old Paradesi synagogue in

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Cochin. The only incident of antisemitism in the long history of Cochin Jews was a Portuguese naval attack in 1662, destroying a synagogue. The Kingdom of Cochin had a military alliance with the Portuguese in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The synagogue was rebuilt by the Dutch two years later in 1664 after they drove the Portuguese away from Cochin. This incident occurred during the time period of the Portuguese Inquisition. By modern-day observance standards, the Cochin Jews were Orthodox. As a population living in southwestern India for 2,000 years, their traditions reflected the ancient pre-rabbinic form of Judaism, but the communities strictly adhered to kosher dietary laws which were a key “mark” of Jewish identity.24 They also strictly observed the Sabbath and all other holidays. Throughout the centuries in India, these observed kosher laws included never mixing meat and dairy, examining eggs for any trace of blood, and strict adherence to finding any trace of forbidden leavened food, hametz, before the Passover holiday.25 While Cochin Jews can trace their lineage back two millennia, in the seventeenth century, a second group of Jews arrived to live among them. Families immigrated escaping the Spanish and Portuguese inquisitions.26 The Raja of Cochin welcomed these refugees, and they settled into life as farmers, tradesmen, government advisors, and soldiers.27 By the early twentieth century, there were eight synagogues in Kerala supporting a Jewish population of a few thousand.28 Two important events coincided that had a major impact on the stability of the Cochin Jews and those across Kerala. In 1947, the British withdrew from India. In 1948, the Kingdom of Cochin joined the modern Indian state. The Maharaja who ruled the Kingdom stepped down. That same year the United Nations recognized the state of Israel. The Cochin Jews were no longer sure about their place in Keralan society, and many Jewish farmers lost property from land reform laws across India.29 This began the immigration to Israel with some families also moving to the United Kingdom, United States, and Canada. If not for the confluence of an independent Indian state with its land reform and Israel’s founding in 1948, the Cochin Jews might still be an enduring community today. Many Cochin Jews born in India after 1947 continued their exodus. Namia Joshua was born in 1971 and moved to the United States in 2000 for career opportunities. He now lives in Atlanta, Georgia.30 His sister moved to Israel for the same reason. As both a Cochin Jew and an Indian, Joshua defines himself as religiously Jewish but culturally Indian. In fact, his wife is Hindu, but they are raising their daughter Jewish. He said it was equally important for him to meet a woman from Cochin who shared his Indian culture:

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Yes, culturally I wanted someone I could connect with because growing up in Cochin, even though I have a Jewish background, culturally I am still part of the region and I speak a different language. That was more important to me than religion.31

Joshua speaks Malayalam which is the Cochin language . Joshua’s mother and uncle live in Cochin. While there is still a small group of Jews of five or six families, nearly everyone in his generation emigrated. Joshua is the only Cochin Jew he knows of in Atlanta, which he admits is lonely from a religious perspective.32 Yet he also stated that this loneliness is balanced by a larger community of non-Jewish Indians from Cochin: There is a large Cochin, Malayalam community in Atlanta so we were able to make friends and connect with that community. But from a Jewish background perspective yes, there are no other folks that I can connect with from my background perspective.33

Nearly all the Jews Joshua befriended in Atlanta are of Ashkenazi descent. The only interactions he had in the United States with Indian Jews date back to when he lived in New Jersey in 2001–2004 when a large group of Indian Jews from the northeast United States rented space in New York City for High Holiday services.34 Beyond emigrating from India for professional opportunities, Joshua believes that one reason most of the country’s Jewish communities no longer endure is simply because there was little interaction mainly due to the vast geographic distances between communities in India. Each Jewish community was a self-contained population: As far as I know there was no inter community network or even few marriages that happen between these inter-communities. Mostly they stayed within their community and they kind of a protected their own culture and their own traditions and everything. I think that’s one of the reasons the community was not able to flourish to be honest because they were so narrow minded within their own version of the mission of Judaism.35

Even though Joshua lives in Atlanta and is married to a Hindu wife, his daughter attends a private Jewish day school, and his family belongs to a Reform synagogue.36 It is important for him that he passes his religion on to his daughter: “My ancestors carried it for 2,500 years; it’s at least something I can do, right? We embraced it wholeheartedly and I think we understand the importance and understand the responsibility we have.”37

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BENE ISRAEL So far in this chapter, three Jewish communities, Bnei Menashe, Baghdadi, and Cochin, all distinctive from one another and on a microcosm of India’s population, reflect the nation’s Jewish diversity. While the Bnei Menashe are in the midst of their community-wide immigration to Israel, both the Baghdadi and Cochin Jews, while small in number in India, now pass on their traditions in diaspora communities in Israel, the United Kingdom, Australia, Canada, and the United States. One community that still endures in India and comprises the vast majority of the Jews is the Bene Israel. Similar to the Cochin Jews, Bene Israel’s story is an ancient one. The community believes its origin in India dates back 2,000 years on the northwestern coast in the village of Alibaug.38 A group of Jews fleeing the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 C.E. crashed near Alibaug and came ashore. As the generations settled in this region, the majority of the Bene Israel moved to Mumbai (formerly Bombay), and then many from subsequent generations moved to Ahmedabad in the modern state of Gujarat. According to author Esther David, the Jews kept their Hebrew names but added the Indian town or village as surnames, which today assists in identifying where in India their ancestors originated.39 The Bene Israel maintain they were never victims of antisemitism. Traditionally, they were known as the oil pressers in the Mumbai region for their production of olive oil.40 Bene Israel kept their Jewish observances while integrating into Indian society and adapted several non-Jewish cultural traditions. For example, the day before marriage, engaged Bene Israel women adorn their hands with traditional Indian henna and wear a lot of gold jewelry and dress in floral saris.41 Green clothing is worn as a symbol of fertility.42 The Jewish wedding itself takes place under the chuppah (wedding canopy) with traditional Jewish prayers in Western-style wedding gowns. But, in reflecting wider Indian culture, the groom gives the bride a black- and goldbeaded necklace as a symbol of marriage. In the last decade, more Indian Jewish women began wearing the traditional dot on their forehead between the eyes as a form of makeup. Bene Israel has a unique religious practice honoring the ancient Prophet Elijah. According to religious doctrine, he was a prophet who traveled the Holy Land reminding the Jews to practice their faith. In Judaism, Elijah is an honored guest at Passover. The communal dinner service, the seder, includes a prayer in his honor with a glass of wine and an honorary seat at the table. It is the hope of every Jewish family at Passover that Elijah will visit the home and herald the coming of the Messiah,43 a time of redemption, world peace, and happiness. Elijah is also recognized at the end of the weekly Sabbath with a song calling for his return.

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In the Bene Israel community, Elijah is even more revered. The traditional Jewish image of a long white-haired and bearded Elijah on a chariot ascending to heaven is displayed in the home of most Bene Israel Jews. They honor him with a seat on the bima in the synagogue. While the biblical story of Elijah has him ascending to heaven from Jerusalem, the Bene Israel believe that he stopped in India on his ascent. Specifically, the legend says he stopped in Khandala near Alibaug and his chariot left a permanent imprint on a rock.44 This site is called the Rock of Elijah (Eliyahu Hanavi cah Tapa) and is a sacred place for the Bene Israel where they pilgrimage to pay respect.45 Esther David, in recounting the story of Elijah, stated that no one quite understands why Elijah was revered a millennia ago, but it could be the influence of the greater Hindu culture with its imagery of numerous deities.46 It is important ot note the Bene Israel do not recognize Elijah as a god, but as a honored prophet. One way the Bene Israel pay tribute to Elijah is with the annual Malida ceremony on the Tu Bishvat holiday, a day honoring the planting of trees. One story about the origin of Malida is that it was a thanksgiving to Elijah for saving the ship-wrecked Jews. Malidas are a large plate of traditional Indian foods, such as coconut, rice, cashew nuts, bananas, and dates with cardamom powder, chironji seeds, and roses. The malida platter is presented in front of ten Jewish men, a minyan, and is accompanied by a meal. Esther David stated that Malidas also take place at the Rock of Elijah. Malida platters are often made for wedding celebrations and bar mitzvahs. Bene Israel communities around the world hold Malida festivals. Aviv Divekar, who is a native of Ahmedabad in the Indian state of Gujarat, is a member of the Bene Israel community. According to Divekar, the first Jews moved to Ahmedabad in 1848.47 The city’s first synagogue was built in 1906, and the current Magen Abraham Synagogue was built in 1934.48 In fact, his last name, Divekar, in the traditional Bene Israel tradition means his family is from the town of Div, in western India. He says that about 120 Jews live in Ahmedabad with another 20 living in nearby rural areas. He is the secretary of the Magen Abraham Synagogue managing its day-to-day affairs. The Gujarat state government recognizes the Bene Israel as a minority community. This recognition provides security for the synagogue and its seven cemeteries. According to Divekar, in 2018, two Islamic State members (a non-Indian terrorist group) were arrested before they could carry out a violent attack on the synagogue.49 The state pays 12 armed guards to protect the property and the Jewish cemeteries 24 hours per day.50 The synagogue is managed by volunteers who meet each Sunday. There is a president, vice president, treasurer, and secretary. As secretary, Divekar manages the synagogue’s finances. He ensures the bills are paid but the treasurer manages the bank accounts. Nearly every Jewish resident of Ahmedabad is a dues-paying member of the synagogue. According to Divekar, the

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few who are not members are still welcome to attend events: “We are like a family.”51 The annual dues are 105 rupees, about $1.50.52 Divekar said the low cost of membership makes it possible for nearly all Jews to join. Others contribute more money throughout the year as needed: “We are a very generous people who donate monetarily toward the synagogue and community.”53 During the recent Covid-19 pandemic, the Bene Israel, similar to many communities around the world, shifted their observance to live, virtual prayers for all holidays. Divekar noted that Bene Israel Indians across the country celebrated and pray together virtually at the same time. Magen Abraham Synagogue does not have a rabbi but there is a volunteer cantor, a hazzan. Divekar says the community cannot afford to hire a rabbi or cantor.54 Each Sunday the volunteer hazzan teaches Hebrew on Sundays to both children and adults. One challenge is understanding the meaning of the liturgy. Their prayer books are transliterated but not translated from Hebrew to Marathi, the language spoken in Ahmedabad. Transliteration allows the Jews to pronounce Hebrew words. While most members may not understand the prayers’ meanings, Divekar said there is a lot of pride in Jewish traditions: “We have kept up the traditions of our elders. But we don’t understand it. We really don’t understand why that is done. But we do what our elders have been doing and we have kept it as it is.”55 Divekar stated that the community identifies itself as a “conservative” synagogue but not in the American tradition. Rather, conservative means adherence to the same ritual and prayers from generations ago. In the synagogue, men and women sit together even though the physical layout has an upstairs ladies’ gallery. Divekar stated that when rabbis visit from Israel, they often place a curtain, a mechitza, to separate men from women.56 This is standard practice among Orthodox synagogues. Divekar said that when the rabbi leaves, the congregants remove the curtain.57 Divekar believes Bene Israel has endured for nearly 2,000 years because it lived in peace with non-Jewish neighbors and was never viewed as a threat.58 Despite the lack of understanding about Judaism by the wider Hindu community, he said there is respect for Israel. The younger generation is immigrating to Israel for professional opportunities. The number of Bene Israel members decreased in recent years but not to the extent of the Cochin Jews in southwestern India. Divekar explained his community has many connections with other Bene Israel communities in the country, including those in Delhi and Mumbai.59 They often cosponsor activities. He also pointed out that Israelis come to Ahmedabad to visit the synagogue. This is a chance for Bene Israel to connect with Israelis and to share their Judaic practices with them.60 One way the community endures is through its culture of volunteerism. Many members of Magen Abraham volunteer for synagogue activities. For

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example, before the Yom Kippur holiday, the day of repentance, members spend time washing the building, cleaning the sanctuary, and even “polish[ing] the silver,” including the Torah’s silver covers.61 Young members of the community are taught how to blow the shofar at Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Despite the small number of Jews, there are three shofar blowers in the community who actively train the next generation of Jewish boys. This is an example of the Jewish communication-based focus of passing tradition down to a younger generation, L’Dor V’Dor. The Bene Israel in Ahmedabad also endures through how they approach their religious observance. It is community oriented rather than privately in family homes. For example, the community prefers Friday-evening Shabbat services and Saturday-evening Havdalah, end of Shabbat, prayers. No Saturday-morning services are held due to lack of minyan, the needed 10 men. There simply isn’t an interest by the community. Purim, Hannukah, and the second night Passover Seders are community events. There is a community breakfast and lunch both days of Rosh Hashanah, and the community breaks the Yom Kippur fast together at the synagogue. Yom Kippur is the most important holiday observance. It is the one holiday where women sit upstairs in the gallery and men sit downstairs on the synagogue floor. Everyone is dressed in white—an important symbol to the Bene Israel. A white sheet covers the floor and white cloths cover the prayer podium. While Divekar admits the community is not sure how this tradition started, across Judaism, white is a symbol for purity, according to Rabbi Dan Dorsch.62 The Yom Kippur fast is broken with black currant juice at the synagogue after the final prayers mark the end of the holiday. Writer and artist Esther David believes that faith among the small number of Bene Israel and other Jewish communities in India remains strong. Keeping that faith was historically challenging but successful. David believes that keeping kosher was key to the Jews enduring over the millennia.63 That endurance is reflected in a country where the Jews remain a tiny minority surrounded by others whose religious practices are very different. As an author of fictitious books about female Jewish life in India, David learned that Jewish women were strong and committed to passing on traditions to their children. They are the “voice and decision makers” for their communities including her own Bene Israel.64 She credits them with preserving Judaism over the centuries. David believes Bene Israel endures, but she recognizes the ongoing temptation to move to Israel to join the 130,000 Indians in the Holy Land. She said there is a natural pull for any Indian Jew to live closer to family in Israel. One strategy Bene Israel has implemented to overcome isolation from relatives is the communal approach to Jewish festivals with synagogue members

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worshipping, celebrating, and eating their meals together. David said this communal approach is working.65 She believes that the Bene Israel will continue to exist as a tiny micro-community. The Jewish population across India may have been as high as nearly 30,000 in 1951.66 This was during the era of the new independent Indian state and the creation of Israel. This estimated number was out of a total Indian population of 361 million in 1951. Today, there are an estimated 5,000 Jews out of a country-wide population of nearly 1.3 billion people. It is a modern miracle that the tiny Jewish communities of India endured over the centuries. As the largest remaining Jewish community, Bene Israel continues to persevere and play an active role in Indian society. When the Bnei Menashe of northeastern India complete their immigration, aliyah, to Israel in the coming years, the Bene Israel will be the most populous Jewish community in the country. It has an active community in Israel who maintains the unique religious and cultural traditions and frequently travels to India to visit family. As long as this active two-way relationship continues, the Bene Israel should continue to maintain their tiny presence in Mumbai, Delhi, Ahmedabad, and other cities. Author and artist Esther David may be correct when she explained that what sustained the Bene Israel and other Jewish communities was their commitment to maintaining a kosher life and that mothers taught their children about the dietary laws among other teachings. Academic and artist Jael Silliman also pointed out that the Jewish communities persevered partly because they were generous in helping the less fortunate. The spirit of charity is a strong tool to maintaining community strength. As the secretary of the Magen Abraham synagogue in Ahmedabad, Aviv Divekar’s explanation of the importance of community celebrations for nearly every holiday and a focus on community-wide volunteerism also contribute to the endurance of the Jewish community. He stated it simply: “We stay as one big family.”67 Divekar’s view that the Bene Israel is a family reflects the theoretical underpinnings of this book. As noted in chapter 1, the main reason Jewish communities endure over the centuries is due to how they communicate and organize internally. The Bene Israel reflect this. As a tiny community of 120 Jews in Ahmedabad living in a city of more than eight million people, a strong organizational structure is needed to keep the community intact. The synagogue is not just the meeting place for religious observance, but it is the site for social and holiday festivals. In this capacity, it serves an important communication function. With annual synagogue dues equivalent of $1.50 per year, it is affordable for nearly every Jewish family to join. As Divekar noted, even if that amount is too high, no one is turned away—an example of a close-knit enduring community.

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NOTES 1. Sidney Mendelssohn, The Jews of Asia (South Yarra, Australia: Leopold Classic Library Reprinted, 2015). 2. Aviv Divekar, in discussion with the author, August 17, 2021. 3. Ibid. 4. Esther David, in discussion with the author, August 11, 2021. 5. Ibid. 6. Ibid. 7. Michael Freund, “The Arrival of the Benei Menashe is a Hannukah Miracle,” Jerusalem Post, December 19, 2020, https://www​.jpost​.com​/diaspora​/the​-arrival​-of​ -the​-bnei​-menashe​-is​-a​-hanukkah​-miracle​-652437. 8. Ibid. 9. Abigail Klein Leichman, “The Return of a Lost Tribe of Israel 27 Centuries Later,” Israel 21c, January 17, 2021, https://www​.israel21c​.org​/the​-return​-of​-a​-lost​ -tribe​-of​-israel​-27​-centuries​-later/. 10. “Bnei Menashe,” Shavei Israel, August 30, 2021, https://www​.shavei​.org​/ communities​/bnei​-menashe/. 11. Stephen Epstein, “A Long Lost Tribe Is Ready to Come Home,” Bnei Menashe, https://www​.bneimenashe​.com​/history​.html. The song is based on Exodus 14 that details the how the ancient Hebrews escaped Egypt under the leadership of Moses. 12. “Bnei Menashe,” Shavei Israel, August 30, 2021, https://www​.shavei​.org​/ communities​/bnei​-menashe/. 13. Jael Silliman in discussion with the author, August 10, 2021. 14. Rinzu, “From Esther Victoria Abraham to Primila—The First Miss India,” FeminisminIndia​.co​m, March 12, 2018, https://feminisminindia​.com​/2018​/03​/12​/ pramila​-esther​-abraham​-miss​-india/. 15. Oxford Bookstores Interview Series, “Growing Up Jewish in India: Synagogues, Customs, and Communities,” September 1, 2021. 16. Jael Silliman, in discussion with the author, August 10, 2021. 17. Ibid. 18. Ibid. 19. Essie Sassoon, Bala Menon, and Kenny Salem, Spice and Kosher: Exotic Cuisine of the Cochin Jews (Toronto, Canada: Tamarind Tree Books), 3. 20. 1 Kings 10:22: “The king had a fleet of trading ships of Tarshish that sailed with Hiram’s fleet. Once every three years the ships returned, loaded with gold, silver, ivory, apes, and peacocks.” 21. Essie Sassoon, Bala Menon, and Kenny Salem, Spice and Kosher: Exotic Cuisine of the Cochin Jews (Toronto: Tamarind Tree Books), 3. 22. Ibid., 4. 23. Ibid. 24. Ibid., 15. 25. Ibid., 17. 26. Ibid., 6. 27. Ibid. 28. Ibid.

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29. Ibid., 7. 30. Namia Joshua, in discussion with the author, August 29, 2021. 31. Ibid. 32. Ibid. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid. 35. Ibid. 36. Ibid. At Jewish day schools, students learn English, science, math, history, and Jewish religion subjects including Hebrew and Torah studies. 37. Ibid. 38. Esther David, Bene Appétit: The Cuisine of the Indian Jews (India: Harper Colins), 6. 39. Ibid. 40. Ibid. 41. Esther David, in discussion with the author, August 11, 2021. 42. Ibid. 43. Rabbi Daniel Dorsch, in discussion with the author, August 25, 2021. 44. Esther David, Bene Appétit: The Cuisine of the Indian Jews (India: Harper Colins), 13. 45. Ibid. 46. Ibid., 14. 47. Aviv Divekar, in discussion with the author, August 17, 2021. 48. Indian Jewish Heritage Center, “Gujurat – Magen Abraham Synagogue,” September 15, 2021, http://indianjews​.org​/en​/research​/jewish​-sites​-in​-india​/49​-magen​ -abraham​-synagogue. 49. Aviv Divekar, in discussion with the author, August 17, 2021. 50. Ibid. 51. Ibid. 52. Ibid. 53. Ibid. 54. Ibid. 55. Ibid. 56. Ibid. 57. Ibid. 58. Ibid. 59. Ibid. 60. Ibid. 61. Ibid. 62. Rabbi Dan Dorsch, in discussion with the author, September 13, 2021. 63. Esther David, in discussion with the author, August 11, 2021. 64. Ibid. 65. Ibid. 66. Parameswara Krishnan, “The Historical Demography of the Jews in India 1881-1971,” Annales de Démographie Historique (1984): 316. 67. Aviv Divekar, in discussion with the author, August 17, 2021.

Chapter 7

Belmonte, Portugal

Only God knows the future for our community. —João Diogo

The Portuguese and Spanish Inquisitions shredded the fabric of Iberian Jewish communities. Second only to the Holocaust, the inquisitions in both Spain and Portugal beginning in the late fifteenth century might be the most physically violent and psychologically tortuous government-sponsored antisemitic campaigns against Jews in Europe. Similar to the historic and well-known periodic pogroms across Eastern Europe, the Portuguese and Spanish inquisitions were government-sanctioned persecutions of Jewish communities. As horrific as the Spanish Inquisition was, beginning with the reign of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella in 1478, the Portuguese Inquisition, in many instances, was worse. Whereas Spain allowed its Jewish communities to choose conversion or permanent exile, in Portugal, King Manuel I never allowed the Jews to choose conversion or emigration. His 1496 edict allowing those who did not want to convert to Catholicism to emigrate was rescinded in 1497. King Manuel psychologically tortured the communities. He threatened to round up children of Jewish families and place them in Catholic homes if their parents did not convert.1 In Portugal, Jewish parents who refused to convert or give their children to the Catholic Church for adoption were often killed. Many Jews chose conversion to Catholicism but secretly practiced Judaism. They quietly observed the Sabbath on Saturdays and publicly attended Church on Sundays. Those who converted were called New Christians. In later years, they were called Marranos, Crypto-Jews, or Anusim, since they secretly maintained their Judaism. The Inquisitions in Portugal and Spain focused on these Jewish families. Inquisition authorities looked for any sign or symbol of Jewish observance, including honoring the Sabbath, fasting on Yom Kippur (Day of 99

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Atonement), and refusing to eat pork (forbidden under kosher dietary law). The secret practice of Judaism lasted several generations in many families. Ironically, King Manuel I wasn’t even a strong proponent of the Inquisition but was forced into it as part of his marriage to Spain’s King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella’s daughter Isabella.2 While the Portuguese Inquisition did not formally begin until 1536, for nearly 40 years prior, Jews were forcibly baptized, children taken from their parents, or burned at the stake. King Manuel I saw the economic devastation brought upon Spain with its expulsion of more than 100,000 Jews. Many Spanish Jews were doctors, scientists, and bankers. He was determined to avoid economic chaos and the loss of intellectual capital in his country.3 His solution was simple: he forced them to convert. In one instance on March 9, 1497, 20,000 Jews in Lisbon were forcibly baptized in the city center and declared Catholic.4 The Portuguese Catholic Church immediately recognized this conversion and declared that once converted to Catholicism, a person remains so for the rest of their lives.5 King Manuel took these actions partly to prove to the Spanish monarchy his loyalty to the Inquisition in order to marry the younger Isabella. Even after thousands of Jews willingly accepted conversion into the Catholic Church in both Portugal and Spain, they were still not trusted by Church authorities. Those who became sincere practicing Catholics were kept under surveillance. Others who secretly practiced Judaism in their homes feared they could be arrested, tried, and sentenced to prison or death. Church authorities watched them carefully for hundreds of years. The Inquisition’s goal was to root out nonbelievers from among these New Christians. The newly converted attended church on Sundays and celebrated all Catholic holidays. When they were arrested under suspicion, they had to confess or risk torture or even death. Portuguese Jews were trapped. Unlike their co-religionists in Spain, they were not allowed to leave the country. Some managed to quietly escape. Those who secretly kept their Jewish faith in their homes knew they could be discovered and punished. Imagine living under these circumstances not for years or decades but for three centuries. Fear of discovery was passed on from generation to generation within families. That fear fundamentally impacted how Judaism evolved in Portugal. Below is a timeline of the Portuguese Inquisition. It includes pertinent dates of the Spanish Inquisition since the two kingdoms were linked by marriage (table 7.1). DISCOVERY OF BELMONTE’S CRYPTO-JEWS Today, there are four active Jewish communities in Portugal: Lisbon, Porto, Albufeira, and Belmonte. The story of Belmonte’s historic Jewish community

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Table 7.1  Portuguese Inquisition Timeline Year 1478 1492 1496 1497 1500 1506 1515 1521 1536 1821 1834

Event Ferdinand II of Aragon and Queen Isabella of Castile establish the Spanish Inquisition. Spanish expulsion of Jews who did not convert to Catholicism. At least 50,000 Spanish Jews immigrate Portugal.a Estimates are as high as 150,000 Jews. Portuguese King Manuel I announces all Jews must leave Portugal by October 31, 1497. This edict is announced as part of an agreement with Spanish monarch for King Manuel I to marry Isabella, Princess of Aragon. Portuguese edict of expulsion rescinded, and forced baptism of Jews begins. Jews prevented from leaving Portugal. King Manuel I marries Maria of Aragon, daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella. 2,000 Portuguese Jews (New Christians) massacred in Lisbon. King Manuel I asks Pope Leo X to formally approve the Inquisition in Portugal. King Manuel I dies. King John III introduces the Inquisition in Portugal with the approval of Pope Paul II. Tribunals established in Lisbon, Porto, Coimbra and Évora. Portuguese Inquisition ends. Spanish Inquisition ends.

Henry Abramson, “When Jews Were ‘Illegals’, They Took Our Children,” Forward, Published July 19, 2018; Accessed June 13, 2022, https://forward​.com​/community​/406188​/when​-jews​-were​-illegals​-they​ -took​-away​-our​-children/. Source: Table created by author.

a

is unique within Portugal. Whereas Lisbon and Porto’s Jews are more recent immigrants from the late nineteenth century onward from North Africa and Eastern Europe, Jews continuously lived in Belmonte dating back to the twelfth century. Located less than 50 miles from Spain’s border, before the Spanish Inquisition, it was home to both Portuguese and Spanish Jews. It is home to the only surviving Crypto-Jewish community. Belmonte’s Jewish history is based on a successful but painful struggle to survive during the time of the Inquisition in a small, nearly isolated town in central Portugal in the Castelo Branco District. Publicly, these Jews were Catholic but practiced Judaism privately in a manner that mostly escaped the eyes of the Inquisition. Only in recent decades, nearly 500 years after King Manuel I forced conversion upon them and the beginning of the Inquisition, have these Jews openly reembraced their religion. Today, it is an Orthodox, Sephardic community. Here are some population numbers to consider before understanding the long history of Belmonte’s Jews. In 2003, the community was home to 200 Jews. By 2022, there were about 40 living in the town. In that nearly 20-year period, 160 Jews emigrated to Israel. Few have returned. The following families compose nearly the entire community: Morão, Enriques, Diogo, Mendes,

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and Rodrigo. There are also a small handful of Jews living there from outside Portugal. In and around Belmonte, there may be a few Crypto-Jewish families who purposely remain isolated. Despite this small number living in rural central Portugal (also known as the interior), they are a dedicated group of people determined to remain. This dogged attitude is based on a history that forced their ancestors to secretly practice Judaism under harsh conditions. Most of the town’s Jews dislike the word Marrano, Crypto-Jew, or Anusim and insist their ancestors were simply Jews.6 The Belmonte Jewish narrative reflects the communication theories of this book: the intersection of family and religious interpersonal communication.7 From the Jewish perspective, the theme of L’Dor V’Dor (generation to generation) plays a role in both communication theories. Belmonte’s history directly parallels Vern Bengston’s research (explained in Chapter One) on how religion is passed down in families, especially in communities where they believe in an “us versus them” psychological living environment. Belmonte’s Jewish history is an example of the interpretive perspective of organizational communication. We understand a religious community through its members, family histories, and how traditions are communicated.8 Belmonte’s Jewish history is also understood through the functionalist communication lens. While they were not formally a community during the Portuguese Inquisition, there was just enough intrafamily communication by the Crypto-Jews for them to marry and pass on traditions within specific families. We know this from 400 years of their oral history where religious traditions were practiced in specific, defined manners. As Ward noted in his research, social reality impacts members’ sense of identity.9 As explained below, the Crypto-Jews lived a reality where their religion had to exist underground in fear of being caught and punished by Inquisition authorities. In 1926, Polish Jewish engineer Samuel Schwarz published an article detailing his “discovery” of the community.10 It is still considered the seminal research written in an anthropological style. He initially met Belmonte’s Crypto-Jews in 1917 while working on a mining project in northeastern Portugal. A local businessman, who supplied provisions for mining operations near Belmonte, told him to avoid conducting business with his competitor in Belmonte because “he is a Jew.”11 Initially, Schwarz was incredulous that Jews lived outside Lisbon, the country’s capital. Yet, he wrote that the businessman’s antisemitism reminded him of his native Poland.12 Schwarz described that by chance he befriended a man named Marano de Sousa who lived in Lisbon but was originally from Belmonte. As their friendship deepened, de Sousa admitted his Jewish background and confirmed existence of the Belmonte Crypto-Jews.13 Despite de Sousa’s introducing Schwarz to

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community members, it took time for them to trust and open their homes to him.14 Schwarz gained the Jews’ trust after he recited the Shema, one of Judaism’s most ancient prayers.15 Once he said God’s name in Hebrew, Adonai, which is a part of the Shema prayer, the women of the community believed that he was Jewish. Adonai is a Hebrew word they recognized from their own prayers, and Schwarz’s uttering the word proved his Judaism to them. In his article, Schwarz noted that women led the prayer services as the hazzan, the prayer leader, an unusual role for them in this time period.16 Upon his reciting the Shema, the women touched their eyelids with their fingers, a traditional part of reciting the prayer. Jews around the world cover their eyes upon reciting the Shema as a way of focusing their prayer on God. Among Crypto-Jews, women were the prayer leaders and taught their children the religion. They were known as the rezadeiras, prayer women.17 As prayer leaders for centuries during and after the inquisition, they embodied a role not traditionally performed by women until the twentieth century in the Reform and Conservative movements of Judaism and the early twenty-first century in some modern Orthodox synagogues.18 According to Schwarz, once he recited the Shema, “from that moment on, the Marrano community of Belmonte opened its heart to me.”19 They invited him to join them in secret religious activities. While the Inquisition formally ended 96 years before Schwarz met them, they still practiced in secret. Essentially, Judaism evolved into a religion practiced privately in homes instilled by a past fear of discovery. Belmonte’s Crypto-Jews allowed Schwarz to write down their prayers. This simple act of transcribing was the first modern, written text of the Crypto Jewish liturgy in hundreds of years. Psalms and prayers were passed from generation to generation in an oral manner. Schwarz compared their prayers and holiday celebrations with the established norms of European, Ashkenazi Judaism of the early twentieth century. Scholar Judith Cohen noted that the rezadeiras did not sing most of their prayers.20 Rather, they recited them in low voices, a consequence of hiding their Judaism from the Inquisition. The lack of prayer melodies reflected part of a loss of Judaism over the generations. The only melodies that survived were a few Passover songs. Cohen confirmed Schwarz’s research that both in Belmonte and in other small Crypto-Jewish families or small populations in central Portugal that nearly all prayers were led by women. They were in charge of leading family religious services and passing Judaism down to their children.21 Mothers taught their children, mainly daughters, to memorize prayers and psalms. Many Crypto-Jewish husbands worked six or seven days a week often in the clothing business. They lived their public and professional lives as Catholics. Even when multiple families gathered for holidays, the women

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still led the prayers. As Cohen discovered, the women noted their songs were “always” in their families “from time immemorial.”22 It’s also important to note that during the Inquisition, Marrano girls married as teenagers and gave birth earlier in life than many women today.23 They recited prayers quietly and quickly, another legacy of the Inquisition. Several of their songs commemorated Isaac, Jonah, and Daniel, all biblical figures who escaped danger.24 References to these three men reflected the Anusim’s perilous lives. According to Cohen, many of the Marranos’ prayers were similar in text to those of their Catholic neighbors. Additionally, in order to escape the eyes of the Inquisition, Crypto-Jews added the Portuguese word for saint, santo, in several prayers in specific reference to King David, Queen Esther, and other historic Jewish leaders.25 This reflected a practice to not overtly distinguish themselves as New Christians during the Inquisition. They maintained just a handful of prayers and songs—often recited during Passover—that uniquely reflected their Judaism.26 Unfortunately, several Jewish holidays were forgotten over time. Judaism became a secret religion with traditions unique to the Crypto-Jews.27 While the religion’s prayers and practices evolved over the centuries, the community’s hearts clearly remained Jewish. As an accepted visitor, the Belmonte Jews taught Schwarz an expression, judeus dos quatro costados, Jews on four sides.28 These Crypto-Jews did not have mixed Jewish–Catholic family backgrounds. For more than 400 years, the families intermarried only with each other. Essentially, they were and to this day remain cousins. When Schwarz met them, they believed they were the only Jews remaining in the world. They thought it was their duty to survive and continue religious practice and traditions. While it’s laudable they intermarried to preserve their Jewish families, today many of them suffer the health and genetic consequences from intramarriage, including night blindness, blood circulation, and psychological challenges.29 According to Belmonte historian Elizabete Manteigeuiro and supported by Inquisition documents, there were 59 Inquisition trials in Belmonte over 300 years.30 Most were directed at the Anusim accused of practicing Judaism.31 Manteigeuiro noted that, unlike in Lisbon, no Jew in Belmonte was ever punished with death by the courts.32 If found guilty, the legal consequences were confiscation of household and business assets or forced expulsion from Belmonte.33 In some cases involving young families, the Inquisition courts simply instructed the parents and children to attend church the following Sunday.34 While expulsion or forfeiture of assets is a harsh punishment, in Lisbon or Porto, Jews were often killed if found guilty. Mantageuiro explained that despite the 59 Inquisition trials in Belmonte, the town was considered tolerant of the Jews over the centuries.35 Some neighbors would report their suspicions to the authorities, but many others would not. She explained that most Catholics knew who the Crypto-Jews were. In a small town like Belmonte,

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it was publicly known that certain families only married each other over the generations.36 Most Belmonte residents did not prey into the private lives of these families in their homes as long as they maintained the public exterior of Catholicism. The men were often the public faces of the families as acting Catholics.

RELIGION PASSED DOWN BY ORAL COMMUNICATION In the research for this book, only one other Jewish community relied on oral tradition to maintain their religious practice. Jews who live in a Sefwi Wiawso, a small village in Ghana, until recently passed down their religious traditions orally. In a similar fashion, this paralleled the Jews in Belmonte. The key question is how can a hidden group of Jews living in a small village in central Portugal practice their religion for 400 years? As already noted, mothers were the force behind this and taught their children to memorize both prayers and religious practices.37 Schwarz pointed out that on May 30, 1497, King Manuel I decreed that Jews could no longer use or possess their Hebrew language books including those with prayers in them. Any discovered books were burned.38 This led to Crypto-Jews translating prayers into Portuguese and devising new harmonies and tunes. Unfortunately, many harmonies were lost over time, and prayers became quietly chanted. Since Jews could no longer gather in synagogues, small groups of families were the key to preserving these religious remnants. According to Belmonte historian Elisabete Mantegueiro, “Stories were made by memories. A lot of things [religious knowledge] were lost. But in Belmonte, the women had the important role. Prayers were in their minds, and they passed on to their daughter.”39 Any knowledge of reading or speaking Hebrew was lost during the Inquisition. During the centuries, at some point, prayers were often transliterated from Hebrew into Portuguese and then, over time, fully translated into Portuguese.40 Psalms were spoken in Portuguese. Thanks in part to Schwarz’s research, prayers were rewritten in the early twentieth century to preserve them for future study. As discussed in chapter 1, one of Judaism’s core tenets is L’Dor V’Dor, generation to generation. More than 400 years after the Inquisition began, Schwarz was the first to study their liturgy and match the Hebrew origins. He discovered the crypto prayers used the actual Hebrew words for God, dwelling, and Shema written in transliterated Portuguese.41 Schwarz explained that during the Passover holiday, one prayer written in Portuguese was nearly identical in meaning to a Hebrew version. It begins with these stanzas:

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Adonai, Adonai Adonai, Senhor meu! Cantamos hoje ao Senhor D’esta hora singular O cavallo e o cavalleiro Lançou no profundo mar.

Translation: Adonai, Adonai Adonai, my Lord! Let us sing today to the Lord Of that singular hour The horse and the rider He threw into the deep sea. 42

While many traditional Jewish prayers survived in Portuguese, in Belmonte sadly, during the Inquisition, they lost the collective memory to celebrate several holidays. Shabbat, Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement), Passover, and the Fast of Esther were the four holidays observed when Schwarz met them. The means in which they practiced these holidays changed and did not reflect either the original practice or how they were observed worldwide in the early 1900s. Instead, they were based on the secretive nature of their Judaism. The Inquisition’s attack on Judaism also included criminalizing the preparation or purchasing of kosher meats. In Belmonte, many adapted with a fish-based diet. Others ate pork, which is not kosher, in their daily diet but would abstain from it during the four holidays. Schwarz noted Inquisition authorities watched to see whether the New Christians observed Shabbat’s prohibition on work. In Belmonte, men worked most Saturdays. The Shabbat was observed only prior to the Passover and Yom Kippur holidays. On those specific Shabbats, the Jews gathered and prayed three times per day, the Jewish custom, and the men refrained from work.43 On all other Shabbats, the men worked, but their wives still lit candles on Friday nights and quietly prayed with their children.44 It is traditional to light candles on Friday evening when the sun sets to mark the beginning of Shabbat. In Belmonte, a candle was lit and placed outside the front door and then covered as not to be seen. They also improvised by lighting a wick dipped in olive oil housed in a special container. On Saturdays, families ate food prepared and cooked the previous day on Friday. Cooking food is not

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allowed on Shabbat and doing so is considered a violation.45 Ironically, this Crypto-Jewish practice is the same one practiced by observant Jews around the world. Inquisition authorities also closely watched for Yom Kippur observances. Traditionally, Jewish men and women fast to atone for their sins and pray to God asking for forgiveness. In Belmonte, this holiday was called Dia Grande (Great Day) or Dia Puro (Pure Day).46 Jewish holidays occur on the same day of the Hebrew calendar which is based on the phases of the moon. Yom Kippur occurs on the 10th day of the month of Tishri, but in order to avoid the intrusive eyes of the Inquisition, it was observed one day later on the 11th of Tishri. On the 10th of Tishri, Jewish men played cards to not arouse suspicion. Belmonte Crypto-Jews continued the normal Yom Kippur tradition of lighting a candle commemorating dead relatives. Similar to other Jews around the world, on their Yom Kippur, they prayed all day until sunset, but added one more prayer unique to their circumstances: “for the salvation of our brothers who are prisoners of the Inquisition.”47 Once Yom Kippur ends at sunset, Jews eat a meal to end their 24-hour fast. In Belmonte, they ended their fasts by chewing three pieces of bread but not swallowing them. Instead, they spit them out into a fire and then ate a meal to end their fast. The Fast of Esther is well-known Jewish holiday among the Orthodox, and it precedes Purim, a festival that celebrates Jews surviving a plot to kill them in Persia in the fifth century B.C.E.48 Purim is a celebration of Queen Esther, the wife of the Persian King Ahasuerus, who convinced the king not to follow the recommendation of his royal advisor, Haman, to kill the Jews. Many observant Jews fast the day before Purim commemorating the near destruction of the Persian population.49 Among the Crypto-Jews of Belmonte, they not only fasted, but those who regularly ate pork would then abstain from it for 30 days until the end of Passover. Passover is celebrated for eight days, but in Belmonte, they observed it for seven. Those men who could not abstain from pork while working sat separate from their families at Passover meals, were forbidden from eating matzah, and could not share a bed with their wives.50 Families ate their Passover meals on separate dishes used just for the holiday. Whereas Jews prepare matzah before the holiday begins, in Belmonte, they baked matzah on the third day of the holiday.51 They gathered in small groups in home kitchens with small ovens, dressed in white clothes, and baked the matzah as a group.52 Before baking matzah, they symbolically threw small pieces of dough into a fire waiting to see it explode which they believed meant divine favor for the matzah they were about to bake.53 This is not unlike many Orthodox families who, even today, still bake Challah and burn a piece of dough. During their seven-day holiday, men did not work and families gathered in small groups to pray three times a day. Picnics became part of the holiday

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tradition and continue today. Jews around the world celebrate Passover with the Seder, a commemorative dinner during the first two nights that retells the story of the exodus from Egypt. In Belmonte, only one prayer retold the biblical story; they sang it at their picnics which often took place at a nearby river or lake.54 Even though Belmonte’s Jews celebrated the holidays in ways that kept them safe from the Inquisition, they did preserve other traditions that closely mirrored those of their fellow Jews around the world. For example, after a funeral, the mourners washed their hands before entering the home of the deceased. Part of the Jewish grieving process includes shiva, staying home for seven days while family and friends provide comfort. The entire period of mourning a dead relative is one full year.

OPENLY PRACTICING JUDAISM When the Inquisition officially ended in 1821, Crypto-Jewish communities across Portugal slowly began publicly “claiming” their Jewish identities. One of the best-known Marranos in Portugal to reconvert back to the religion was retired Army Captain Artur de Barros Basto. He was known across the country for his military service. Upon retiring, he helped fund the construction of a new synagogue in Porto in the 1920s. His public embrace of Judaism paved the way for other secret communities to reemerge. It took more than a century for this process to start in Belmonte.55 Unfortunately, a military coup in 1926 led by António Salazar drove many of these reemerging communities back underground.56 Belmonte’s Jews continued their quiet observances. Salazar’s dictatorship was not antisemitic but fascist. Jews emigrated to Portugal before and during World War Two. Thousands of others traveled through Portugal on their way to North and South America during the war. The Jewish community in Lisbon is composed of many Jews whose families immigrated during this time period. Salazar’s dictatorship ended in 1974, and Portugal began its journey toward the democracy it is today. The new democracy created an atmosphere where Crypto-Jews, including those in Belmonte, could begin to emerge from the shadows again. Beginning in the early 1980s, rabbis began visiting Belmonte and introducing them to contemporary Orthodox Judaism. In 1987, the first rabbi from Israel visited and spent time with them. Two years later, the Israeli rabbinate recognized the Jewish community. At one point in the 1990s, the Israeli government offered to relocate the entire community to Israel, but they said no.57 For more than 30 years, they have had an open religious life. In 1996, the community inaugurated its first synagogue since before the Inquisition, Beit Eliahu. Men and women have access to a mikveh, a ritual cleansing pool.

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There is also a hotel that maintains a kosher-style kitchen. In 2005, the city opened a Jewish Museum.58 Each year, the Jews sponsor an annual kosher festival. Belmonte’s Jewish history is now a tourism destination in Portugal. Belmonte’s historian Elisabete Manteigueiro stated that Jewish tourist groups from several countries, including the United States, Israel, and France, visit throughout the year. Along with the thirteenth-century Belmonte Castle, Olive Oil Museum, and Discoveries Museum, there are street signs directing visitors to the synagogue, the ancient Jewish district, and the Jewish Museum. As with any tourist attraction, there are gift shops that sell Jewish souvenirs including religious items produced in Belmonte. Walking near the synagogue in the formerly Jewish section of town, a tourist will see homes marked with signs that explain notable Jews who lived there before and during the Inquisition. Visitors will see names including Luísa Antônia and Ibn Yahya Ben, former village Jewish leaders.59 Within a block of the Beit Eliahu synagogue, upon close examination, one can see homes with mezuzahs on the right side of the door frame, and others have the indentations of mezuzahs from centuries past. Around the world, most Jewish families hang mezuzahs on their doors. They are decorative cases with parchment inside that contain Hebrew verses including the Shema prayer. In this ancient Jewish quarter, Joseph Antonio Morão and his wife Ana run an internet radio station Radio Judaica Portuguese on the ground floor of their home.60 They broadcast Jewish music, cultural shows, and Torah discussions downloaded from Israel.61 Joseph is also the current president of the Beit Eliahu synagogue. He claimed to have 100,000 people who stream his radio station.62 Just down the street from their home, tourists can stay in renovated rooms that once housed Crypto-Jewish families. Belmonte’s longest-serving rabbi in recent years is Elisha Salas. He lived there for 15 years between 2003 and 2018 and now visits Belmonte several times a year. While Israel recognized the community as Jewish in 1989, Rabbi Salas continued the work of his predecessors and taught the community Orthodox Judaism and continued the process of reconversion. Orthodox rabbis, including Salas, believed these Crypto-Jews’ descendants needed to formally study the religion and convert despite the clear evidence of their ancient Jewish history. He taught them how to keep kosher homes, observe Shabbat, read Hebrew, and learn about other religious practices. While most families attend the synagogue each week on Shabbat and observe in the Orthodox manner, Salas believes that some Crypto-Jewish traditions may still be practiced at home.63 He never observed them but noted that, on many occasions, some families emphasized that they preferred to observe some holidays in the privacy of their home instead of at the synagogue.64 It is still common practice that, when a relative dies, the

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family prepares a bed for the relative’s spirit to ascend to heaven.65 Before the shiva mourning period of one week begins, another family buys new clothes for a member of the mourning family.66 According to Rabbi Salas, these are Crypto-Jewish traditions maintained by this community. When he served as rabbi, Salas knew every Jewish person in Belmonte, but he also knew others who chose not to reconvert believing that their Marrano ­practice was authentic Judaism.67 On any given Shabbat, 25–30 Jews including a few newcomers to Belmonte attend religious prayer services Friday nights and Saturday mornings. In the European Orthodox tradition, women sit upstairs separate from the men. In the Orthodox synagogue, only males aged 13 and older count toward the 10 men minyan, the minimum number needed for a service. Men conduct the service as prayer leaders, hazzans. In the last 30–40 years, this is a major change from when the women led prayers in their homes. Yet, Rabbi Salas’s wife, Avigail, believes that in the privacy of their homes, women still lead many crypto traditions. They are the religious matriarchs in their homes.68 Avigail noted that it is not public knowledge—simply understood. Five hundred years of secret Jewish practices and traditions will not disappear in a few decades. She and her husband, Rabbi Salas, believe that each Passover, a few families attend the community seder in the traditional Orthodox manner and also have seders that still embody Crypto-Jewish practices. In fact, of the five main Jewish families, one of them never attends the annual synagogue seder, preferring to celebrate at home.69 Rabbi Salas believes they observe the holiday in the historical crypto traditions.

SHABBAT IN BELMONTE In order to study this unique and historic Jewish community, I spent a Shabbat weekend with them in June 2022. In June, the sun does not set until 9 p.m. I attended worship services Friday night, Saturday morning, and Saturday evening. As an Orthodox community, they spend a great deal of time at the synagogue during Shabbat. The community’s vice president, João Diogo, granted me permission to attend religious services and pray with the congregation. Rabbi Elisha Salas and his wife Avigail were instrumental in helping me interpret some elements of the Sephardic Orthodox Shabbat observances. Nearly every family attended services or was represented by one family member. With a Jewish population of 40, more than half appeared at each of the three services. With such a small population and nearly everyone directly related to one another, the faces of the congregants quickly became familiar.

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The Beit Eliahu synagogue, while small, is designed in the traditional European Orthodox manner. The bima, raised platform—where the rabbi and hazzan sit—is surrounded on three sides by rows of wooden seats. Each man who sits downstairs has his own seat where he stores his yarmulke, prayer book, and tallit (prayer shawl). The women sit upstairs in the gallery. If filled to capacity, the synagogue can seat 100 people. On this Shabbat weekend, 25–30 congregants (men and women) attended each Shabbat service. The ark, where the Torah is housed, stands directly in front of the bima. While Rabbi Eliahu Shefer and his hazzan, a local Belmonte male teenager, led the services, a specific designated man led the mourners kaddish prayer. This prayer was chanted by men who had a relative die in the past year even though the kaddish itself praises God.70 All Shabbat services were run in the traditional Orthodox manner with Hebrew as the language for all prayers. Many of the men do not read Hebrew but are able to read it using the Portuguese transliteration in their prayer books. The Friday night prayers were the same as those sung around the world in both Ashkenazi and Sephardic synagogues. One notable difference was that the men lit the Shabbat candles in the synagogue, a role traditionally performed by women at home. The service ended after sunset when the Sabbath formally began. Similar to most other synagogues, Saturday morning prayer services typically last two to three hours beginning at 9 a.m. In every synagogue (Reform, Conservative, and Orthodox), the Torah is removed from the ark, opened, and a specific portion is read. All synagogues around the world chant the same text each week. On Shabbat, the Torah reading for that week is divided into seven segments. As an Orthodox synagogue, only men read from the Torah in Belmonte. As with every other Shabbat service, in Belmonte, seven men are given aliyahs, the honor of reading the prayers before and after each Torah portion is chanted by the rabbi. In Belmonte, they continue a rare fourteenth-century Sephardic tradition of “auctioning” the right to open the ark, take the Torah out of it, perform the prayer aliyahs, and close the ark after the Torah is returned. Before the Torah was taken out of the ark and opened, Vice President João Diogo held an “auction” for this right. It is against Judaic law to collect or touch money on Shabbat. The money for the aliyah auction is collected the following Thursday, and it is used for the synagogue’s needs. In Belmonte, each aliyah is “sold” for a few Euros (dollars). With about 20 men in attendance each Shabbat, it is no surprise who “wins” the auction for the aliyah. According to Jewish tradition (not law), this is more of a pledge than an actual auction and, therefore, does not violate the Shabbat.71 The money that will be paid for these honors is considered charity to the synagogue within the spirit of Judaism.72 Since writing is generally prohibited on the Sabbath and writing down money amounts

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is also not allowed, a member of the Belmonte congregation devised a way of tracking who owes what amount of money using index cards with pre-printed names and paperclips attached to that name. The auction bidding takes about 10 minutes to complete before the morning Shabbat service resumes. The rest of the morning-prayer service reflects traditional practices of reading the Torah; the Rabbi giving a sermon; reciting prayers for sick relatives; singing traditional songs; and everyone greeting each other with “Shabbat Shalom” at the end of the service. The third Shabbat service began at 7:30 p.m. Saturday night. It lasted one hour. At 8:30, all the men and women proceeded to the ground floor where the rabbi led a class known as Seudah Shlishit in Hebrew. Nearly 30 people, three-fourths of the community, listened as the rabbi taught and asked them follow-up questions. Since Rabbi Shefer did not speak Portuguese, the male teenager translated for him. Gathered in one room for the first time that Shabbat, it was easy to recognize that everyone was related to each other. The facial and bodily similarities were remarkable. Husbands sat with wives who are also their first cousins. With Belmonte’s Jews composed of five families, it was easy to determine that one family was not present in the synagogue that night. Just minutes before Shabbat was over, the men and women gathered together in the sanctuary and lit the Havdalah candle that formally marked the end of Shabbat.73 A boy placed pieces of cloves in everyone’s hands. They smelled the cloves to reinvigorate their souls after Shabbat ends. The Havdalah candle was lit, prayers were sung, and then everyone drank a little wine. Then, the rabbi dipped the candle into the wine to extinguish it. In the Belmonte synagogue, after Shabbat ends, they continue a Sephardic custom of dipping their fingers into the Rabbi’s wine cup and rubbing the wine onto their forehead or onto the back of their neck. Men and women did this as a good deed, a mitzvah, and to ask God for protection and good luck.74 With Shabbat over, everyone wished each other a “Shavua Tov,” a good week. On this particular Saturday night in June 2022, the congregation gathered outside the Beit Eliahu synagogue to bless the New Moon. This was a once-amonth ritual called Kiddush Levana. Rabbi Shefer led them in the blessing. The sanctification of the moon reminds Jews of God’s creation of the universe.75 The New Moon means a new month is about to begin on the Jewish calendar. Spending the Shabbat with the Belmonte Jews was a unique and special experience. These are the direct descendants of those who had no choice but to keep their Judaism hidden from the Inquisition. Just a century ago, they were still “hidden” and labeled as Marranos, Crypto-Jews, or Anusim. Now, for more than 40 years, they have openly lived as Jews. Belmonte’s Jews are proudly Sephardic (as overheard in conversations). They are a shy community toward outsiders, but their love of Judaism is evident from the fervor of their voices as they sing and chant in the synagogue.

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MIRACLE TURNED INTO A COMMUNITY AT RISK Rabbi Salas, his wife Avigail, and the few Jews who moved to Belmonte from outside Portugal all believe that the centuries of survival by this community is a miracle. They are the only Jews in Portugal and Spain who found a way to adapt and maintain their Jewish practices and beliefs though it evolved into a secret religion. Lisbon and Porto, the two largest cities in Portugal, had no surviving Jews. The first Jews to immigrate to modern Portugal arrived in the mid- to late nineteenth century. The Inquisition in the rest of the country thoroughly removed any remaining Jewish elements from the baptized New Christians’ lives. Belmonte’s Jews are descendants of generations of brave souls who risked their lives to carry on some semblance of Judaism. Belmonte has a population of nearly 7,000 residents. Most residents know the Jewish families and grew up with them. Unlike many cities and towns around the world, no police guard the synagogue. Most Jews openly wear yarmulkes in public without incident, a rare practice in Europe. The twentyfirst century in Belmonte is a great era to live openly as a Jew. In leading the community for 15 years, Rabbi Salas said he never encountered prejudice: “In all my years I have been in Portugal or Belmonte, I have never suffered from anti-Semitism.”76 He is adamant that Jews and Catholics get along in Belmonte.77 The local Catholic priest attends the annual lighting of the Hannukah menorah, and the holiday is a town-wide celebration. Belmonte has a tall outdoor menorah located in one of the town’s squares. Yet there are internal dangers for the community. With the number of Jews decreasing from about 200 to 40 in the last 20 to 25 years, there are two risks to its viability. The first is the fact that in order to survive the Inquisition, they married their cousins to maintain Jewish families. Today, first cousins wed one another. A practice that began as a means of survival is now a tradition and, as Rabbi Salas noted, an expectation by parents.78 Only those who emigrated to Israel escaped this expectation. With intramarriage over the centuries, genetic problems have emerged. Many suffer from night blindness and blood circulation and developmental disabilities. Babies are often born sick. One family has a daughter in her early 20s with the mental capacity of a baby. She cannot speak. One mother gave birth to two babies who were sick and have poor health as children. According to Rabbi Salas, the parents believe they should continue intramarriage and have not attempted to change this practice. Besides these severe health challenges, with only about 40 Jews living here, those who remained are not expanding their population. Each year, there are more deaths than births. In 2022, there were six children under age 18. Without Jews moving to Belmonte, in one or two decades, there may not

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be enough Jews to conduct prayer services with a minyan, the required 10 males. Rabbi Salas noted there does not seem to be community concern about the shrinking population. The synagogue’s Vice President João Diogo does recognize the threat and hopes that Jews will move there.79 He explained that two families who immigrated to Israel moved back to Belmonte in recent years. The irony is that after emerging from centuries of religious isolation and living as an openly Orthodox community, the population is now shrinking. Jews are taught that moving to Israel, performing Aliyah, is a mitzvah (good deed) and their birthright. After all, Jews believe that Israel is both a religious and ancestral homeland. Yet, beyond Belmonte, Lisbon and Porto are both seeing steady increases in Jewish populations mainly from Israel and France. Portugal’s nationality law was amended in 2015 to allow descendants of Portuguese Jews to apply for citizenship. Thousands applied and were granted citizenship. This spurred immigration mainly by Israeli and South American Jews along with French citizens who moved to Lisbon and Porto but not to Belmonte. Belmonte’s location in the country’s rural interior may be a factor. Yet the city’s leadership and the Jewish community can try to promote Belmonte as a place to settle.

IS THERE A FUTURE IN BELMONTE? Rabbi Salas believes it was a miracle that this community survived Portugal’s Inquisition. While they learned and embraced Orthodox Judaism practices in the 1990s, the one practice they maintained was marrying within the Belmonte community among the five families. This, along with emigration to Israel, leaves it in a perilous situation. A shrinking population that depends only on itself to procreate carries continued genetic health risks. Store owner Moshe Morão is concerned about the future.80 He is not sure about the longevity for the Jews in Belmonte since many moved to Israel. He also worries that Belmonte is becoming more of a tourism destination than a Jewish home. Moshe may be correct. With 40 Jews, more than half of whom are parents and grandparents, the community is simply not sustainable without new Jewish families moving to Belmonte. Unless many of those who immigrated to Israel move back, the Jews who still live in Belmonte need to make a choice. Belmonte can either be a Jewish home for just them or they can actively promote it and the surrounding region for potential new families. With recent surges in antisemitism in many European countries, Belmonte could be a welcoming town to Jews. Anyone from a European Union country can legally move to Portugal for work, education, and to purchase property without government immigration approval.

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Belmonte can be marketed to potential families for professional business opportunities. It is surrounded by farms and agriculture businesses. The city itself has many property investment opportunities. Historically, several families owned clothing businesses. While hot in the summer, it is a safe town to live in with low, if any, crime. In order to sustain itself, Belmonte does not need hundreds or thousands of Jews. As a small town, it may only need 5 to 10 families who want to contribute locally and live a full Jewish life. This may be the key to securing a future for several more generations. If Jewish families do not move to Belmonte, then Moshe’s prediction that it will be a tourism destination with just a handful of Jews will be correct. Visitors will not see vibrant and growing Jewish communities as they do in Porto and Lisbon. Instead, it will be a historic travel destination to learn about the Jews that survived the Inquisition and once lived there. Tourists will walk around and see the synagogue, homes, and streets and buy souvenirs that reflected a once proud community. As Rabbi Elisha Salas noted, it was a miracle that Belmonte’s Jews were able to secretly carry on their Jewish beliefs for generations during the Inquisition and then return to Judaism.81 A second miracle is this small community leading an openly Jewish life in a tolerant community proud of its heritage. It is quite possible that they will need a third miracle to continue their legacy for future generations. NOTES 1. Juan Marcos Bejarano Gutierrez, The Rise of the Inquisition: An Introduction to the Spanish and Portuguese Inquisitions (Grand Prairie, TX: Yaron Publishing, 2017). 2. Queen Isabella’s daughter bore the same name. 3. Belmonte historian Elisabete Manteigueiro, in discussion with the author, June 9, 2022. 4. Juan Marcos Bejarano Gutierrez, The Rise of the Inquisition: An Introduction to the Spanish and Portuguese Inquisitions (Grand Prairie, TX: Yaron Publishing, 2017), 83. 5. Ibid., 6. 6. Moshe Morão, in discussion with the author, June 9, 2022. 7. Vern Bengston, Families and Faith: How Religion is Passed Down Across Generations (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 166. 8. Mark Ward Sr., “Organization and Religion: Ontological, Epistemological, and Axiological Foundations for an Emerging Field,” Journal of Communication and Religion, Vol. 38, No. 5 (2015): 5. 9. Ibid., 11.

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10. Samuel Schwarz, “The Crypto Jews of Portugal,” Menorah Journal, Vol. 12 (1926): 40. 11. Ibid. Material for this article comes from a reprint of the article in Shofar, Vol. 18, No. 1 (Fall 1999). 12. Ibid., 44. 13. Ibid. 14. Ibid. 15. “Shema Yisrael” is a prayer that is recited each day during morning and evening prayer services. In English, “Hear, O Israel. The Lord is our God, the Lord is one.” The Shema is based upon three scriptural texts from Deuteronomy 6:4–9, 11:13–21, and Numbers 15:37–41. When Jews recite this prayer, they place their hands over their eyes. 16. In Judaism, the chazan often leads the prayers. In many synagogues, a chazan works with a rabbi to lead prayers. The chazzan often teaches the prayers to the upcoming generations of Jews. 17. Judith R. Cohen, “‘Maria, Sister of Aaron, Play Your Tambourine’: Music in the Lives of Crypto-Jewish Women in Portugal,” El Prezente, Vol. 3 (2009): 298. 18. Ibid. 19. Samuel Schwarz, “The Crypto Jews of Portugal,” Menorah Journal, Vol. 12, No. 1 (1926) as reprinted in Shofar, Vol. 18, No. 1 (Fall 1999): 45. 20. Judith R. Cohen, “‘Maria, Sister of Aaron, Play Your Tambourine’: Music in the Lives of Crypto-Jewish Women in Portugal,” El Prezente, Vol. 3 (2009): 294. 21. Ibid., 301. 22. Ibid., 304. 23. Ibid. Cohen postulated that the rate of generational teaching of the religion may have occurred at faster rates than today since women now marry later in life. 24. In the Old Testament, Abraham’s son Isaac was nearly sacrificed by his father to show his devotion to God who spared Isaac at the last moment. Jonah refused God’s command to preach to the inhabitants in the city of Nineveh to abandon their wicked ways. Jonah tried to escape God by boarding a boat. The boat was caught in a storm caused by God. In order to save the boat from destruction, Jonah jumped into the sea where he was swallowed by a creature. He lived within the creature for three days and nights. When he prayed for escape, God released him. To thank him, he returned to Nineveh and warned the population to abandon their wicked ways. They listened to him. Daniel and three friends were taken prisoner in ancient Babylon. They refused to follow Babylonian customs including idol worship. God blessed Daniel with the ability to interpret dreams and he became an advisor to King Nebuchadnezzar. 25. Ibid., 54. 26. Judith R. Cohen, “‘Maria, Sister of Aaron, Play Your Tambourine’: Music in the Lives of Crypto-Jewish Women in Portugal,” El Prezente, Vol. 3 (2009): 303. 27. Belmonte historian Elizabete Manteigeuiro, in discussion with the author, June 9, 2022. 28. Samuel Schwarz, “The Crypto Jews of Portugal,” Menorah Journal, Vol. 12 (1926) as reprinted in Shofar, Vol. 18, No. 1 (Fall 1999): 46.

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29. Cnaan Liphshiz, “Portugal’s only Rural Jewish Community Seeks a Seat at the Table,” The Times of Israel, Published January 19, 2019, Accessed June 13, 2022, https://www​.timesofisrael​.com​/portugals​-only​-rural​-jewish​-community​-seeks​-a​-seat​ -at​-the​-table/. 30. Ibid. 31. Ibid. In addition to prosecuting Marranos, some Belmonte Inquisitors put on trial faith healers and non-practicing Catholics. 32. Ibid. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid. 35. Ibid. 36. Ibid. 37. Belmonte historian Elisabete Manteigeuiro, in discussion with the author, June 9, 2022. 38. Ibid. 39. Ibid. 40. Samuel Schwarz, “The Crypto Jews of Portugal,” Menorah Journal, Vol. 12 (1926) as reprinted in Shofar, Vol. 18, No. 1 (Fall 1999): 51. 41. Ibid., 52. 42. Ibid., 53. The prayer is about the exodus of the ancient Jews from Egypt, the basis of the Passover holiday. 43. Ibid. 44. Ibid., 55. 45. Ibid. 46. Ibid. 47. Ibid., 56. 48. The Purim holiday celebrates Queen Esther, the wife of the Persian King Ahasuerus, who convinced the king not to follow his recommendation of his royal advisor, Haman, who wanted to kill the Jews. 49. In Judaism, the fast is a custom not a commandment. 50. Samuel Schwarz, “The Crypto Jews of Portugal,” Menorah Journal, Vol. 12 (1926) as reprinted in Shofar, Vol. 18, No. 1 (Fall 1999): 57. 51. Ibid. 52. Ibid., 58. 53. Ibid. 54. Ibid., 59. 55. Judith R. Cohen, “‘Maria, Sister of Aaron, Play Your Tambourine’: Music in the Lives of Crypto-Jewish Women in Portugal,” El Prezente, Vol. 3 (2009): 294. 56. Ibid., 296. 57. Rabbi Elisha Salas, in discussion with the author, June 9, 2022. 58. Jewish Museum of Belmonte, http://www​.cm​-belmonte​.pt. 59. Luísa Antônia was tried by the Inquisition for secretly practicing Judaism and acting as a healer. She was sentenced to a penitentiary where she received Catholic religious instruction. Ibn Yahya Ben Rabi was a 12th-century resident of Belmonte nearly

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300 years before the Inquisition began. He served as political strategist to D. Alfonso Henriques, the first king of independent Portugal after he defeated the Moors. The king gave Yayha the title of Dom, Lord. Yahya’s son was the first Chief Rabbi of Portugal. 60. Rádio Judaica Portuguesa. Accessed June 12, 2022, http://rad​ ioju​ daic​ apor​ tuguesa​.com/. 61. Ana Morão, in discussion with the author, June 9, 2022. 62. Rádio Judaica Portuguesa (@radiojudaicaportuguesa) https://www facebook​ .com​/rad​ioju​daic​apor​t​uguesa/ (May 30, 2022). 63. Rabbi Elisha Salas, in discussion with the author, June 9, 2022. 64. Ibid. 65. Ibid. 66. Ibid. 67. Ibid. 68. Avigail Salas, in discussion with the author, June 9, 2022. 69. Rabbi Elisha Salas, in discussion with the author, June 9, 2022. 70. The relative of the deceased traditionally chants the Kaddish for one year after the death. 71. Rabbi Menachem Posner, “Why Is Bidding Allowed on Shabbat?,” Chabad​.or​ g, Accessed June 12, 2022, https://www​.chabad​.org​/library​/article​_cdo​/aid​/741125​/ jewish​/Why​-is​-bidding​-allowed​-on​-Shabbat​.htm. 72. Ibid. 73. As Shabbat concluded, this was the first time that men and women shared the same space in the sanctuary. 74. Rabbi Menachem Posner, “Why Is Bidding Allowed on Shabbat?,” Chabad​.or​ g, Accessed June 12, 2022, https://www​.chabad​.org​/library​/article​_cdo​/aid​/741125​/ jewish​/Why​-is​-bidding​-allowed​-on​-Shabbat​.htm. 75. Dovid Zaklikowski, “Kiddush Levana: Sanctification of the Moon,” Chabad​.or​ g, Accessed June 12, 2022, https://www​.chabad​.org​/library​/article​_cdo​/aid​/1904288​/ jewish​/Kiddush​-Levana​-Sanctification​-of​-the​-Moon​.htm. 76. Ibid. 77. Ibid. 78. Ibid. 79. João Diogo, in discussion with the author, June 9, 2022. 80. Moshe Morão, in discussion with the author, June 9, 2022. 81. Rabbi Elisha Salas, in discussion with the author, June 9, 2022.

Chapter 8

Sofia, Bulgaria

We truly believe in the principle of Tikun Olam. Repair the world. We very strongly believe that only if we take care of ourselves only inside the community, this will not give us a good future here. That is why we are trying to affect society in a good way. —Julia Danolova

Of all European cities, Sofia, Bulgaria, might not be at the top of anyone’s list as home to the largest synagogue in southeastern Europe and the third largest one in Europe. The synagogue is the largest Sephardic house of worship in the Balkans region of Europe. It has a vibrant Jewish community that rebounded from the communist era. This includes record-setting enrollments in religious school. The Jewish community in Sofia—mainly Sephardic—is in many ways the model chapter for this book. It is the population of Jews who literally endured a tenuous existence during World War Two, dwindled in numbers after the creation of Israel, and nearly robbed of its religious values during communism. Communication has played an instrumental role in its rebirth. Today, this community is led by a young generation that sees a bright future. Its modern-day success is based on its internal organizational success, its partnerships with global Jewish organizations, and engagement with many segments of the community: children, teenagers, young parents, and the elderly. Bulgaria has five operational synagogues with two in Sofia. With a citywide population of 6,000 Jews, 50–60 attend Shabbat services each week. When communism ended in 1989, Sofia’s Jews literally had to pick up the pieces of a hollowed-out community. Most Jews were not affiliated with religious institutions simply because there weren’t any open and active ones. As one Bulgarian Jew noted, after communism, most Jewish observances 119

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were holiday family get-togethers without any religious rituals.1 As a communist country, the government espoused atheism. There were little, if any, Passover seders, or Hanukkah menorah lightings. Jews affiliated with one another in quiet ways despite the lack of overt government prosecution as seen in other communist countries. The private, family focused observance , is similar to how the Crypto-Jews in Belmonte, Portugal, quietly maintained their traditions. In the last decade, the Hebrew phrase L’dor V’dor (generation to generation) has taken on new meaning in Sofia. There is a concerted effort to focus on the future generations of Bulgarian Jews. There is a burgeoning Jewish school, extracurricular activities for teenagers, and religious courses for new parents. The community’s leadership is composed of parents with children. The overall success of this group directly reflects Mark Ward’s understanding of successful religious communities. According to Ward, successful religious groups reflect order, patterns, systems, and structures.2 From an organizational and religious communication perspective, the Bulgarian Jewish organization exists independently from any one person, and it serves the community.3 The institution and its activities draw the Jewish population to it. The synagogue is a major presence in both the historic and present-day identity of the community. It opened its doors in 1909. Bulgaria’s Tsar Ferdinand I and the prime minister attended the grand opening. The synagogue’s property occupies an entire block in Sofia. It can accommodate 1,300 congregants. Its architecture style is Moorish revival from the mid-1800s based on classic Islamic styles. The building has a rectangular shape and a central dome. Its main sanctuary is octagonal in shape with the highest point more than 100 feet tall from floor to ceiling. The main brass chandelier weighs nearly two tons. During World War Two, Sofia was bombed by the allies, but the synagogue survived nearly intact. One bomb that landed inside did not explode but the vibrations of it hitting the building caused a lot of the stained glass to shatter.4 During the communist era, the government attempted to convert the building into a concert hall, but the small Jewish community successfully resisted.5 In 1956, the Bulgarian government recognized it as a cultural and historic monument.6 As discussed in this chapter, the story of the Bulgarian Jewish community is complicated. As European Jews, throughout history they experienced anti-Semitism and persecutions. Yet its experience and fate in World War Two differ from those in other European countries. The population’s post-communist history and the religious and cultural services it provides reflect the core values of this book. Organization and communication are the keys to the Jews’ success in Bulgaria.

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EARLY HISTORY According to historian Nathan Michael Gelber, the first Jews to arrive in Bulgaria date back to the beginning of the Common Era.7 There is not a lot of historical evidence about these ancient Jews. There are preserved remains of a synagogue from Roman times in Plovdil that date back to the second century. What we know of historic Bulgarian Jewish communities is based on the arrival of those who fled the Spanish and Portuguese inquisitions and arrived in the Ottoman Empire, modern-day Turkey.8 Bulgaria was a part of the Ottoman Empire. These Sephardic Jews “absorbed” the older Jewish communities.9 Yet a few Ashkenazi communities remained in eastern Bulgaria near the Black Sea.10 There were Jewish communities in Sofia, Varna, Vidin, Plovdil, and numerous other towns. In 1374, a large number of Jews arrived in Bulgaria after their deportation from Hungary. Peasant riots in Ukraine in 1648 brought another wave of Jewish immigration including prisoners of Cossack leader Bohdan Khmelnytsky.11 As with any European country, Bulgaria was not immune to antisemitism. But the prejudice was often driven by individuals not the government or church leaders. During the 1885 war against Serbia, Jews volunteered in the army and those who could not serve provided weapons and other supplies.12 When the Ottoman Empire’s rule over southern Europe began to wane in the late nineteenth century, Bulgaria’s Christian community began a drive for independence. The Jewish community officially remained neutral in this conflict. Yet individual Jews served in the Bulgarian army and led a fire brigade that defended Sofia from Turkish attempts to burn the city.13 In 1878, under the Treaty of Berlin, Jews in Bulgaria were given equal civil and political rights.14 The Treaty of Berlin was the final territorial settlement after the Russian Turkish War a year earlier. In the 1912 Balkan War, Jews served as soldiers including military leadership positions and in two Jewish brigades.15 Bulgaria, Serbia, Greece, and Montenegro were allied against the Ottoman Empire, and their victory led to a loss of most of the empire’s European territory. This heralded a further weakening of Ottoman rule. During World War One, Bulgaria sided with Germany, Austria-Hungary, and the Ottoman Empire. On October 14, 1915, Bulgaria declared war against Serbia. Bulgarian Jews volunteered to fight. Colonel Avraham Tagar was a national military hero. Approximately 1,000 Jewish soldiers died in the war.16 With the help of its allies including Bulgaria, Germany defeated Serbia. Germany and its allies, Including Bulgaria, ultimately lost the war.

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WORLD WAR TWO The Jewish experience in Bulgaria during World War Two can be categorized, at best, as complicated. The good news is that the communities across Bulgaria were never transported to Nazi concentration and work camps. The Bulgarian Orthodox Church and local civic leaders rallied and supported Jews and prevented the government from deporting them. The bad news was that the government steadily implemented antisemitic laws aimed at Jewish families’ and businesses.17 The Bulgarian government under Tsar Boris III was a political and military ally of Nazi Germany. As the Tsar’s army fought across the Balkans outside Bulgaria, Jews in non-Bulgarian communities were transported away to concentration camps. According to historian Nadèje Ragaru, during the war, nearly 50,000 Jews were allowed to maintain their Bulgarian citizenship.18 In 1939, the government expelled 4,000 non-Bulgarian Jews.19 After the war, the Bulgarian government bragged about saving its Jewish communities from near certain deaths in the concentration camps but also refused to acknowledge any role it played outside the country regarding the other non-Bulgarian Jewish communities.20 Jews were deported from Greece and Macedonia by both German and Bulgarian soldiers.21 In 2013, on the 70th anniversary of the “Rescue of Bulgarian Jews,” the government placed the blame for Greek and Macedonian Jewish deportations solely on the Nazis.22 Archival evidence indicates that the Tsar Boris III’s Bulgarian government had a plan to deport its Jewish population. Ragaru noted that the plan had two parts. The first from 1940 to 1942 deprived Jews of political, social, economic, and professional rights.23 The relevant state agencies implemented rules as needed through various ministries, state agencies, the post office, police, and intelligence services.24 In October 1940, the government forced all Jews to wear a yellow star and register their homes and businesses with the government, and all university students were expelled from campuses.25 The second part of the government’s plan began in 1942 but fortunately never brought to fruition. If implemented, it would have included roundups, deportations, and firing squads.26 Throughout the war, Jews were compelled into forced labor. Even former and active Bulgarian Jewish military officers were relegated to these forced labor battalions.27 When the Bulgarian government started organizing the deportation of the country’s 50,000 Jews, that is when local Christian Orthodox communities and civic leaders objected. On May 21, 1943, the government voted to expel all local Jewish communities across the country.28 They were given three days to pack up their homes and depart: Within days, the streets of Sofia were full of purchasers eager for bargains on the furniture, personal effects, and other souvenirs that Jews were forced

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to leave behind. Departure orders assigned the dates and times of transport trains, separating families, amid the suspension of bread rations. House arrests, housing scarcities, bans on professional activity, circulation restrictions, and curfews produced extremely precarious living conditions for the Jews, who did not always receive a warm welcome from local inhabitants in their new place of residence.29

Christian leaders stepped up their actions to prevent this forced exodus. Most priests and their parishioners refused to cooperate and defended their Jewish neighbors. They were joined by several trade unions and professional organizations. The head of the Orthodox Church in Plovdiv threatened to lie down on the railroad tracks if the military deported the Jews.30 Unlike many other European countries, Bulgaria seems to be unique for the cross section of the population who actively defended the Jews. The Bulgarian government stopped these efforts once the plans were made public to the allies fighting against the Nazis. The allies threatened to prosecute members of the government in postwar trials.31 In the autumn of 1943 as the allies invaded Bulgaria, authorities revoked all the antisemitic restrictions, including the education and professional bans.32 Jews who left the country returned home including the forced laborers. Items taken from households were returned. By the fall of 1944, the Soviet army occupied Sofia and installed a government that ensured no further antisemitic laws.33 During the war, the port city of Varna, located on the Black Sea in eastern Bulgaria, became an important stop for eastern European Jews emigrating to Palestine. Local Jews often sought passage for the Holy Land. Jews from Bulgaria, Poland, and Romania booked passage on ships that arrived in Varna. Sadly, not all boats arrived safely in Palestine. The ship, Salvador, with 326 Bulgarian Jews sank off the coast of Turkey near the town of Silivri.34 While Bulgarian Jews were spared the worst of the war and the Holocaust, they were on the precipice of outright disaster. It was the leak about the government’s plans to the allies and the imminent Soviet invasion that may have saved the Jews. Across Europe, many Catholic priests and nuns secretly protected the Jews. While Bulgaria’s 50,000 Jews were spared, it is important to note that when the Bulgarian army fought alongside Nazi soldiers outside the country across the Balkans, Jewish communities were attacked. In recent years, Tsar Boris III’s role during the war has become controversial. In a 2023 80th-anniversary commemoration of saving the Jews from deportation, the Bulgarian government lauded the Tsar’s role in saving the Jews from deportation while not recognizing the punitive laws he forced upon the Jews.35 Sofia’s Jewish community held its own commemorative ceremonies and did not participate in the government’s event.36

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Communist Era During the communist era from 1946 to 1989, Jewish religious observance came to a near standstill. Most synagogues were no longer used for religious observance but instead converted into city halls or art museums.37 According to Maxim Delchev, Jewish education director in Sofia, Judaism evolved into more of a culture observance than a religious one.38 In the years immediately following the war and after the creation of Israel, Bulgarian Jews immigrated to Israel in large numbers.39 By the end of the 1950s, nearly 90 percent of Bulgaria’s Jewish population immigrated.40 Its population of about 50,000 Jews dwindled to 5,000. With the religious practice of Judaism in rapid decline during the communist era, intermarriage between Jews and non-Jews grew at a fast rate. Jewish holidays and festivals were social occasions rather than religious ones. By 1989 when the communist regime fell, the Jews had to rebuild their religious community, a slow process in those first years. The immediate focus was assisting the elderly since the first years after communism brought high inflation and the cost of food impacted them.41 According to Maxim Delchev, the community started stabilizing and growing after 2010.42 That growth is seen in the high demand by families for children’s Jewish education. ORGANIZATIONAL STRUCTURE IMPACTS COMMUNITY SUCCESS Since most of Bulgaria’s Jews live in Sofia, the national organizational structure is based there. According to the Sofia Synagogue website, the community is comprised of Jews who are a “voluntary association of individuals” who believe in Judaism.43 Together they conduct worship, religious rites, and ceremonies as well as support shared “spiritual values of Judaism.”44 The website espouses that Judaism is a religion with a set of beliefs and principles “that recognize the Torah and Talmud as ethical norms of behaviour.”45 As a religious community, the members agreed that its organizational structure stems from those beliefs. In turn, religious organizations have several features, including social collectivity, goals, activities, and formal structures. Sofia’s Jewish community reflects these organizational patterns. The Central Israeli Spiritual Council is an entity recognized by the Bulgarian government with the legal status to govern Jewish affairs.46 It serves as the leader of the country’s Jews and manages the physical property of the synagogues.47 The Council serves all Jews across the country. Its members are elected by the wider General Assembly of Bulgaria’s Jews. Each member

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can serve up to two completed four-year terms and must be active in a local synagogue.48 Eleven people serve on the Central Israeli Spiritual Council that meets at least once per year. One of the most interesting aspects of organization is in how a Jew is eligible to join. Formal membership begins at age 13 for boys and age 12 for girls, the Bar and Bat Mitzvah years, respectively. Members pay an annual fee that entitles them to automatic membership to the General Assembly, the body that elects the Central Israeli Spiritual Council.49 The specific rules regarding membership and its governing bodies are similar to the nineteenthcentury organization of the St. Thomas Sephardic community discussed in this book. In St. Thomas, the Danish government set forth legal procedures for how religious congregations organized and recognized by the crown. In Bulgaria, it is a similar process. The organizational and governing structures date back to 1880 when the Bulgarian government passed into law, “The Provisional Law for the Cultural Administration of Christians, Muslims and Israelites.”50 In the late nineteenth century, the government recognized synagogues across Bulgaria as the headquarters of that city’s Jewish community. Its leadership was a council of three to five members, and the rabbi played a secondary role to this council.51 Each synagogue was funded by local dues generated from cemetery burials, taxes on the sale of kosher meat and wine, marriage licenses, and performed circumcisions.52 The Chief Rabbi of Bulgaria’s salary was paid by the government, but funding for each synagogue rabbi came from these various fees.53 A Chief Rabbi represented all Bulgarian Jews before the government.54 Given the historic framework of the Jewish community, it is not surprising that a bureaucratic organization continues today. According to Julia Dandolova, the Executive Director of the Organization for Jewish Bulgaria Shalom (OJB), each organization and synagogue is connected through OJB. She said that it is organized in a similar model to American Jewish Federations.55 The religious schools, camps, daycares, and charity organizations are all run by OJB and its 120 employees.56 Prior to becoming Executive Director in 2017, Dandolova worked for the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee for 13 years. She stated that the Jewish community’s organizational structure was heavily influenced by the different Jewish agencies that helped the community in the post communism era.57 In addition to her executive director position, there is someone who manages the day-to-day operations of OJB and an education director who oversees all the education curriculum and summer camp activities. There are also lay leadership positions including a community president, vice president, and directors of several community outreach initiatives. Dandolova calls the administrative structure “Americanized,” since it parallels the organizational structures of many local U.S. Jewish communities.58

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Bulgaria’s rabbi serves the community part time, since he lives in Israel. Dandolova stated that despite the lack of a full-time rabbi, the Jewish community, as a whole, is engaged with its institutions. As executive director, she likens her job to keeping all the “puzzle pieces” working together.59 OJB oversees both its internal agencies and educational institutions as well as partnering with external organizations focused on fighting discrimination and promoting human rights. Specifically, OJB works with LGBTQ and Roma organizations to promote equal rights.60 She noted in recent years an increase in antisemitism along with a general prejudice in Bulgaria. Dandolova believed that minorities need to stand together to promote friendship and tolerance. Part of the “pieces of the puzzle” Dandolova works on as the executive director is maintaining internal unity among the 6,000 Jews in the country. As with any religious community, disagreements are bound to spring up. She stated that her community’s “recipe for success” is managing those internal disagreements and learning how to disagree respectfully. For example, there are various interpretations on why the Bulgarian government in World War Two spared the Jewish community. She said it is still hotly debated to this day. Everyone has his or her opinions about this topic but has refused to let it divide them. Dandolova noted that they have a “recipe for success, learning how to agree to disagree.” It is determined to not allow internal disagreements to metastasize and harm the community. Unity is the overarching goal.61 Financially, the OJB is supported by rents collected from properties that were confiscated by the communist government and then returned to the community after 1989. Jews also pay membership to OJB and different activity fees. The Bulgarian government assists with a small portion of money to pay for the synagogue’s utilities. American Jewish organizations help with annual gifts.

AN ACTIVE AND GROWING COMMUNITY Sofia’s Jewish population is in the midst of renewed self-rediscovery. During the communist era, the government discouraged religious practice and many Jews intermarried with non-Jews. Religious practice dwindled. Dandolova noted that 80% of the community today are Jewish “by choice.”62 She explained that these are Jews who are purposefully coming back to religious practice instead of choosing atheism.63 They not only want to rediscover religious practice but also want to expose their children to Jewish traditions. She estimated that 20% of the community are individuals with one Jewish parent or grandparent and who want to reconnect with their family roots.64

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With more than 30 years since the fall of communism, OJB maintains a religious school with more than 210 students from pre-kindergarten through seventh grade and enrolls more than 200 students in its summer camps.65 There are plans to add a grade each year until a Jewish child can enroll from kindergarten through 12th grade. In addition to parents enrolling their children in these programs, families are returning to the synagogue. Dandolova pointed out that OJB has religious programs focused on families. Most of the people who are newcomers are people that were involved when they were kids and now when they have their children, they want their children to have the same environment. They are reconnecting through their kids.66

Dandolova noted that individuals who know they have a Jewish family member often seek out OJB to learn more about religion and culture. Unlike many other European capitals, Dandolova believes that Sofia’s Jewish future is bright. The number of children enrolled in schools and camps is the proof. She said each Sunday the Jewish Community Center is filled with the voices of children and teenagers. Dandolova and Maxim Delchev are optimistic about the next 10 years. As children are enrolled in religious school, the parents start attending synagogue. There is a desire for Jewish community and religious connections. The children and grandchildren of the communist generation seek those roots. According to Delchev, the educational director since 2016, the community stumbled in the first years after communism because it had to literally organize without resources and direction.67 After the fall of communism in 1989, the remnant members had to decide how to start rebuilding. With widespread intermarriage between Jews and non-Jews and the state’s former official policy of atheism, Jewish leaders decided to welcome anyone with at least one Jewish grandparent. This was an intentional strategy to follow Israel’s Law of Return. Passed in 1950 and then amended in 1970, the Israeli law allows the child or grandchild (and their spouse) of any Jew—male or female—to immigrate to Israel.68 The OJB decided that if this was part of Israeli law, then it could work in welcoming Jews back to religious and community life.69 Bulgaria’s Sephardic Orthodox Chief rabbi lives part-time in Israel. As an Orthodox rabbi, he cannot conduct a Bar or Bat Mitzvah for the son or daughter of a non-Jewish mother. Yet the synagogue’s leadership does invite the family to partake in a service honoring the child at this age without the traditional reading from the Torah by the child. Julia Danolova said the community has to show respect and some flexibility with the children of intermarried couples: “We were going to lose more Jewish people than we have

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now.”70 She pointedly stated that if a non-Jewish partner is not welcome, it could alienate the Jewish spouse and then their future children.71 POSSIBLE CHALLENGES TO THE COMMUNITY Bulgaria’s Jews endured and survived communism and those first years of transition to democracy. Its population is not in decline and is stable at 6,000 mostly living in Sofia. Despite its growing school enrollment, challenges persist. When the children grow up, it will be difficult for them to meet a Jewish spouse. The rate of intermarriage has not decreased and will force the community to remain flexible in accepting mixed families. While Israelis live in Bulgaria, they are not always active in community religious activities. Many of them choose to worship at the local Chabad syngagogue in Sofia. Bulgaria is not immune to the increased nationalism and antisemitism seen across Europe. Maxim Delchev asserted that Western and Eastern European nationalists are trying to influence Bulgarian politics.72 He said religious prejudice was not widespread in Bulgaria prior to social media. This nationalism that can easily morph into antisemitism is also accompanied by an increase in Muslim immigrants from the Middle East who are bringing an ideology more radical than Bulgaria’s native Muslim community. Religious leaders from the Christian and Muslim communities are working together to fight this imported prejudice.73 Delchev also noted that political parties from left to right have strong relationships with the Jewish community.74 They participate in events with the community including Holocaust Memorial Day. Another challenge for the community is internal. The lack of a full-time rabbi means there is not a stabilizing religious influence in the synagogue every Shabbat and on holidays. In past years, several rabbis visited from Israel but were not native to Bulgaria and often did not speak Bulgarian. As with any Jewish community, a change in rabbinical leadership often upsets members of a synagogue. Hopefully, the current rabbi who spends part of his time in Bulgaria will be able to continue in his position for the long term. Despite these challenges, Bulgaria is one of the few remaining Sephardic communities outside Israel. Its leadership is working hard to maintain that heritage for future generations. Unlike other European Jewish communities, the younger generations are active leaders. This is cause for overall optimism. As Julia Dandolova remarked, if pessimism was allowed to take root, the community would not have rebuilt after communism.75 She said that more than 30 years ago, no one believed there would be a Jewish community in Bulgaria today. Yet a small group of enthusiastic people wanted to prove that notion wrong, and they opened their doors to partnerships for international support. They were transparent in sharing what they did not know and not afraid to ask for help.

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OJB Shalom’s organization, leadership, and open communication with internal and external partners position it as a model that supports the theoretical underpinnings of this book. Clear and defined communication leadership are recipes for success. These factors assist any religion with enduring and maintaining a strong community.

NOTES 1. Maxim Delchev, in discussion with the author, January 27, 2022. 2. Mark Ward Sr., “Organization and Religion: Ontological, Epistemological, and Axiological Foundations for an Emerging Field,” Journal of Communication and Religion, Vol. 38, No. 5 (2015): 5. 3. Ibid. 4. Sofia Synagogue: History of the Building, https://www​.sofiasynagogue​.com​/ en​/history/. 5. Ibid. 6. Ibid. 7. N. M. Gelber, “Jewish Life in Bulgaria,” Jewish Social Studies, Vol. 8, No. 2 (1946): 103. 8. Ibid. 9. Ibid. 10. Haim Ghiuzeli, “The Jewish Community Varna, Bulgaria,” Museum of the Jewish People, https://www​.anumuseum​.org​.il​/jewish​-community​-varna​-bulgaria/. 11. Yaakov Maor, “Travelling in Bulgaria with Jewish Perspective,” The Jewish Traveler, February 2020, https://www​.jewishtraveler​.co​.il​/traveling​-bulgaria​-jewish​ -perspective/. 12. Haim Ghiuzeli, “The Jewish Community Varna, Bulgaria,” Museum of the Jewish People, https://www​.anumuseum​.org​.il​/jewish​-community​-varna​-bulgaria/. 13. N. M. Gelber, “Jewish Life in Bulgaria,” Jewish Social Studies, Vol. 8, No. 2 (1946): 104. 14. Ibid. 15. Yaakov Maor, “Travelling in Bulgaria with Jewish Perspective,” The Jewish Traveler, February 2020, https://www​.jewishtraveler​.co​.il​/traveling​-bulgaria​-jewish​ -perspective/. 16. Jewishgen, “Bulgarian Jewish Casualties in the Balkan Wars and WWI,” https://www​.jewishgen​.org​/databases​/bulgaria​/bul​gari​anJe​wish​Casu​alti​esBa​lkanWar​ .html. 17. Nadèje Ragaru, “Contrasting Destinies: The Plight of Bulgarian Jews and the Jews in Bulgarian-Occupied Greek and Yugoslav Territories During World War Two,” Online Encyclopedia of Mass Violence, March 15, 2017, https://www​.sciencespo​.fr​/mass​-violence​-war​-massacre​-resistance​/fr​/node​/3338​.html. 18. Ibid.

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19. Haim Ghiuzeli, “The Jewish Community Varna, Bulgaria,” Museum of the Jewish People, https://www​.anumuseum​.org​.il​/jewish​-community​-varna​-bulgaria/. 20. Nadèje Ragaru, “Contrasting Destinies: The Plight of Bulgarian Jews and the Jews in Bulgarian-Occupied Greek and Yugoslav Territories During World War Two,” Online Encyclopedia of Mass Violence, March 15, 2017, https://www​.sciencespo​.fr​/mass​-violence​-war​-massacre​-resistance​/fr​/node​/3338​.html. 21. Ibid. 22. Ibid. 23. Ibid. 24. Ibid. 25. Haim Ghiuzeli, “The Jewish Community Varna, Bulgaria,” Museum of the Jewish People, https://www​.anumuseum​.org​.il​/jewish​-community​-varna​-bulgaria/. 26. Nadèje Ragaru, “Contrasting Destinies: The Plight of Bulgarian Jews and the Jews in Bulgarian-Occupied Greek and Yugoslav Territories During World War Two,” Online Encyclopedia of Mass Violence, March 15, 2017, https://www​.sciencespo​.fr​/mass​-violence​-war​-massacre​-resistance​/fr​/node​/3338​.html. 27. Ibid. 28. Ibid. 29. Ibid. 30. About JCC Plovdiv, Our Story, https://www​ .plovdivsynagogue​ .com​ /jccs​ -history/. 31. Ibid. 32. Ibid. 33. Ibid. 34. Haim Ghiuzeli, “The Jewish Community Varna, Bulgaria,” Museum of the Jewish People, https://www​.anumuseum​.org​.il​/jewish​-community​-varna​-bulgaria/. 35. David Klein, “Bulgarian Jews Skipped Ceremony Marking 80 Years since Rescue from Nazis. Why?” The Jerusalem Post, March 16, 2023. https://www​.jpost​ .com​/deals​/article​-734467​?utm​_source​=jpost​.app​.apple​&utm​_medium​=share. 36. Ibid. 37. Yaakov Maor, “Travelling in Bulgaria with Jewish Perspective,” The Jewish Traveler, February 2020, https://www​.jewishtraveler​.co​.il​/traveling​-bulgaria​-jewish​ -perspective/. 38. Maxim Delchev, in discussion with the author, January 27, 2022. 39. Yaakov Maor, “Travelling in Bulgaria with Jewish Perspective,” The Jewish Traveler, February 2020, https://www​.jewishtraveler​.co​.il​/traveling​-bulgaria​-jewish​ -perspective/. 40. Ibid. 41. Maxim Delchev, in discussion with the author, January 27, 2022. 42. Ibid. 43. Sofia Synagogue, Religious Community of the Jews in Bulgaria, Structure, https://www​.sofiasynagogue​.com​/en​/religious​-community​-of​-the​-jews​-in​-bulgaria/. 44. Ibid. 45. Ibid. 46. Ibid.

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47. Ibid. 48. Ibid. 49. Ibid. 50. N. M. Gelber, “Jewish Life in Bulgaria,” Jewish Social Studies, Vol. 8, No. 2 (1946): 104. 51. Ibid., 105. 52. Ibid. 53. Ibid. 54. Ibid. 55. Julia Dandolova, in discussion with the author, February 14, 2022. 56. Ibid. 57. Ibid. 58. Ibid. 59. Ibid. 60. Ibid. 61. Ibid. 62. Ibid. 63. Ibid. 64. Ibid. 65. Ibid. 66. Ibid. 67. Maxim Delchev, in discussion with the author, January 27, 2022. 68. Law of Return (Amendment No. 2) 1970, kness​​et​.go​​v​.il/​​laws/​​speci​​al​/en​​g​/re​t​​ urn​.h​​tm. 69. Julia Dandolova, in discussion with the author, February 14, 2022. 70. Ibid. 71. Ibid. 72. Maxim Delchev, in discussion with the author, January 27, 2022. 73. Ibid. 74. Ibid. 75. Julia Dandolova, in discussion with the author, February 14, 2022.

Chapter 9

Iasi, Romania

We have to struggle against the diffused anti-Semitic sentiments of a part of the Romanian population, especially caused by the lack of historical information. During the communist times in Romania, nobody discussed what happened in Romania with the Jews. —Bercu Burah

Pogroms, fascism, communism, and daily antisemitic incidents were highlights of Romanian Jewish life for hundreds of years. Thousands of Jews around the world, including those living in the United States, have ancestors who immigrated from Romania in the early twentieth century prior to World War Two. More than 100,000 Jewish Romanian families immigrated to Israel after World War Two. At its prewar height, Romania was home to more than 700,000 Jews, and in some cities such as Iasi, more than a third of the total population was Jewish. Iasi (pronounced either Yosh or Yossy), the second largest city in Romania, was once home to a vibrant, diverse population with world-renowned rabbis, playwrights, actors, and musicians. The story of Iasi’s Jewish community is a reflection of an overall sad and complicated history of Judaism in Romania. Beginning in the fifteeenth century, Jews from eastern European countries, the nearby Ottoman Empire, and as far away as Spain settled in Iasi. Today, it is a city of nearly 380,000 residents located in northeastern Romania less than 30 miles from the Moldovan border. Approximately 300 Jews live in Iasi today.1 The location and geography are important. Moldova was part of the Russian Pale of Settlement, an area of the pre-World War One Russian empire. It stretched from modernday Lithuania in northern Europe southward to include parts of modern-day Poland, Russia, Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova in the south. Initiated by Russian Empress Catherine the Great beginning in 1791, Jews could legally 133

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settle, work, and raise families in this region of the Russian Empire. Iasi was located just outside the Moldovan region of the Pale of Settlement. While millions of Jews lived in both Romania and the nearby Pale, their histories were intertwined and directly tied to centuries of numerous wars and ever-changing borders. Historically, Iasi has been the largest city in the Romanian region of Moldavia as its borders shifted numerous times in the last 500 years. It was also a part of an autonomous region within the Ottoman Empire between the sixteenth and nineteenth century. To appreciate how Iasi revived itself as a Jewish community, it is vital to understand the history of the Moldavian region of Romania. From imported Russian prejudice to Romanian fascism and communism, the Jewish people in Romania and specifically Iasi clung on to their beliefs and traditions. Today’s 330 person Jewish community in Iasi carries a legacy of Jewish presence despite the hardship overcome over the centuries and, specifically, the last 100 years. Emerging from 50 years of communism in December 1989 with the downfall of the Ceausescu regime, the Iasi Jewish community came out of the shadows and gradually returned to openly embrace its religious practice and traditions. More than 30 years later, Shabbat prayers are now heard on nearby streets as the doors to the synagogue are literally open to the neighborhood. Yet this return to religious freedom came at an enormous cost. In order to understand the contemporary Iasi Jewish community, its history must be explained. This chapter will also demonstrate that the Jews have strong communications within their community and with the greater Iasi population. This reflects the theoretical foundations of this book. These actions mirror Schein’s six elements of culture: (1) shared basic assumptions (2) developed by a group of people (3) for coping with problems of “external adaptation” (4) that are valid, (5) can be taught to new and upcoming members (6) as the correct way to think about an issue.2

THRIVING DESPITE ANTISEMITISM Former Romanian King Carol II once remarked in 1938, “It cannot be denied that there is a strong antisemitic feeling in our country. That is an old question in our history.”3 In fact, eight years later in an interview with the Jewish News of Northern California newspaper, he committed to protecting the civic and religious rights of Romanian Jews.4 The King’s comments reflected that antisemitism had been a fact of life for centuries. While Jews lived in Romania dating back to ancient Roman times, they began settling en masse across the country beginning in the late fourteenth century after their expulsion from Hungary.5 These Jews immigrated to the eastern part of the country in the region of Moldavia that includes Iasi.6 They gradually moved westward

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across Romania often working as merchants. More Jews arrived in the sixteenth century from Poland and post-Inquisition Spain. Some of these new arrivals worked for the government of Wallachia, the region that is home to Romania’s capital, Bucharest. From the fourteenth to seventeenth centuries, Romania was composed of two regions: Wallachia and Moldavia. While Jews were welcomed in different cities, in 1579, Prince Petru Şchiopul, the ruler of Moldavia, expelled the Jews. He accused them of hurting local merchants with their own businesses.7 This was one of the first overt acts of government-sponsored antisemitism. Despite the Prince’s decree, other local leaders across Romania welcomed Jewish settlement.8 By the end of seventeenth century, under several ruling dynasties, the national government encouraged Jews to settle in Moldavia including Iasi. They were given rights to own land, establish businesses, open synagogues, and have local political representation.9 In this era, Romania was an autonomous region of a religiously tolerant Ottoman Empire. While the Jews were welcome as a population in the 1600s, they had consistent skirmishes with Russian Cossacks in 1652 and 1653 as part of a wider Romanian Russian war.10 In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, as Romania’s political status as a sovereign nation evolved, the rights and safety of its Jews changed. During the Russo-Turkish war, Jews were attacked throughout the country between 1769 and 1774.11 The revolt against the Ottoman Empire included Christian leaders accusing the Jews of siding with the Ottomans. When Russia invaded Romania in July 1853, Russian soldiers attacked Jewish communities.12 Russian authorities revoked their citizenship and denied them land rights.13 This invasion was part of the wider Crimean War between Russia and the Ottomans and lasted until March 1856. With its defeat, Russia withdrew from Romania in 1856. Romania became a pawn in a wider jockeying of power by several European powers. Moldavia and Walachia were separated from their political union after the war but reunited three years later in 1859 when political assemblies in Bucharest and Iasi voted for Alexandru Ioan Cuza to lead a reunified Romania.14 Cuza’s policies toward the Jews were moderate in comparison to the previous Russian military occupation. Native-born Jews had citizenship but those who immigrated to the country during Cuza’s reign were without legal rights.15 Between 1859 and 1864, his government placed conditions associated with increased freedoms for Jews, including reforming religious practice; changes to religious institutions; cultural assimilation into Romania; and overall social integration into society.16 Generally, Romanian-born Jews saw their legal status improved.17 After 1864, Romanian authorities were displeased at the progress of assimilation, and the Jews’ legal status did not improve any further.18 Authorities cited Jewish communities’ unwillingness

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to change their religious practices. A law passed in 1864 gave the government power to remove any Jew’s Romanian citizenship. They could only re-earn it if authorities considered them fully assimilated into the wider society.19 When King Carol I deposed Cuza in 1866, he wanted to establish a new policy of assimilation, but for the next 13 years, the government could not agree on an overall emancipation law for the Jews. According to the 1866 Constitution, the Jews were denied full civic freedoms based on religious grounds: Article 7 of the Constitution stipulated: “The quality of being Romanian is acquired, conserved, or lost according to the rules settled by civil laws. Only those who have no other than Christian rites can be naturalized.”20 Assimilation policies were gradually abandoned in favor of tighter immigration rules for those who wanted to immigrate to Romania.21 There were fewer distinctions between native-born Romanian Jews and those who moved there from abroad. Unfortunately, this led to recognizing all Jews, including those born in Romania, as “foreigners.”22 The 1878 Congress of Berlin finally led to the Jews’ full emancipation with civil and political equality. This change in policy was forced upon Romania in exchange for recognition of formal Romanian independence by the major European powers: the United Kingdom, France, Austria-Hungary, Russia, and Turkey. While Romanian law now granted political rights to Jews, many politicians and leaders were openly antisemitic and believed that the Jews were foreigners.23 They often accused them of keeping the country poor and attempting to establish a Jewish state within Romania. Senator Nicolae Voinov told his colleagues in 1879: In whatever country they live, Jews do not merge. They form a nation within the nation and remain in a permanent barbaric state. What I am telling you, it is found in the memo presented in Russia by Mister Brafman, in which he gives an account of the considerable influence of Jews, their exclusive spirit, the existence of an occult government which they have given to themselves to reach their goal.24

Senator Voinov’s words reflect that many Romanian politicians imported their antisemitic language from Russia. They accused the Jews of establishing an informal “Israelite” state.25 Their antisemitism was based on a belief in an international conspiracy headed by the Alliance Israélite Universelle who espoused that an international association of Jews forced the European politicians to impose Jewish political equality upon Romania.26 By the end of the nineteenth century, Jews had political freedom and equality but there was widespread prejudice across the country:

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During this period, the Jews were turned into a “national danger,” and it was seen as a duty of every good Romanian to fight against this menace. Antisemitism became a trait of good Romanians and good patriots, who had the duty to fight against the Jews. All in all, antisemitism, in its early stage, was a characteristic of the political and intellectual class in Romania of that time.27

By the end of the nineteenth century, nearly 270,000 Jews lived in Romania, about 4.5 to 5 percent of the total population out of 5.5 million people. Most lived in Moldavia and in the modern-day country of Moldova (part of Romania at this time), including Iasi. In this region they accounted for 10 percent of the population.28 By the beginning of the twentieth century, Romania had the second-largest Jewish population in Eastern Europe west of Russia. In the early 1900s, half of Iasi’s population was Jewish.29 Seventy thousand Jews emigrated to Palestine and the United States between 1898 and 1904.30 While Jewish emigration in the early years of the twentieth century continued, the Jewish population in Romania increased. When Romania entered World War One on the side of the allies, 23,000 Jews joined the military.31 While 882 Jews died in the war, the government decorated another 800 surviving veterans for their service.32 Several wealthy Jewish businessmen assisted with national reconstruction efforts after the war and donated money to various causes.33 After the war, King Ferdinand I recognized the Jewish communities’ efforts and patriotism during the war.34 After World War One, Romania’s geographic territory increased as part of the postwar political and diplomatic settlements. Romania gained lands that were previously part of Hungary, including Transylvania in the north. This added an additional five million citizens including half a million Jews. Despite King Ferdinand’s empathy toward his Jewish citizens, general antisemitism remained a staple in Romanian daily life.

IASI JEWISH HISTORY BEFORE WORLD WAR TWO With a heavy antisemitic atmosphere, Iasi thrived as a Jewish community for hundreds of years before World War Two. In a span of 400 years, the Iasi Jewish community expanded, and at its zenith in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the community was home to more than 100 synagogues, 13 Jewish schools, and one of the world’s first Yiddish language theaters. There are not a lot of surviving written records about Iasi’s first Jews from the sixteenth century, but there is a diary account discovered in 1619 from a traveler who mentioned a Rabbi Arroyo as the leader who served the community for 40 years beginning in 1580.35 The oldest cemetery headstone dates back to 1610.36 Rabbi Arroyo’s presence in Iasi means that, at a minimum,

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there was a synagogue, access to kosher meat by ritual kosher slaughter and a mikveh (a ritual bathing pool) in this time period.37 Historical records indicate that In the seventeenth century, the Jewish population increased. This was partially due to Jewish victims of the 1648–1649 Ukrainian pogrom relocating to Iasi. The land for the Great Synagogue of Targu Cucului was purchased in 1657 and the structure completed in 1670.38 It still stands today in use by the community and recognized in the National Register of Historic Monuments. City records from the late seventeenth century show names of several rabbis and Jewish schools. Individuals’ diaries contain written descriptions of professions occupied by Jews and the presence of guilds that supported multiple professions. The first official population figures from Iasi emerged in the mid-eighteenth century. One census from 1755 counted 95 Jewish households out of a total of 1,353 in the city.39 Census records counted households instead of individuals. Another 33 households were led by Christian men married to Jewish women.40 Political instability in Poland in the second half of the eighteenth century brought more Jews to Iasi seeking better opportunities. Discrimination in rural regions of Moldavia positively impacted Iasi’s city population. For 10 years between 1782 and 1792, Alexandru Mavrocordat, the Prince of Moldavia, expelled Jews from small villages in the region and many moved to Iasi.41 Then, his successor Prince Michael Drakos Soutzos favored the Jews and took actions to protect them from outside threats. As the Moldavian princes changed over the decade, the Jews’ geographic settlement altered based on the princes’ whims of who favored or disliked them. For nearly 100 years, from the early 1800s to early 1900s, Jewish life in Iasi thrived. Several Yiddish newspapers were published in Iasi, and the city was the literary capital of Romania.42 Hebrew and Yiddish literature and poetry flourished. World-renowned rabbis studied and taught there. As a small city, Iasi provided Jews with the same access to religious and cultural resources as any larger European city of the era, including Berlin, Vienna, and Odessa. Prominent Jews included Ukrainian-born Avraham Goldfaden who established Romania’s first Yiddish Theater in Iasi. His work in the Yiddish theater had a global impact as far away as the United States. The words to the Israeli national anthem, Ha Tikvah, were written as a poem in 1877 in Iasi by Ukranian-born Naphtali Herz Imber. Itzik Manger, Haim Rabinzon, Leib Drucker, and Strul Braunstein were nationally known poets who lived and published there.43 Local educator Elias Schwarzfeld wrote two seminal books in 1901 and 1902 detailing the history of Romania’s Jews, and these sources are still used today by historians and academics.44 The city had a chief rabbi who supervised all Iasi synagogue rabbis. Several Jewish-focused charity organizations assisted the needy with health care, employment, and food.45 The Israelite Hospital was a complex of 11 buildings, including a homeless

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shelter and home for orphans.46 Many husbands and fathers worked as business owners, craftsmen, artisans, and landowners. Despite the overt antisemitism prevalent in Romania, Iasi’s Jewish population thrived and positively impacted the city between World War One until the start of World War Two: The troubled inter-war period could not put a stop to the creative spirit of the Iasi Jews, who withstood the tragic persecutions of the Holocaust era. The Jewish population had its own cultural life in the cultural Iasi of those times. We must not overlook the preservation of some folkloric traditions—songs, skits, poems—which blended the secular with the religious and kept alive the Jewish spirituality.47

Simply stated, Iasi’s Jews lived in a culturally and religiously active community. It was one of the few smaller cities in Europe where a person could live an enriching Jewish life. This culturally and religiously rich life came to an abrupt end in World War Two. WORLD WAR TWO AND NEAR DESTRUCTION OF THE COMMUNITY World War Two left a long-lasting and nearly disastrous imprint on the community. On September 6, 1940, Romania’s King Carol II was forced to abdicate. Public demonstrations forced the monarch to step down after Hungary, the Soviet Union, and Bulgaria annexed northern regions of Romania. Marshal Ion Antenescu became prime minister using most of the former king’s executive powers. Antonescu was an eager ally of Adolf Hitler. On November 23, 1940, he signed the Tripartite Pact officially allying Romania with Germany, Italy, and Japan. In June 1941, the Romanian army joined Nazi forces and invaded the Soviet Union. The Romanian part of this attack focused on the Soviet republic of Moldova just 30 miles east of Iasi. With the army engaged externally in Moldova, antisemitic verbal attacks quickly turned violent. As the largest city near the Moldovan border, Iasi was an important military staging ground for the invasion. Nazi officers and special forces met up with the Romanian army in Iasi before launching their invasion of Moldova and parts of Ukraine. In 1940, joint Romanian and German elite police squads, the Einsatzgruppe D, attacked the former Romanian regions of Bessarabia (along the Black Sea) and North Bukovina (northern Romania on the Ukrainian border) which were previously annexed by the Soviet Union before the war. This invasion and attack led to the murder of between 100,000 and 200,000 Jews (an exact number was never confirmed).48 The killings came on the order of Marshall

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Ion Antenescu. Later in the war as Romanian and German solders advanced into Ukraine, thousands of Jews in Odessa were killed.49 By the end of 1940, Iasi Jews were still physically safe despite the rapidly increasing government antisemitic rhetoric. In the first six months of 1941, as the war proceeded, Jews in Iasi saw their freedoms quickly taken away. The government began seizing Jewish-owned businesses. Robberies of Jewish homes and businesses were frequent and openly tolerated by the police. Jewish students and teachers were no longer allowed to attend public schools. In the days leading up to June 28, 1941, antisemitic flyers in Iasi stated, “A good Jew is a dead Jew.”50 Local Iasi police and the Romanian Special Intelligence Service began accusing Jewish residents of acting as Soviet spies against the Romanian war effort.51 On Saturday evening, June 28, the worst single pogrom in Romanian history began. Jewish families in Iasi were instructed to show up at the city central police station. They were randomly assaulted and killed on the city streets as they walked to the police station. According to pogrom survivor Lazar Rozin: They entered our house, screaming and pillaging all of our belongings. They ordered us all out of the house, also my mother and my sisters. We walked to the police station and on the way we saw how people were beaten and bodies of dead Jews were strewn in the streets.52

A couple of thousand men were beaten and then killed on site by police, Iasi residents, and Romanian intelligence officers.53 There were no arrests. Women and children watched in horror as their husbands and fathers were murdered and then ordered home. For the next few days, throughout the city, approximately 4,000 men, women, and children were marched to the city’s train station.54 Many hid in their homes hoping the authorities did not break in ordering them to the train station. Families were crammed onto several trains. Unlike other Holocaust victims in other regions of Romanian and across Europe who were transported by train to labor and death camps, the Iasi Jews boarded these trains that transported them to nowhere.55 The trains had no specific destination. They simply traveled to a point and then turned around and headed back to Iasi and then out again into the countryside. This continued for several days. Hundreds of Jews were packed into each train car. They were denied food, water, and bathroom breaks—1,609 Jews out of the 4,000 survived this journey to nowhere.56 Iasi Pogrom survivor Lazar Rozin provided a first-person account of the train experience: They piled us into the train . . . we did not know what was going to happen . . . we thought that they would not want to set the cars ablaze only because they did

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not want to destroy the locomotive itself. . . . For five days we suffocated in that crowded train. Most of the people died in the car . . . we slept on dead bodies.57

In a period of just a few days, there were between 13,000 and 15,000 victims of the Iasi pogrom including those placed on the trains. One-third of the 45,000 Iasi Jewish community were killed. One of the pogrom’s survivors, Dutu Leibovici, said that Iasi’s non-Jewish residents were manipulated to believe lies about the city’s Jews.58 He stated the antisemitism in Iasi and across Romania was building up in the first year of the war that led to this tragedy.59 The Iasi pogrom resulted in dead bodies buried in a mass grave at the local Jewish cemetery. The 1941 pogrom—ordered by Romanian leader Ion Antunescu—and the hundreds of thousands of Jewish deaths across the country during the entire war reduced the country’s Jewish population by more than 50 percent when the war ended in 1945. Somewhere between 300,000–350,000 Jews survived the war. The approximate 400,000 Jewish deaths were second highest to Germany’s.60 Successive Romanian postwar communist governments never held any war crime trials. Iasi police authorities and former Romanian security service officers were never held legally accountable for the pogrom. Each year on June 29, pogrom commemorative services are held. City politicians, Jewish community leaders, and others gather to honor the victims. On the 81st anniversary on June 29, 2022, synagogue leaders, along with visiting dignitaries, city leaders, and Iasi residents marched from the Jewish cemetery through the city singing the song Hevenu Shalom Alechem, We Come to Greet You in Peace, a traditional song.61 Iasi Jewish Community Center Director and synagogue Secretary Albert Lozneanu remembered his great grandfather, Avrum Volovici, who survived the death train. As local authorities marched Avrum to the train station, Albert explained how Jews were beaten with batons.62 Luckily, his grandfather wore a thick coat that absorbed some of the hits reducing the shock from the weapons.63 Avrum Volovici survived the pogrom and lived the rest of his days in Iasi after the war. The annual commemorations are weekend-long events. For example, the community held a sold-out concert on June 29, 2022, featuring one of Romania’s popular female singers Paula Seling who sang at the Romanian National Opera honoring the pogrom’s victims.64 On June 30, the Iasi Philharmonic Choir commemorated the pogrom in a show, “Shalom Israel,” with wellknown Romanian actress Claudia Motea and soprano singer Arlinda Morava.65 JEWISH LIFE IN COMMUNIST ROMANIA In August 1944, King Michael I of Romania successfully deposed Ion Antonescu from power. He appointed Constantin Sanatescu as prime

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minister. Both the government and military generals switched sides and formally allied Romania with the allies. An army that was fighting alongside the Nazis now fought against them. The alliance with the Soviets and growing domestic political pressures forced the king to appoint Petru Groza, a communist party leader as the head of government in January 1945. With the support of the Soviet Union, the communists would remain in power for decades. King Michael I, who was anti-Communist, resisted endorsing many policies of the governing communists by refusing to officially sign bills into law with this royal decree. On December 30, 1947, Groza met with the king and forced him to abdicate and live in exile. The communists gained full control of the country. The hundreds of thousands of Romanian Jews who survived the war now contended with life under communism for the next 42 years. As with the other Soviet-supported Eastern European countries, in Romania freedom of religion, along with other civil liberties, took a backseat to the success of communism’s ideology, including government-supported atheism. During its 42 years of communism, Romania differed from its Eastern European neighbors in that the Jews had basic religious freedoms. Religious freedom was based on a three-way transactional relationship among General Secretary Leonid Ceausescu, his diplomatic relationship with Israel, and Romania’s Chief Rabbi Moses Rosen. Romania’s diplomatic relations with Israel allowed it to have a country to export its products to and, in return, Israeli military technicians provided technical assistance for maintaining the army’s tanks, and its banks provided Romania with a line of credit.66 Both the Israeli government and the Romanian Chief Rabbi used their connections within the American government to secure most favored nation trading status for Romania.67 Rosen often visited Washington, D.C., advocating on behalf of Romania with American political leaders. His success ensured that Jews in Romania were allowed religious freedom to worship at synagogues. Between his actions and Israel’s diplomacy with Ceausescu, Jews lived an easier religious life in Romania than in the other communist countries. In his 45 years as Chief Rabbi from 1948 until 1994, Rabbi Rosen assisted with the emigration of 400,000 Jews to Israel. The result of this mass exodus meant that he participated in Romania’s active Jewish communities and institutions shrinking to the small number it is today. Rabbi Rosen stated that his unusual position as an outspoken advocate for the communist regime was based on the best interests of the Jewish community: There is no choice other than cooperation. I am not a communist, and I have a philosophy of life that’s opposed to communism. But if we want to remain Jews, we can’t do anything against the government. Cooperation is to our advantage and to their advantage.68

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As leader, Ceausescu openly bragged about the strategic, financial relationship with Israel. Beginning in 1967, the Israeli government paid him directly (not his government) to allow Jews to emigrate. The price was based on the person’s individual professional skills. In return, the Israelis had direct access to his government and could advocate on behalf of Romania’s Jews. Bercu Burah, born in 1952 in Iasi, grew up under communism. He credited Rabbi Rosen’s relationship with Ceausescu for the tolerant nature of the regime toward the Jews: “In Iasi for instance, the Jewish Community organized classes for learning Talmud, Torah, Hebrew and we had a choir. Students could have lunch at a local kosher restaurant.”69 Bercu’s access to education and professional opportunities and his freedom to practice religion reflects the freedoms of most Jews in Iasi and across Romania. He is a fourth-generation Iasi Jew. His father Berman believed in the communist political goals for Romania and its embrace of atheism. He did not practice Judaism: My father repeatedly told me that we will have a new life, with no racial differences, as the country promised. I explain that attitude by an absolute sincere belief in the changes hoped after the traumatizing years of World War Two, terrible years for the Jewish population and especially after the pogrom, when a third of the Jewish population was murdered.70

Bercu’s mother Liba ensured that, as a child, he had a Jewish education and upbringing. She often took him to synagogue with her family. Even after the war, Iasi still had dozens of synagogues. He stated that Iasi’s Jews who worked for the government or had state-supported jobs did not attend any religious services or gatherings at the synagogue.71 They either believed in the communist mission of the country or did not want to stand out as practicing Jews. Bercu explained that his childhood in Iasi was not overtly antisemitic, but he experienced an ongoing overtone of ignorance about Judaism: During the elementary school years, I became conscious of the differences involved by my membership of the Jewish community. Friends, the majority were Christian Orthodox, during our playing hours, asked me some questions about how it is to be a Jew. They asked if my grandfather participated in killing Jesus Christ, if during Passover we kill Christian children for using the fresh blood for preparing matzot. . . . It was obvious they heard in their families such allegations, but they did not know the meaning of all this. The antisemitism existed as an atmosphere around the Jewish community out of ignorance.72

His childhood friends literally asking him if his grandfather was responsible for Jesus’s death saddened him because of their confusion over the ancient events in the Bible and connecting it to Iasi Jews.73

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In elementary school, he had many Jewish classmates and remembers his teachers treating them with respect. Across Romania children were given opportunities to study a second language based on their ethnic or religious designation. Bercu’s parents, similar to many Jewish parents, refused to allow their children to study Yiddish. The decision was made by the parents: “This had a very important significance to our parents, with memories of the Pogrom of Iasi in 1941, and hoping to erase all differences of ethnicity between the new generation as members of a new society.”74 Bercu noted that after World War Two, Yiddish was considered the language of an oppressed people. At this point many Romanian Jews did not want to be publicly reminded of their Jewish ancestry, and according to Bercu, this was the reason why many parents refused to allow their children to study Yiddish. Jews had access to all the same educational opportunities as non-Jews. Bercu graduated college with a degree in industrial chemistry and worked at a factory that produced synthetic fibers used in textiles. He was promoted over the years, but he also knew that being Jewish differentiated him from his coworkers. Yet he said he never tried to hide his Judaism. He explained he was always willing to answer any religious questions his friends and co-workers had, especially if it reduced their ignorance. There was a professional ceiling he knew he could not move beyond, and it was only available for active communist party members in his factory. His coworkers told him that on days he was not at work, his bosses referred to him in third person as “the Jew” instead of by his name. Between 1967 and 1989, more than 120,000 Jews moved to Israel including thousands from Iasi.75 Bercu was told by his factory supervisors that they would not promote him any further because they feared he would emigrate to Israel. He told them he had no plans to emigrate, but they did not believe him.76 As a result, he could not advance in his job. Since he retired in 2014, Bercu remains active in the 330-member Iasi community. He attends synagogue on a regular basis and volunteers in local high schools to teach students about the Iasi pogrom and its Jewish history.77 As someone who grew up during communist times and witnessed Romania’s messy political evolution to democracy, Bercu said he believes that lingering antisemitism is based out of historical ignorance more than an actual dislike of Jews and that the former communist years still have an impact: “During the communist times in Romania nobody discussed about what happened in Romania with the Jews, and we encountered some sentiments of rejection and denial.”78 The communist government chose not to openly address the country’s historic antisemitism nor the Iasi pogrom.

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COMMUNICATION AS KEY TO THE JEWS’ REVITALIZATION Since the fall of communism in 1989, the Iasi Jewish community rebuilt its institutions. What was a community with more than 100 synagogues before World War Two now has two houses of worship. The others shuttered during the communist era as the Jews immigrated to Israel. Fortunately, the Great Synagogue, opened in 1670, is still in use. Many formal events with foreign dignitaries and visiting musicians are held at the Great Synagogue. The community also maintains a synagogue in the nearby town of Harlau in Iasi County. It also manages the large cemetery in Iasi and 15 others across the county. Most of Iasi’s 330 Jews have family who emigrated to Israel. It is an older community, but there are enough children for the community to operate a Jewish summer day camp for one week. There are about 65 children among the nearly 330 Jews, about 20 percent of the population.79 Senior citizens access social welfare assistance and receive medical care as needed.80 The community does not have a full-time rabbi. An orthodox rabbi, fluent in Romanian, often flies to Iasi from Israel for Shabbat weekends. Martha Esanu is the cultural advisor for the Jewish Community Center who manages the cultural and educational activities. She stated that in Iasi, Hebrew language and religious courses are open to all.81 Beyond Iasi’s specific activities and senior assistance, Jewish leaders coordinate with other Jewish community centers across Romania on educational projects and cultural events including Yiddish language theater performances and orchestra concerts.82 Iasi’s Jewish community is run by elected officers chosen every four years by the local Jews. The Jewish Community Center’s Director and synagogue’s secretary Albert Lozneanu is often the public face of the community interviewed by local and national media and engaged in interfaith dialogues. His wife Ina is the synagogue president. Together, they represent Iasi’s Jews at national and local events. In addition to appearing in the media, Albert maintains both an Iasi Jewish community and a personal Facebook page that documents activities. These are the main communication outlets. The Iasi Jewish community Facebook page has nearly 250 followers, and Albert’s personal Facebook page has about 175 followers. Many of the photos and written posts are cross listed between the two Facebook sites. A simple content analysis of the community’s Facebook page reveals that it is not unusual for it to have between 150 and 300 comments and likes on a given post, and Albert’s personal Facebook site often has between 100 and 200 comments or likes. On average, he publishes content about the Iasi Jewish community three to four times per

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week. Many of his followers are Jews who live in Iasi, across Romania, and in Israel. They actively comment on his posts. Both the community site and Albert’s personal Facebook page are the main channels through which the Iasi Jewish community communicates. He also sends messages internally to Iasi Jews by using a specific Facebook Messenger group. Albert stated that since assimilation is a major challenge, communicating with these Jews to invite them for synagogue activities continues to remain both a major obstacle and a continuous goal.83 Between Albert’s Facebook page and his availability for interviews with local and national Romania media, the Iasi community uses external mass communication to inform and educate the public about itself and more broadly Judaism. Unlike other communities profiled in this book that focus on intracommunity and synagogue communications, Iasi Jews’ stand out for engaging consistently with the external public. Most of the other Jewish communities profiled in this book focused their efforts on internal communication as an important means to organize and endure. As demonstrated in this book, internal organizational communications are important for maintaining a community’s religious purpose. Since Iasi’s Jews had a presence in the city for 400 years, their need moving forward is not for a formal internal communication structure but an external one. PRESERVING JEWISH IDENTITY Iasi’s 400-year Jewish presence survived pogroms, Nazism, and communism. The numerous wars Romania fought over the centuries did not stymie the community’s historic growth until World War Two. The 1941 pogrom and the mass immigration to Israel during the communist era nearly extinguished the Jews’ historic ties to the city. But in the last 30 years, there has been a concerted effort to bring the Jewish community back to the synagogue for observance and activities as part of community engagement. History is not forgotten in Iasi. Its Jewish leaders make a concerted effort to commemorate the past including national holidays and the 1941 pogrom. In Iasi, both external and internal communications are important factors that play key roles in reinvigorating the community. Leaders use social media, specifically Facebook and its direct message platform Messenger, to inform the nearly 330 Jews who live in the city and nearby towns about events and activities. They also use Facebook to communicate with Iasi-born Jews who live across Romania and abroad. In many ways, this Facebook activity is similar to university alumni networks. The Jews in Iasi are also unique in that they have a presence via external communication to the greater non-Jewish Iasi population. Appearing in local and

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regional media means the community’s messages are received beyond just its members. The major challenge for Iasi’s Jews is reengagement with those families who assimilated into a fully secular life. This is the same challenge the Jews in Sofia, Bulgaria, faced in the post-communist era. Preserving Jewish identity can be a challenge. During communist times, intermarriage between Jews and non-Jews often prevented the children from being raised Jewish with little knowledge of their Jewish ancestry. Yet Iasi’s Jewish leaders are using communication effectively to reach these potential members of the community. Iasi’s communications efforts reflect the functionalist perspective: how religious organizations communicate messages to members can impact its success.84 These messages are often information and instruction based. The long-term viability of any organization is heavily dependent on the ability of its members to communicate with one another.85 Iasi’s Jewish community certainly meets this criterion. It has an effective communication structure. The other challenge for Iasi’s Jews is straight forward demographics. Similar to other communities profiled in this book, older Jews outnumber children and teenagers. Twenty two percent of the population is under age 18. To ensure a viable future, they will have to remain in the city and its surrounding communities. As Martha Esanu, the cultural advisor, stated, “I hope the young people of the community will continue the Jewish community life, to carry on our activities.”86 Another way forward for the community is to promote Iasi to Western European Jewish and Israeli families as a city to live. For Western European Jews who live in cities and countries with a high level of antisemitism, Iasi does not have the overt prejudice of Paris or London. Iasi is an affordable, safe city with airline access to both Israel and Europe. It is culturally rich with a major university and rich musical resources, including a symphony and opera. As discussed in this book, this communicationbased strategy is working for the Halifax Jewish community in Canada. Their appeal to Ukrainian and Russian Jews to relocate to Halifax directly contributed to an increase in that city’s Jewish population. Iasi could certainly make a similar effort, and through this, the 400-year legacy of a Jewish presence in Iasi can continue for decades to come.

NOTES 1. Iasi Jewish Community Center Director, Albert Lozneanu, in discussion with the author, June 29, 2022. 2. Edgar Schein, “The Role of the Founder in the Creation of Organizational Culture,” in P. Frest et al., Reframing Organizational Culture (Newbury Park, CA: Sage, 1991), 14–25.

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3. Yad Vashem, “The Iasi Pogrom,” yadva​​shem.​​org​/e​​ducat​​ional​​-mate​​rials​​/less​​on​ -pl​​ans​/i​​asi​-​p​​ogrom​​.html​. 4. “King Carol II of Rumania Greets American Jewry through Seven Arts,” Jewish News of Northern California, Vol. LXX, #9 (June 27, 1930). 5. World Jewish Congress, “Romania,” accessed August 14, 2022, https://www​ .worldjewishcongress​.org​/en​/about​/communities​/ro. 6. Ibid. 7. Ibid. 8. Ibid. 9. Ibid. 10. Ibid. 11. Ibid. 12. Ibid. 13. Ibid. 14. Ronald D. Bachman, ed., “The Crimean War and Unification,” in Romania: A Country Study (Washington: GPO for the Library of Congress, 1989). 15. Constantin Iordachi, “The Jewish Question: The Exclusion of Jews from Citizenship,” in Liberalism, Constitutional Nationalism, and Minorities: The Making of Romanian Citizenship, c. 1750–1918 (Boston, MA: Brill, 2019), 265. 16. Ibid. 17. Ibid. 18. Ibid., 266. 19. Ibid. 20. 1866 Romanian Constitution, Title II, Article 7. 21. Ibid. 22. Ibid. 23. Iulia Maria Onac, “Romanian Parliamentary Debate on the Decisions of the Congress of Berlin in the Years around 1878-1879,” Issues in Contemporary Jewish History, July 2012, No. 3. 24. Carol Iancu, Jews in Romania 1866-1919. From Exclusion to Emancipation (Boulder: East European Monographs, 1996), 148. 25. Iulia Maria Onac, “Romanian Parliamentary Debate on the Decisions of the Congress of Berlin in the Years around 1878-1879,” Issues in Contemporary Jewish History, July 2012, No. 3. 26. Ibid. 27. Ibid. 28. Carol Iancu, Jews in Romania 1866-1919. From Exclusion to Emancipation (Boulder: East European Monographs, 1996), 149–50. 29. Yad Vashem, “The Iasi Pogrom,” yadva​​shem.​​org​/e​​ducat​​ional​​-mate​​rials​​/less​​on​ -pl​​ans​/i​​asi​-​p​​ogrom​​.html​. 30. World Jewish Congress, “Romania,” accessed August 14, 2022, https://www​ .worldjewishcongress​.org​/en​/about​/communities​/ro. 31. Steliu Lambru, “The Romanian Jews in WWI,” Radio Romania International, published April 23, 2018, https://www​.rri​.ro​/en​_gb​/the​_romanian​_jews​_in​_wwi​ -2580302.

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32. Ibid. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid. 35. Itic Svart-Kara, “Contributions to the History of Jews in Iasi,” Bucharest (1997): 65–88. 36. Ibid. 37. Ibid. 38. Ibid. 39. Ibid. 40. Ibid. 41. Ibid. 42. JewishGen Kehila Links, “Iasi Romania,” https://kehilalinks​.jewishgen​.org​/ iasi​/iasi​.html. 43. JewishGen​.co​m, “The Great Turning Point,” accessed August 14, 2022, https://www​.jewishgen​.org​/yizkor​/iasi​/ias065​.html. 44. Jews of Roumania and Situation of the Jew of Roumania since the Treaty of Berlin were published in 1901 and 1902. 45. Ibid. 46. Ibid. 47. Ibid. 48. Yad Vashem, “Murder of the Jews of Romania,” https://www​.yadvashem​.org​ /holocaust​/about​/final​-solution​-beginning​/romania​.html​#narrative​_info. 49. Ibid. 50. Nadia Bletry, Thierry Trelluyer, and Ruth Michaelson, “Romania’s Iasi Pogrom, One of the Worst Massacres of Jews during WWII,” France 24, March 25, 2022. 51. Ibid. 52. Yad Vashem, “The Iasi Pogrom,” https://www​.yadvashem​.org​/education​/ educational​-materials​/lesson​-plans​/iasi​-pogrom​.html. Lazar Rozin’s testimony may be found in the Yad Vashem Archives, Record Group 0.33, File 7211. 53. Ibid. 54. Ibid. 55. Ibid. 56. Ibid. 57. Ibid. 58. Nadia Bletry, Thierry Trelluyer, and Ruth Michaelson, “Romania’s Iasi Pogrom, One of the Worst Massacres of Jews during WWII,” France 24, March 25, 2022. 59. Ibid. 60. Ibid. 61. Albert Lozneanu (@albertlozneanu), June 29, 2022, https://www​.facebook​ .com​/albert​.lozneanu. “Shalom Aleichem” is a song asking angels to watch over Jewish people as they walk home on Shabbat from synagogue.

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62. Albert Lozneanu (@albertlozneanu), June 30, 2022, https://www​.facebook​ .com​/albert​.lozneanu. 63. Ibid. 64. Ibid. 65. Ibid. 66. Yossi Melman and Dan Raviv, “Buying Romania’s Jews,” Washington Post, January 14, 1990. 67. Ibid. 68. Charles Fenyvesi, “A Rabbi’s Politics of Cooperation Moses Rosen, Lobbying for Romania,” Washington Post, February 21, 1983. 69. Bercu Burah, in discussion with the author, July 13, 2022. 70. Ibid. 71. Ibid. 72. Ibid. 73. Ibid. 74. Ibid. 75. Yossi Melman and Dan Raviv, “Buying Romania’s Jews,” Washington Post, January 14, 1990. Romania was the only eastern European country with diplomatic relations with Israel. In the early years of the Communist regime, between 1945 and 1952, 300,000 Jews emigrated to Israel. 76. Bercu Burah, in discussion with the author, July 13, 2022. 77. Ibid. 78. Ibid. 79. Albert Lozneanu, in discussion with the author, August 11, 2022. 80. Martha Esanu, in discussion with the author, August 18, 2022. 81. Ibid. 82. Ibid. 83. Ibid. 84. Mark Ward Sr., “Organization and Religion: Ontological, Epistemological, and Axiological Foundations for an Emerging Field,” Journal of Communication and Religion, Vol. 38, No. 5 (2015): 8. 85. Ibid., 16. 86. Martha Esanu, in discussion with the author, August 18, 2022.

Chapter 10

Conclusion

COMMUNICATION IS KEY TO JEWISH ENDURANCE AND SURVIVAL Practicing Judaism is a communication act. It exists as both individual and group communication. Internal and external communication exist through worship, synagogue symbols, publications, education, and organizational structures. This book advocates that communication is key to the longevity of Jewish communities around the world. Communication includes the tenets of the religion including remembering historic events dating as far back as Abraham, the first Jew, and the Exodus from Egypt during Passover.1 Victor Seidler calls this “desert thinking.”2 As an example, Passover is a holiday that embodies all forms of communication discussed in this book. Its verbal communication act is telling the story of Moses leading the Israelites out of Egypt under God’s tutelage at the annual seder dinner. Passover is an important example of how each Jewish community highlighted in this book celebrates Passover utilizing communication tools. The Exodus is communicated through worship, symbolic foods, songs, and parents teaching children to lead part of the dinner service, L’Dor V’Dor. It is all embodied within the written Haggadah, the book families read and follow for the Passover seder. Many synagogues hold communal seder dinners and families gather in their homes using the Haggadah as their written communication text. In fact, nearly every holiday employs verbal communication to tell specific stories of God’s miracles to save the Jewish people. That act of communication was key to creating the ethos of the religion. In turn, it informed the Jewish communities showcased in this book as each formed and grew their populations of congregants. 151

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Judaism cites the Torah, Talmud, and other books as its foundational and organizational texts. They provide the structures for many aspects of the religion. Whether it is a century of observance in San Jose, Costa Rica, or 2,000 years of observance in India, Jews relied on religious law and beliefs to organize their communities, establish and maintain synagogues, and dedicate land for cemeteries. They were handed down from generation to generation, L’Dor V’Dor. In religion, ritualization and communication work together. They both include recognizing a foundational past that helped create a particular faith. According to Catherine Bell, ritualization creates a reality, a religious “world,” for congregants.3 Following any religious tradition is recreating it and, at the same time, passing it forward to the next generations, L’Dor V’Dor. As Edmund Arens noted, at their core, religions are fundamentally a “communicative practice.”4 Every religion has speech acts that convey its belief system. In reality, verbal gestures and behavior are “doings” of actions that “create, maintain, question, and change community.”5 The research gathered for this book came from interviews with synagogue and community leaders, content analyses of publications, and interpretations of artifacts and symbols from local Jewish museums and synagogues. Combined, they support a systems theory interpretation for how the Jewish populations endured. This qualitative data—based on the interpretative and functionalist approaches to this research—indicate the role internal communication and organization played in each of the nine Jewish populations. The interviews were critical to understanding the internal dynamics at play in each location. Publications, such as quarterly magazines and posts on social media and websites, portray the religious communities in action, and reflect forms of ritualized behaviors. Their historic artifacts provided a window into each community’s history, reflections of their journeys. These artifacts demonstrate a timeline of endurance, a theme of the book. Through the interpretive perspective of organizational communication, we understand a religious community through its members and their family histories and how traditions are communicated. We are also able to understand the community by how it operates as an institution. An organization exists and is maintained through its members’ communications that reflect their points of view. Interviews with synagogue and community leaders provided the interpretative and functionalist foundations to understand the Jewish communities’ success in their longevity. From the functionalist perspective, religious organizations communicate information and instruction-based messages to its members. The long-term viability of any organization is heavily dependent on the ability of its followers to communicate with one another. An important element of this communication is creating a social reality that produces and contributes to a sense of identity. Each Jewish community portrayed in this book built a shared identification for its members.

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These nine communities validate the importance of communication. The geographic locations may vastly differ, but as demonstrated, communication played an important role in their creation and long-term endurance. That communication is entwined with both Judaism’s biblical history and the particular set of historical circumstances to the creation, survival, and legacy of each studied population. The Jewish communities profiled in this book all share the following traits based on the relative strength of their communication-focused activities: • Faith and ritual practice guided them during the worst and best times of their histories. • Internal organization played a key role in their durability. From the oldest community in India to the youngest in Costa Rica, the first Jews in each location self-organized for burial and holiday observance in accordance with religious tenets. • Each community built and maintained self-governance rules that evolved as needed over the centuries. • L’Dor V’Dor—generation to generation—learning was a priority in educating their children about Judaism. • Regional history and politics impacted their history. No population was insulated. Their experiences as Jews in each location were reflections of greater events in their countries including wars and natural disasters. • Each population navigated and survived domestic events beyond its control: civil wars, natural disasters, and antisemitism. • Ties to other global Jewish communities in the form of external communications. • None of the communities lost a sense of core identity even if their religious practice evolved in non-traditional ways as it did in Ghana and Portugal. • Judaism’s focus of Jerusalem as a holy city in Israel was never forgotten. • Modern technology, notable social media, allows each Jewish population to create virtual communities of members who live near and far. Judaism is the religion known for the dispersal and migration of its members around the world. Jews live on every continent and, in some instances, believe the origins of their present-day location date back to the two biblical exiles.6 Other dramatic events including the Spanish and Portuguese Inquisitions, pogroms, and wars impacted their journey over the centuries. The Holocaust, the seminal antisemitic trauma of the twentieth century, directly impacted how European Jews dispersed from Europe. Their final geographic destinations are diverse, but wherever Jews settled and established new communities, their use of communication was a valuable tool to aid in their longevity. One of the key themes of this book is that most religious communities operate based on a formal organizational structure. Beyond the liturgy, religions

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have several features including social fellowship, education, and adult and children’s activities based on formal governance structures. According to Mark Ward, these elements reflect order, patterns, systems, and structures of religious communities.7 Each of the profiled Jewish communities is direct reflections of one or all of these four elements.

TIES THAT BIND US TOGETHER The leaders of the Jewish community in Sofia, Bulgaria, started rebuilding a common identity after the fall of the communist government in 1989. With a Jewish population of 6,000, Jewish Bulgaria Shalom (OJB) runs a religious school, summer camps, daycares, charities, and external partnerships. Its organizational model that includes a staff of 120 employees is similar to local American Jewish Federations.8 This is an extraordinary accomplishment. In 1989, a leadership structure did not exist. This success in rebuilding is not surprising since the Bulgarian Jewish community has a long history (prior to communism) of detailed organization. In order to rebuild after communism, community leaders made an important decision about how to proceed despite the high rate of intermarriage. It decided to follow the Law of Return in Israel.9 Anyone with at least one Jewish grandparent was welcomed into the community. This decision was an important catalyst to including interfaith families and spurring interest for younger Jews to lead. It is not a community run by Jews aged in their 70s and 80s but by people a couple of generations younger. It is an organizational reflection of the L’Dor V’Dor concept, generation to generation of leadership and learning. The importance of family within L’Dor V’Dor is the reason the Belmonte, Portugal community survived the Portuguese Inquisition for nearly 350 years. Without cross generational learning, Belmonte’s Jewish faith would have disappeared into the footnotes of history. Mothers teaching daughters— mainly by oral communication—Shabbat prayers in Hebrew that evolved over the centuries into Portuguese kept the Jewish spark of knowledge alive. The whispered prayers were the interpersonal means of communication. Reflecting a need to protect its tiny community from complete assimilation, the Belmonte Jews reflect Vern Bengston’s notion of banding together for mutual encouragement and protection.10 The small number of families in Belmonte passed on their Jewish heritage by isolating themselves through intramarriage. To the wider Belmonte and regional Portuguese communities, they lived outwardly as Catholics attending church and celebrating the Christian holidays, but behind the closed doors of their homes, they lived as Jews. While not persecuted from an inquisition, the Jewish traditions in Sefwi Wiawso, Ghana, were orally transmitted. While Hebrew was not spoken, Jewish

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laws for Shabbat observance, kosher diet, grieving for the dead, male circumcision, and monthly female purity rituals were handed down—L’Dor V’Dor—for nearly 400 years in Bia, the language spoken in this region of Ghana. Jerusalem was not just a known word for these Jews, but a religious place that inspired their worship with hopes of a religious pilgrimage in the future. When Christian missionaries traveled the region converting the locals, several Sefwi Wiawso families clung to their family’s Jewish traditions. Others who did convert eventually found their way back to Jewish practice. Today, the 200-member community maintains a synagogue and hosts visiting Jews from around the world who are impressed by the group’s religious observance. They started formal conversion in 2023.11 The Bene Israel living in Mumbai and Ahmedabad, India, endured for more than two millennia. Their success is remarkable since they endure as a cohesive micro-community in a country of more than one billion non-Jews. In its 2,000-year history in western India, the Jews maintained a kosher diet and ensured that ensuing generations learned Hebrew for worship, following L’Dor V’Dor.12 This strong adherence to Jewish law and study of the Hebrew language may have kept the Bene Israel (and the other three Jewish communities) from assimilation into the wider Hindu and Muslim religions. In Ahmedabad, Magen Abraham synagogue members celebrate holidays communally at the synagogue rather than at home.13 This community-wide approach to practicing Judaism includes Friday night Shabbat dinners, Hannukah menorah lightings, Passover seders, and ending the Yom Kippur 24-hour fast with a communal meal. Members even meet before the Yom Kippur holiday to clean inside and outside the synagogue building. Organizationally, the synagogue serves as a house of worship and community center. Its membership board members hold office hours each week. The community approach to Jewish worship and celebration reflects a strong internal communication structure. That formal and informal act of connecting with one another is an important part of the communication process for any religion. As Francis O. Njoku noted, it is part of religious fellowship.14 The Guatemala City, Guatemala, Jewish population is active in its fellowship. Beginning in 1930, it assisted new immigrant Jews who arrived with job placement and accommodations.15 That fellowship extends beyond the community to partnerships with local non-Jewish charities. The newest members of Guatemala City’s Jews who converted into the religion receive fellowship from international Reform and Progressive Jewish organizations.16 The Reform synagogue, Adat Israel, hosts rabbis from across the Americas and is active in regional Latin American Jewish forums. Beyond a sense of belonging, a religion’s followers remember their shared history. Shlomo Sand stated this is the unique part of Judaism.17 San Jose,

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Costa Rica’s Jews understand the unique role their founders played in preserving their immigrant history. The Orthodox synagogue, the Israelite Zionist Center of Costa Rica, houses a museum with artifacts from the first Polish Jews who sought a new life and escaped antisemitism before the advent of the Holocaust. Those first immigrants founded their Jewish community in the years their families were killed in Zelechów and Ostrowiec, Poland. The synagogue also commemorates its roots in each edition of the Hayom magazine with a story about its founders. The congregation cites the Kaddish memorial prayer for them. The museum, magazine, and memorial prayers are all examples of communication. Communication as a major part of a religion’s collective memory is exhibited in Iasi, Romania. Since the 1600s, the Iasi experience was a microcosm of the Jews’ challenges throughout Romania. Throughout its history, pogroms, fascism, communism, and daily antisemitism challenged Iasi Jews. Yet for approximately 400 years from the mid-sixteenth century until World War Two, the Iasi Jewish population steadily grew, and the city eventually had more than 100 synagogues and became a center for Jewish literature, journalism, and the arts. The devastation brought upon Iasi Jews by the June 1941 pogrom during World War Two might have ended Jewish presence in Iasi if King Michael I had not led a coup against Marshal Ion Antenescu in August 1944. Antenescu had ordered the killing of thousands of Jews across neighboring Ukraine, and he tacitly approved the Iasi pogrom. In the decades after the war during the communist era, Iasi’s synagogues closed one by one as Jews immigrated to Israel. The Romanian government tolerated quiet religious observance. It was the only communist country in Eastern Europe with diplomatic relations with Israel. One hundred twenty thousand Iasi Jews immigrated to Israel. By 1989 with the fall of the Ceausescu regime, only a few hundred remained. External communication is now key to rebuilding Iasi’s Jewish population. Numbering nearly 330, the community operates two synagogues including the historic Great Synagogue built in 1670. Community leaders rely on Facebook to engage with Jews locally, regionally, and the families of immigrants who live in other countries. Many Facebook posts commemorate Iasi’s Jewish history and highlight its synagogue activities and engagement. This communication is key for telling the current story of Iasi’s Jewish population. Internal and external communication play a key role in the continued longevity of Halifax, Canada’s Jewish population. When the local Jews organized in World War Two to assist Jewish soldiers and sailors, it set up an organizational hierarchy that led it to form numerous social, religious, and educational committees.18 A legacy is Atlantic Jewish Council’s successful summer Kadima camp. It serves the Jewish community living in all four provinces of Atlantic Canada. The Council has an endowment fund

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and raises money each year to support both campers and Jewish college students.19 The strongest indications of an overall strong future in Halifax are the communication strategies of the conservative synagogue Shaar Shalom and publications by the Atlantic Jewish Council. Shaar Shalom’s website has links to its bylaws, internal operational policies, and committees’ members. It also has archival materials dating back to its founding in 1953. Current and prospective members can view these materials at any time. It also maintains a small but active Facebook site. The Atlantic Jewish Council’s quarterly Shalom magazine publishes content about Jewish activity across the region. The administrative staff writes articles focused on Halifax’s Jews. The Council engages externally with the wider Halifax community through its annual Jewish art exhibits and film festivals. It publishes the announcements for the camp and college scholarships. Communication plays a critical role for the Jews in St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands. It is a strong model of communication and organization. Its Jews, over the centuries, endured hurricanes, fires, and diseases. Dating back to 1795, its more than 225-year existence is due largely in part to both its organizational structures and internal communications. Throughout the centuries, The Hebrew Congregation of St. Thomas adopted changes to its organizational configuration and internal communications as needed.20 As the congregation’s priorities and religious worship changed, its members adapted. The synagogue’s membership was at its height in the mid-1800s as a Sephardic house of worship and in the early 1960s as northeastern American Jews moved to the island, the synagogue joined the Reform Judaism movement and its membership increased again.21 It is an evolving synagogue. Today, its governing board is composed of members who live on the island and those who moved away but visit frequently. External communication plays a key role in its virtual Chai membership. More than 3,300 Jews around the world are Chai members and, in a limited capacity, are engaged with the synagogue.22 While several Jewish communities did not encounter severe antisemitism, others did. That makes the survival of the Jews in Belmonte, Portugal; Sofia, Bulgaria; and Iasi, Romania, remarkable. Despite the domestic forces of hatred, the Jews found a way to outlast persecution and rebuild their communities. Without effective internal communication, surviving antisemitism can be difficult. Sadly, antisemitism is still a fact of life in many regions of the world and a growing problem. Jews have shown that they do not easily relent in the face of hatred, and they lean on faith to guide them through difficult times. That faith inherently comes with built-in communication tools. Judaism is a religion with communication at its core. That communicative act exists as prayers, symbols, rituals, holy texts, and community

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organizations. As with any religion, Jews celebrate their past by worshipping God in the present while teaching the future generations. Communication is key to the entire Jewish ethos. NOTES 1. Seidler Victor, “Groundings: Embodying Desert Thinking and Hebraic Practices of Freedom,” Literature and Theology, Vol. 32, No. 2 (2018): 232. 2. Ibid. 3. Catherine Bell, Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997). 4. Edmund Arens, “Religion as Communication,” in The Social Psychology of Communication, ed. D. Hook et al. (London, UK: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), 256. 5. Ibid. 6. The Babylonian Exile began in 597 B.C.E. with the destruction of Jerusalem and the First Temple by King Nebuchadnezzar. The second exile occurred in 70 C.E. with the destruction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem by the Romans. 7. Mark Ward Sr., “Organization and Religion: Ontological, Epistemological, and Axiological Foundations for an Emerging Field,” Journal of Communication and Religion, Vol. 38, No. 5 (2015): 5. 8. Julia Dandolova, in discussion with the author, February 14, 2022. 9. Law of Return (Amendment No. 2) 1970, kness​​et​.go​​v​.il/​​laws/​​speci​​al​/en​​g​/re​t​​ urn​.h​​tm. 10. Vern Bengston, Families and Faith: How Religion is Passed Down Across Generations (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 166. 11. Alex Armah, in discussion with the author, September 17, 2021. 12. Esther David, in discussion with the author, August 11 2021. 13. Aviv Divekar, in discussion with the author, August 17, 2021. 14. Francis O. Njoku, “Philosophy of Communication, Culture, and Mission,” Journal of Communication and Religion, Vol. 40 (2017): 52. 15. Jewish Community Guatemala, History, http://gt​.comunidadjudia​.com​/paginas​ .asp​?id​=2548​&clc​=74. 16. Jeannette Orantes, in discussion with the author, December 15, 2021. 17. Shlomo Sand, The Invention of the Jewish People (Brooklyn, NY: Verso, 2009), 17. 18. Sheva Medjuck, Jews of Atlantic Canada (St. John’s, Canada: Breakwater, 1986), 30. 19. Sheva Medjuck, in discussion with the author, September 16, 2022. 20. Judah Cohen, Through the Sands of Time: A History of the Jewish Community of St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands (Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press, 2012), 53. 21. Ibid., 217. 22. Rabbi Michael Feschbach, in discussion with the author, July 23, 2021.

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Shaar Shalom Congregation. “Policies and Guidelines,” https://theshaar​.ca​/policies/. Shaar Shalom Congregation. “Social Media Service,” Facebook, 2022, https://www​ .facebook​.com​/Sha​arSh​alom​Cong​regation/. Silliman, Jael. Discussion with the author, August 10, 2021. “Sofia Synagogue: History of the Building.” Sofia Synagogue, https://www.sofia synagogue​.com​/en​/history/. Soto-Quirós, Ronald. “Polish Jews and Xenophobia in Costa Rica: 1929-1941,” Revista del Cesta, No. 4 (2002): 174. Svart-Kara, Itic. “Contributions to the History of Jews in Iasi,” Bucharest (1997): 65–88. Tetteh, Angel. Discussion with the author, March 21, 2023. Vi, Sandra. “Isaac Farchi, Former Presidential Candidate, Assumes Coordination of Pronacom,” Republica, March 2, 2020, https://republica​.gt​/economia​/2020​-3​-2​-18​ -59​-14​-isaac​-farchi​-excandidato​-presidencial​-asume​-coordinacion​-de​-pronacom. Ward, Mark, Sr. “Organization and Religion: Ontological, Epistemological, and Axiological Foundations for an Emerging Field,” Journal of Communication and Religion, Vol. 38, No. 5 (2015): 5. Weisleder, Susana. Israeli Zionist Center of Costa Rica. Venezuela: Oscar Todtmann Editores, 2018. World Jewish Congress. “Guatemala,” https://www​.worldjewishcongress​.org​/en​/ about​/communities​/GT. Yad Vashem. “The Iasi Pogrom,” yadva​​shem.​​org​/e​​ducat​​ional​​-mate​​rials​​/less​​on​-pl​​ans​ /i​​asi​-​p​​ogrom​​.html​. Zaklikowski, Dovid. “Kiddush Levana: Sanctification of the Moon,” Chabad​.or​g, Accessed June 12, 2022, https://www​.chabad​.org​/library​/article​_cdo​/aid​/1904288​ /jewish​/Kiddush​-Levana​-Sanctification​-of​-the​-Moon​.htm.

Index

Page numbers followed with “n” refer to endnotes. Abraham (biblical figure), 7, 116n24, 151 Adat Israel, 52–54, 155 Adonai, 103 Ahmedabad, India, 11, 155; Bene Israel in, 92–96 AJC. See Atlantic Jewish Council (AJC) aliyah, 80, 96, 111, 114 American Jewish Federations, 125, 154 American Revolution, 31, 33 Ana, Joseph Antonio Morão, 109 Anshe Emeth Temple, 54 Antenescu, Marshal Ion, 139–40, 156 antisemitism, 11, 17, 25, 49, 54, 59, 62, 63, 88, 92, 99, 102, 113, 114, 120– 21, 123, 126, 128, 143, 153, 156, 157; Cochin Jews, 90; in Guatemala City, 49, 54; in Halifax, Canada, 39–40; Iasi, Romania, 134–37, 139–41, 144, 147; Poland, 59, 63; publications, 67; San Jose, Costa Rica, 66–68, 70; Sofia, Bulgaria, 120, 121, 123, 126, 128 Antonius, 8 Antunescu, Ion, 141 Anusim, 99, 102, 104, 112 Arens, Edmund, 6, 7, 152

Armah, Alex, 78–81 Arroyo, Rabbi, 137–38 Ashkenazi Jews, 7, 47–49, 59–60, 67, 121 assimilation, 135–36 atheism, 120, 126, 127, 142, 143 Atlantic Jewish Council (AJC), 32, 36–37, 41, 43, 44, 156–57 Atlantic Jewish Film Festival, 41, 43 auctioning, 111–12 Avichail, Eliyahu, 87 Avigail, Salas, 110, 113 Baghdadi Jews, 86, 88–89, 92 Bailey, Garry, 9 Balkan War 1912, 121 Bar and Bat Mitzvahs, 6, 10, 36, 42–43, 125, 127 Beit Eliahu synagogue, 108, 109, 111, 112 Bell, Catherine, 152 Belmonte, Portugal, 10–12, 154, 157; citizenship, 114; crypto prayers, 103– 6; forced conversion to Catholicism, 99–101; holidays celebration, 104–8; Inquisition. See Portuguese Inquisition; intramarriage, 113; Jews/

165

166

Index

Jewish: (crypto-Jewish community, 100–110; future of, 114–15; health risks of, 113–14; history, 100–105, 109; immigrated to Israel, 113–14); Judaism: (open practice of, 108–10; secret practice of, 99–105, 110, 115); nationality law, 114; organizational communication, 102; Passover, 104–10; population, 113; religion passed down orally, 105–8; risk at Belmonte’s Jews, 113–14; Sabbath (Shabbat) in, 110–12; tourism destination, 109, 115; women’s prayer service, 103–5, 110; Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement), 106–7 Bene Israel of India, 12, 13, 86, 92–96, 155; Ahmedabad, 92–96; conservative community, 94; endurance of Jewish community, 94–96; honoring the Prophet Elijah, 92–93; Jews/Jewish: (festivals, 95; religious practices, 95; wedding, 92); kosher dietary laws, 96; Magen Abraham Synagogue, 85, 93, 94, 155; Malida festivals, 93; synagogue, 93–94, 96 Bengston, Vern, 102, 154 Ben Shabat, Ran, 41, 43 Bet Din, 52, 53, 78 Beth Israel congregation, 35–37, 40, 41, 43 B’nei Israel, 60 Bnei Menashe Jews, 86–88, 92, 96 Bogard, Harriet, 77, 81 Boris III, 122, 123 Bubis, Marcos, 61, 68 Budszinski, David Weisleder, 66–67 Bulgarian Jews, 119–21, 154 Bulgaria-Serbia war, 121 Burah, Bercu, 143–44 Calcutta. See Kolkata Carole Lee, Loebenberg, 39–40, 42 Carol I, 136 Carol II, 134, 139

Catholicism, conversion to, 99–101 Ceausescu, Leonid, 142–43 Central America, largest synagogue in, 68–69 Central Israeli Spiritual Council, 124–25 Chai membership, 26, 157 Charlotte Amali, 17, 18, 25, 27 Chavez, Hugo, 61 chazzan (prayer leaders), 103, 110, 116n15 Christian VII, 22 citizenship, 114, 135, 136 Cochin Jews, 86, 89–92; antisemitism, 90; history of, 89; kosher dietary laws, 90; Orthodox, 90 Cohen, Judah, 23, 24 Cohen, Judith, 103–4 collective memory, 7, 10, 156 communication, 14, 40–41, 43–44, 147, 156; with children, 10; community, 40–41; external, 26, 40, 146, 151, 156, 157; Facebook, 39, 40, 145–46, 156; Google group, 43; internal, 69– 70, 145, 151, 156, 157; interpretive approach of, 4, 24, 70, 102, 152; Jewish endurance and survival, 151– 54; Jewish revitalization, 145–46; organizational, 3–5, 43–44, 49, 102, 120, 152; Passover, 151; religion as, 6–9, 152, 155–56; St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands, 157; traits, 153; YouTube, 40, 43 communism, 119, 124, 127, 128, 156; Iasi, Romania, 133, 134, 141–44 Congress of Berlin of 1878, 136 conversion: to Catholicism, 99–101; to Judaism, 37, 42, 53, 78–80, 155 Coopman, Stephanie, 9 Cortéz, León, 66–67 Coulianos, Katina, 19, 27 Covid-19 pandemic, 18, 21–22, 37, 40 Crypto-Jews, 10, 100–110, 112 crypto prayers, 103–6 cultural memory, 7 Cuza, Alexandru Ioan, 135–36

Index

Dandolova, Julia, 125–28 Daniel (biblical figure), 104, 116n24 Danish law, 23–24 David, Esther, 12, 85, 86, 92, 93, 95–96 “Death to Jews”, 67 “Death to Poles”, 67 de Barros Basto, Artur, 108 De Castro, Morris, 21 Delchev, Maxim, 124, 127, 128 deportation, 122–23 desert thinking, 7 de Sousa, Marano, 102–3 Dia Grande (Great Day), 107 Dia Puro (Pure Day), 107 Diogo, João, 110, 111, 114 Divekar, Aviv, 85, 93–96 Dorsch, Dan, 95 dreidel game, 8 education, 23–24, 60; access to, 143–44; Costa Rica, 60; Holocaust, 41, 50; Jews/Jewish communities, 23–24; religious, 36–37; religious, for children, 36–37 Einsatzgruppe D, 139 Elijah, Prophet, 92–93 Esanu, Martha, 145, 147 Exodus, 7, 151 external communication, 26, 40, 146, 151, 156, 157 Ezra, David Elias, 88 Facebook, 39, 40, 145–46, 156. See also communication; YouTube Farchi, Isaac, 50 fascism, 134, 156 Fast of Esther, 106, 107 Federman, Rabbi, 25, 27 Federman, Asher, 18, 22, 27 Federman, Henya, 18, 22 Ferdinand I, 99, 100, 120, 137 Ferrer, José Figueres, 68 Feschbach, Michael, 18, 22, 25–28 Feuerzeig, Hank, 25 Feuerzeig, Penny, 25

167

Five Books of Moses, 6, 7 forced baptism, 100 forced labor, 122 functionalist perspective, of organizational communication, 4, 24, 43, 70, 102, 147, 152 Gelber, Nathan Michael, 121 Goldberg, Jon, 37, 38 Goldfaden, Avraham, 138 Goldstein, Alyse, 52–54 Google group, 43 Great Synagogue, 138, 145, 156 Groza, Petru, 142 Guardia, Rafael Ángel Calderón, 67, 68 Guatemala City, Guatemala, 11, 47; Adat Israel, 52–53; Ashkenazi Jews, 47–49; Chabad’s success in, 51–52; conversion to Judaism, 53, 155; early history, 48–50; first Jewish settlers in, 48; immigration of Jews to, 48–49; and Israel, 50–52; Israelite Society of Guatemala, 48; Jewish community, 47; (center, 49; growth, 52–55; non-Jewish and, 50); Judaism, 52–53; (Reform, 54); lack of internal division, 51; organizational communication, 49; Pelman, Shalom and, 51; Sephardic Jews, 47–49; Sociedad Israelita Maguén David de Guatemala, 49; Ubico’s administration, 49–50 Halifax, Canada, 11, 13, 31–32; American Revolution, 31, 33; antisemitism in, 39–40; Atlantic Jewish Council (AJC), 32, 36–37, 41, 43, 44, 157; Bar and Bat Mitzvahs, 36, 42–43; Beth Israel congregation, 35–37, 40, 41; Canadians and Israelis in, 38; challenge for the Jews, 41–43; city explosion, 34; Colonial English settlement, 31; contemporary, 35–39; conversion process, 37, 42; Covid-19 pandemic, 37, 40;

168

Index

Hebrew school, 36–38; Hillel, 35, 43–44, 45n25; immigration, 31; (of Israelis to, 37–38, 42–43); intermarriage, 37, 42; internal and external communication, 156; Jewish community: (communications, 40–41, 43–44; early history, 32–34; future direction of, 41–43; infrastructure, 35; lack of leadership in Beth Israel, 42; Orthodox, 41–42; population, 32, 33); Judaism, 38, 43; organizational communication, 43– 44; religious education for children, 36–37; religious observance, 43; role in World War Two, 34–35, 44, 156; Shaar Shalom congregation, 35–37, 40, 42–44, 157; Shalom magazine, 41; synagogue buildings, 33, 35 Hannukah, 8, 10, 51, 95, 155 Hart, Samuel, 32, 33 Haskamoth, 23 Ha Tikvah, 138 Havdalah, 95 Hayom magazine, 69–70, 156 hazzan, 77–79 Hebrew, 1–2, 10, 86, 87, 94, 105, 109, 111, 143, 145, 154–55; prayers, transliteration of, 80, 94, 105–6; Shabbat prayers, 154 Hebrew Congregation of St. Thomas, 9, 17–18, 22–23, 27, 157 High Holidays, 6 Hillel, vii–viii, 35, 43, 44, 45n25 history, 7; Jewish communities, 10–11 Hitler, Adolf, 48, 49, 139 Holocaust, 1, 11–13, 20, 60, 63, 64, 88, 99, 123, 153, 156; education, 41, 50; survivors, 31, 34–35, 44, 68–70; victims, 70, 140 Holocaust Memorial Day, 51, 128 Holy Land, 6, 76, 87, 92, 95, 123 Iasi, Romania, 10–11, 13, 135; annual commemorations for pogrom, 141; antisemitism, 11, 134–37, 139–41,

144, 147; demographic challenge, 147; Facebook communication with Jews, 145–46, 156; fall of communism, 145; forced transportation to death camps, 11, 140–41; Great Synagogue, 138, 145, 156; intermarriage, 147; Jewish: (under communism, 11, 133, 134, 141–44; community, 133–34; educational access, 143–44; immigration, 133–37, 142–46, 156; population, 138; revitalization by communication, 145–46; thriving the life of, 138–39); Naziled mass murders, 11, 139–41; preserving Jewish identity, 146–47; religious freedom, 143; World War Two: (destruction of the Jewish community, 139–41; Jewish history before, 137–39; pogrom of Jews, 140–41, 144, 146, 156) immigration, 12–13, 31; Belmonte Jews, 113–14; of Bnei Menashe to Israel, 87–88, 96; Bulgarian Jews, 124; to Costa Rica, 59–60, 63–65; Iasi’s Jews, 133–37, 142–46, 156; of Israelis to Halifax, 37–38, 42–43; from Poland, 66; to San Jose, 60–61 India, Jews in, 86; Baghdadi, 88–89, 92; Bene Israel, 92–96; Bnei Menashe, 86–88, 92, 96; Cochin, 89–92; lack of antisemitism, 88–89; population, 96 Inquisition: Portuguese. See Portuguese Inquisition; Spanish, 10, 99, 101 intermarriage, 37, 42, 47, 104, 124, 126–28, 147 internal communication, 69–70, 145, 151, 156, 157 interpretive perspective, of organizational communication, 4, 24, 70, 102, 152 intramarriage, 104, 113 Isaac (biblical figure), 1, 7, 104, 116n24 Isabella, Queen, 99, 100

Index

Israel, 1, 2, 6, 12, 77, 114; Guatemala City and, 50–52; immigration of Bnei Menashe to, 87–88, 96; Judaism, 38; Law of Return in, 87, 127, 154 Israelite Society of Guatemala, 48 Israel Zionist Center, 60, 63, 68–70, 156 Jacob (biblical figure), 7 Jacob, Jack Farj Rafael, 85, 88 Jerusalem, 1, 2, 6–8, 13, 77, 153, 155 Jewish condition, 10 Jewishness, viii Jews/Jewish communities: antisemitism. See antisemitism; Ashkenazi, 47–49, 59–60, 67, 121; Bnei Menashe, India, 86–88; Bulgarian, 119–21; Cochin, India, 86, 89–92; collective memory, 7, 10; collective solidarity, 2, 10; commandments and duties for, 2; communication, 14; community, 60–61; conversion, 37, 42, 47; (to Catholicism, 99–101); cryptoJewish community, 100–109; Danish law, 23–24; deportation, 122–23; discovery of, 102; education, 23–24; endurance, 1, 3, 9–11, 13–14, 152; forced baptism, 100; forced labor, 122–23; history, 10–11; holidays, 7–8; immigration. See immigration; intermarriage, 37, 42, 47, 104, 126–28; languages, 2; locations, 11–12; marriage law, 23; museum, 69, 70; organizational communication theory, 3–5; Ostrowiec, 59–60, 62–63, 156; Poland, 59–60, 62–63, 66–67, 70, 156; population, 60, 62; (around the world, 2–3, 12–14); Portuguese, 99–100; prejudice against the, 66–68; punishment by Portuguese Inquisition, 100, 102, 104; religious beliefs, 1–2; Sephardic, 7, 47–49, 59, 60, 67, 88, 119, 121, 128; synagogue functioning, 4–5; Twelve Tribes of

169

Israel, 1; Ukrainian, 13–14, 147; worship style, 9 Jiménez, Ricardo, 66, 67 Jonah (biblical figure), 104, 116n24 Joshua (biblical figure), 1 Joshua, Namia, 90–91 Judaism, 1, 87, 143, 144, 151, 153, 155, 157; antisemitism, 11, 17, 25, 39–40; Canadians and Israelis, 38; conversion to, 37, 42, 52–53, 78–80; defined, vii; Elijah in, 92; Guatemala City, Guatemala, 52–54; Halifax, Canada, 38, 43; history, 1, 7; open practice of, 108–10; organizational culture, 8–9; Orthodox, 18; Portuguese Inquisition on, 99–100, 102–8, 112–14; pre-rabbinic, 77, 90; Reform, 9, 17–18, 24, 27, 54, 157; role of rabbis in, 9; in Romania, 133; secret practice of, 99–105, 110; Sefwi Wiawso, Ghana, 77–80; Sofia, Bulgaria, 124; symbolism in, 6; synagogue, 5; Talmudic law, 2; 21st-century, vii–viii Kaddish prayers, 69–70, 156 Kadima camp, 36, 156 Karlin, Gary, 37, 46n69 Kerala, Jews in, 89–91 Kerzer, Rabbi, 42 Kerzner, Yakov, 36–43, 46n69 Kiddush Levana, 112 Knapp, Mark L., 9 Kolkata, 11; Baghdadi Jews, 86, 88–89 kosher diet/food, 2, 13, 18, 22, 27, 33, 34, 38, 46, 51, 61, 86, 90, 96, 106, 125, 138, 155; laws, 2, 27, 75, 86, 90, 96, 100 Kulanu, 77, 81 La Tribuna newspaper, 67 Law of Return in Israel, 87, 127, 154 L’dor V’dor (generation to generation), 1, 9–10, 95, 102, 105, 120, 151–55 Leibovici, Dutu, 141

170

Index

Levitt, Aba Gershom, 34 Levy, Isaac, 32 Lisbon, 100–102, 104, 108, 113–15 liturgical texts, 6, 7 Lozneanu, Albert, 141, 145–46 Maccabees, 8 Magen Abraham Synagogue, 85, 93–94, 155 Mahamade, 22–23 male circumcision, 2, 13, 53, 75, 125, 155 Malida festivals, 93 Mantegueiro, Elisabete, 104, 105, 109 Manuel I, 99–101, 105 Mapp, Kenneth E., 26 Marranos, 99, 102, 108, 112; practices, 110; prayers, 104 Mavrocordat, Alexandru, 138 Meidlinger, Katherine, 9 Menasci, Franco, 61 Menasci, Raquel, 61 mezuzahs, 109 Michael I, 141, 142, 156 mikveh (ritual bath), 53, 75, 108, 138 Miller, Gerald R., 9 minyan, 21, 36, 37, 76, 93, 95, 110, 114 mitzvah (good deed), 18, 112, 114 Mizrahi Jews, 2, 7 Moldavia, 134, 135, 137, 138 Morão, Joseph Antonio, 109 Morão, Moshe, 114, 115 Moses (biblical figure), 1, 7, 151 mourners kaddish prayer, 111 Mumbai, India, 92, 155 Nathans, Nathan, 32, 33 Nazis invasion, 62 Nazism, 139–41, 146 New Christians, 99, 104, 106, 113 Njoku, Francis O., 8, 155 OJB. See Organization for Jewish Bulgaria Shalom (OJB) Old Testament, 2, 76, 89, 116n24

Orantes, Alavaro, 52, 54 Orantes, Jeannette, 52, 54 organizational communication, 3–5, 43– 44, 49, 102, 120, 152; functionalist perspective, 4, 24, 43, 70, 102, 147, 152; interpretive perspective, 4, 24, 70, 102, 152 organizational culture: Bulgarian Jews, 124–26; religions, 8–9 Organization for Jewish Bulgaria Shalom (OJB), 125–28, 154 Orthodox Judaism, 18 Ostrowiec: antisemitic laws, 62; Jewish tragedy, 61–63; Jews, 59–60, 62–63, 156; Nazis invasion, 62 Paiewonsky, Ralph Moss, 21 Passover, 7–8, 10, 13, 51, 92, 95, 104– 8, 110, 143, 151, 155 Pelman, Shalom, 51, 54 Pérez, Ricardo, 10, 63 Picado, Teodoro, 68 Pogrom of Iasi in 1941, 141, 144, 146, 156 Poland: antisemitism, 59, 63; Jews, 59– 60, 62–63, 67, 70, 156; (immigration of, 66, 67) Polish Russian war, 62 Porto, 100, 104, 108, 113–15 Portuguese Inquisition, 10, 99–100, 102–7, 115, 153, 154; harsh punishment to Jews, 100, 102, 104; on Judaism, 102–8, 112–14; timeline, 101; trials, 104 prayer books, 6 prayers, 6; crypto, 103–6; Hebrew, transliteration of, 80, 94, 105–6; songs, 7 Prober, Yitzchak, 68, 70 “The Provisional Law for the Cultural Administration of Christians, Muslims and Israelites”, 125 punishment, by Portuguese Inquisition, 100, 102, 104 Purim, 95, 107 purity bath, 53, 75, 155

Index

Ragaru, Nadèje, 122 Reform Judaism, 9, 17–18, 24, 27, 54, 157 regional languages, 2 Reifer, Vilma Faingezicht, 60, 69; family story of, 63–66 religion, 10, 154; as communication, 6– 9, 152, 155–56; history, 7; holidays, 7–8; organizational culture, 8–9; symbols, 6; texts, 6 religious beliefs, 1–2 religious education, for children, 36–37 religious freedom, 142 religious organizations, 4–5, 152 rezadeiras (prayer women), 103–4 ritualization, 152 rituals: bath, 53, 68, 75, 108, 138; Kiddush Levana, 112; kosher slaughter, 138; religious, 6; slaughter, 34, 138 Rock of Elijah (Eliyahu Hanavi cah Tapa), 93 Romania, 133–34; after World War One, 137; antisemitism, 134–37; civic and political equality of Jews, 136; Cuza’s policies to Jews, 135–36; diplomatic relations with Israel, 142–43; fascism and communism, 134, 156; Jewish: (immigration, 133–37, 142–46; population, 137; settlement, 135); location and geography, 133; murder of Jews, 139; Nazi invasion, 139; policy of assimilation, 136; political rights to Jews, 136; political status, 135; religious freedom, 142; Russia invasion, 135 Rosen, Moses, 142, 143 Rosh Hashanah, 6, 41, 53, 95 Rovinski, Samuel, 60 Rozin, Lazar, 140 Russo-Turkish war, 135 Sabbath (Shabbat), 2, 6, 8, 10, 18, 53, 75, 78, 79, 86, 90, 92, 95, 99, 106, 109, 128, 134, 141, 154–55; in Belmonte, 110–12

171

Salas, Elisha, 109–10, 113–15 Salazar, António, 108 Sanatescu, Constantin, 141–42 Sand, Shlomo, 1–2, 155 San Jose, Costa Rica, 11, 12; antisemitism, 66–68, 70; Ashkenazi Jews, 59, 60, 67; ban of Polish immigrants in, 66; Chamber of Commerce, 66, 67; civil war, 68; education, 60; immigration to Costa Rica, 59–60, 63–65; internal communication, 69–70; Israel Zionist Center, 60, 63, 68–70, 156; Jewish tragedy, Ostrowiec and Zelechów, 61–63; organizational structure, 70; politics and government, 60; prejudice against the Jews, 66–68; reform, Orthodox, and Chabad congregations, 70–71; Reifer, Vilma Faingezicht, family story of, 63–66; restaurant, 61; synagogues, 69–71; thriving minority, 70–71; unique quality of Jews, 63–66 San Pedro, 50 Sasso, Moses, 24 Sassoon, David, 85, 88 Schein, Edgar, 9 Şchiopul, Petru, 135 Schwarz, Samuel, 102–6 secret Judaism, 99–105, 110, 113 Sefwi Wiawso, Ghana, 11, 13, 105, 154–55; conversion to Judaism, 78– 80, 155; Jewish: (commandments, 75; practices, 76, 77; rituals, 75); Kulanu, 77, 81; leadership of congregation, 80; living a Jewish life, 80–81; origins of, 76–77; practices of mourning, 76; prerabbinic Judaism, 77 Seidler, Victor, 7, 8, 151 Sephardic Jews, 7, 47–49, 59–60, 67, 88, 119, 121, 128 Sephardic Orthodox, 9, 17 Seudah Shlishit, 112 Shaar Shalom congregation, 35–37, 40, 42, 43, 157

172

Index

Shalom Aleichem, 141, 149n61 Shalom magazine, 41, 157 Shavei Israel, 87 Shavei Yisrael, viii Shefer, Eliahu, 111, 112 Shema prayer, 103, 109 Shema Yisrael, 116n15 shivah mourning, 76, 108, 110 Silliman, Jael, 88–89, 96 Sizomu, Gershom, 81 Sociedad Israelita Maguén David de Guatemala, 49 Sofia, Bulgaria, 11, 13, 157; atheism, 120, 126; Central Israeli Spiritual Council, 124–25; communist era (1946–1989), 124, 126; fall of communism, 127; governing structures, 125; growing school enrollment, 127, 128; Jews, 119–21; (active and growing community, 126–27; Ashkenazi, 121; deportation, 122–23; early history, 121–22; experience during World War Two, 122–24; General Assembly of, 124–25; intermarriage, 124, 126, 127; organizational structure of the community, 124–26; Sephardic, 119, 121, 128); Judaism, 124; organization and communication, 120; Organization for Jewish Bulgaria Shalom (OJB), 125–28; religious school, 127; Soviet invasion, 123; synagogue, 120 Solomon, King, 89 Soutzos, Michael Drakos, 138 Spanish Inquisition, 10, 99, 101, 153. See also Portuguese Inquisition St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands, 11, 12; American tourism to, 24; Chabad of, 17, 18, 22, 27; colonial occupations, 20; communication, 157; Covid-19 pandemic, 18, 21–22, 40; governing structure, 11; Haskamoth, 23; Hebrew Congregation of, 17–18, 22–23, 27, 157; history of, 20–21; Hurricanes

Irma and Maria, 17, 18, 25–27; Jewish community, 11; (education, 23; endurance, 27; future prospects, 26–28; governors, 21; immigration, 26–27; organizations, 21–25; population, 24, 26); Mahamade, 22–23; marriage law, 23; Reform Judaism, 17–18, 24, 27; relationship with island’s community, 25–26; religious observances, 21–22; Sunday religious school, 23–24; synagogue, 17–20 symbolism, 6, 7 synagogue leadership, 5, 9, 22 systems theory, 3, 4, 152 Talmud, vii, 2, 124, 143, 151 Ten Commandments, 1 Tetteh, Angel, 79, 80 Tetteh, Samuel, 79, 80 thriving minority, 70–71 Toakyirafa, Aaron Ahotre, 77 Torah, vii, 1, 2, 6–8, 111, 112, 124, 143, 151 tourism, 67, 70 transcendent reality, 6 transliteration, of Hebrew prayers, 80, 94, 105–6 Treaty of Berlin, 121 Truman, Harry, 21 Twelve Tribes of Israel, 1 Ubico, Jorge, 49–50 Ukrainian Jews, 13–14, 147 unique quality of Jews, 63–66 Voinov (Senator, Romania), 136 Volovici, Avrum, 141 Walachia, 135 Ward, Mark, 3–5, 43, 54, 102, 120, 154 World War One, 49, 62, 121, 137, 139 World War Two, 9, 44, 48–49, 62, 63, 120, 126, 133, 144–46, 156; Halifax, Canada, 34–35, 44, 156; Iasi,

Index

Romania: (destruction of the Jewish community, 139–41; Jewish history before, 137–39); Jewish experience in Bulgaria in, 122–24 Wouk, Herman, 21 Yankelewitz, Enrique, 67 Yiddish, 2, 64, 144; Theater, 137, 138, 145

173

Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement), 2, 6, 53, 95, 99, 106–7, 155 YouTube, 40, 43 Zelechów, 59–61; antisemitic laws, 62; immigrants, 63–64; Jewish tragedy, 61–63; Jews, 59–63, 156; Nazis invasion, 62 Zionism, 63

About the Author

Joshua Azriel, PhD, is professor of journalism and emerging media at Kennesaw State University and a visiting professor at Catholic University in Lisbon, Portugal. He teaches journalism, media law, and global communication. His two main research areas are Jewish studies and media law. He is the author of Restricting Los Angeles Paparazzi: California’s Legal Efforts Impacting Free Press Rights (Rowman and Littlefield, 2020). He has written numerous articles about freedom of speech on the Internet. Azriel earned his PhD at the University of Florida in 2006.

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