Podcasts about sephardi

Should One Place Tefillin While Sitting or Standing—And What If the Community Follows a Different Custom? The Sephardic custom, rooted in the rulings of Maran in the Shulhan Aruch (O.H. 25:5), is to don the Tefillin Shel Yad while sitting , and the Tefillin Shel Rosh while standing . This is not simply a question of posture but reflects a deeper understanding of the nature of each Tefillin and its associated Misva. The Tefillin Shel Yad is considered a private and personal obligation . It is hidden, placed on the weaker part of the body, and not seen by others during prayer. In contrast, the Tefillin Shel Rosh sits openly on the head, between the eyes, and represents a public declaration of our bond with Hashem. Because of its visibility and its connection to communal holiness, the Tefillin Shel Rosh is given more formality, which includes the standing position when placing it. The Ben Ish Hai (Parashat Vayera) emphasizes this distinction, explaining that the Shel Yad is associated with the heart , representing internal service of Hashem (Avodat HaLev), while the Shel Rosh is associated with the mind , representing Torah and public sanctity. Therefore, sitting for the Shel Yad reflects modesty and inwardness, while standing for the Shel Rosh expresses reverence and honor. What If One Is in an Ashkenazi Minyan That Stands for Both? In Ashkenazi practice, it is common to stand for both the Shel Yad and Shel Rosh. This can present a challenge for a Sephardi who finds himself in such a minyan. Should he follow his custom to sit for the Shel Yad, or should he stand to avoid standing out? Hacham Ovadia Yosef (in Yabia Omer , vol. 1, O.H. 4 and Halichot Olam ) rules clearly that one should not deviate from the Sephardic custom , even when praying in an Ashkenazi congregation. The halachic principle of "Al Titosh Torat Imecha"—do not abandon the tradition of your fathers—applies here. A person should not feel pressured to change his practice in order to "fit in," especially in a matter that has solid halachic and kabbalistic support. Moreover, this practice is not offensive to others. In most cases, no one pays much attention to who is standing or sitting during Tefillin. But even if someone notices, preserving one's mesora (halachic tradition) takes precedence over conforming for the sake of appearance. In the reverse case—an Ashkenazi praying in a Sephardic minyan—it is likewise appropriate for him to stand for both Tefillin, according to his custom. Kabbalistic Reasoning The Mekubalim, particularly the Hida and the Ben Ish Hai , stress the spiritual distinctions between the two Tefillin. According to the Zohar HaKadosh , the Tefillin Shel Yad corresponds to the sefirah of Gevurah and is internal, while the Tefillin Shel Rosh corresponds to the sefirah of Hokhmah and projects spiritual light outward. These ideas are only heightened when the Tefillin are placed with proper kavana (intent), posture, and awareness of their function. In short, sitting for the Shel Yad enhances the quality of its intent as a private covenant with Hashem. Summary: Sephardim should place the Tefillin Shel Yad while sitting , and the Tefillin Shel Rosh while standing. This custom follows Maran in Shulhan Aruch and is further supported by the Ben Ish Hai and Mekubalim. Even in an Ashkenazi minyan, Sephardim should not deviate from their custom. This posture reflects both halachic rulings and the inner meaning of each Tefillin.

Tefillin is one of the 613 Misvot of the Torah and among the most iconic symbols of Judaism. It is referenced four separate times in the Torah and is described not with the term "Tefillin," but with the word "Totafot." Each of the four passages is written on the parchments inside the Tefillin, establishing both the arm (Shel Yad) and head (Shel Rosh) Tefillin as distinct Misvot. According to the Rambam, Tefillin Shel Yad and Tefillin Shel Rosh are counted as two separate commandments—Misvot 12 and 13 in his enumeration. This implies that if one cannot wear one of them (e.g., due to a physical limitation), he should still fulfill the other, as each stands independently. However, the Ramban disagrees and views them as parts of a single Misva. The Torah repeats the Misva of Tefillin multiple times, yet the Rambam teaches that repetition does not necessarily indicate separate commandments. Rather, the repetition underscores the importance of the Misva. In fact, one who neglects to wear Tefillin transgresses eight positive commandments —four from Shel Yad and four from Shel Rosh. What Does " Totafot " Mean? The term " Totafot " has numerous interpretations: The Gemara Menahot (34b) explains that "Tot" means "two" in the Katpi language, and " Fot " means "two" in African dialect— totalling four, referencing the four compartments of Tefillin Shel Rosh. Menahem ben Saruq interprets " Totafot " from the root " Hatof " (to speak), reflecting that Tefillin inspires us to speak of Hashem's teachings. Ramban says Totafot is an ornament, a kind of crown or glorious item worn on the head, based on Midrashim and biblical parallels. Hezkuni interprets it as something gazed upon, meant to visually remind the wearer of Hashem's miracles. Kabbalistic sources say Tefillin is a form of "Ot" (sign), symbolizing the covenant between the Jewish people and Hashem. The word "Tefillin" itself derives from "Peli"—to distinguish or to separate—or from " Tefila " (prayer), since Tefillin is primarily worn during prayer. Some suggest it comes from the root "Patil" (binding), as in the Torah's description of Naftali. Philosophical Purpose of Tefillin The Sefer HaHinuch (Misva 421) writes that humans are physical beings drawn to material pleasures. The soul is the counterforce, urging one to rise spiritually. Tefillin serves as a daily spiritual armor , empowering the soul to prevail in its ongoing struggle with the body. The Tefillin Shel Yad is worn near the heart, the seat of emotion and desire, while the Tefillin Shel Rosh rests above the brain, the seat of thought—reinforcing control over both. Tefillin is part of the "triple protection system" described in the Gemara—Tefillin, Sisit , and Mezuzah. A person surrounded by these reminders is far less likely to sin . The Rambam adds that donning Tefillin causes a person to behave with humility, awe, and discipline, shielding him from improper thoughts. Tefillin as a Sign Three Misvot are described in the Torah as an "Ot" (sign) : Tefillin, Shabbat, and Berit Milah. A Jew must always be accompanied by at least two signs testifying to his faith. During the week, Tefillin and Milah serve this role. On Shabbat and Yom Tob, when Tefillin is not worn, Shabbat and Milah function as the two signs. This explains the prohibition of wearing Tefillin on Shabbat—doing so would imply that Shabbat is not a sufficient "sign" on its own. Protection, Reward, and Spiritual Energy Wearing Tefillin not only fulfills a critical Misva but is associated with long life, Divine protection, spiritual clarity , and even atonement . Rabbi Shimon teaches that Tefillin atones for the sin of arrogance and, according to some Midrashim, even for more serious transgressions. The Zohar states that Tefillin draws Divine light around the wearer's head. The famed Baba Sali is said to have sensed when his Tefillin were invalid because he didn't feel this spiritual energy. In fact, studies have been cited showing subtle energy field changes when valid Tefillin are worn. The Gemara in Berachot teaches that those who wake early, clean their bodies, don Tefillin, and pray are considered as if they built an altar and brought a sacrifice. The Midrash Tanhuma says that one who desires to study Torah day and night but is preoccupied with work can still attain that merit through wearing Tefillin. The Spiritual Danger of Neglect The Gemara states that one who never wore Tefillin is categorized as a " Poshe'a B'gufo " —a sinner with his body—one of the most serious categories. Such a person does not merit resurrection and is punished severely in Gehinnam . Some authorities rule that even a person who only occasionally neglects Tefillin is included in this category, especially if done out of contempt or laziness. This explains why many Sephardi communities adopted the custom of donning Tefillin at Minha on Ereb Yom Kippur —to ensure that even the least observant Jews fulfill the Misva at least once annually. Tefillin and the Five Senses Tefillin affects not only the spiritual self but also the five senses : Eyes, ears, nose, and mouth are all situated in the head, thus corresponding to the four compartments of the Tefillin Shel Rosh. Touch corresponds to the Tefillin Shel Yad, placed on the arm and wrapped around the hand. This design serves as a daily reminder to guard our senses and align our behavior with holiness. Summary Tefillin is not just a ritual—it is a powerful spiritual and physical shield . The Torah refers to it repeatedly, highlighting its great value. Tefillin connects the mind and heart to Hashem, serves as a visible testimony to one's Jewish identity, brings protection and humility, and provides spiritual credit equivalent to the study of Torah. One who neglects it—especially willfully—risks significant spiritual consequences. Conversely, one who wears it properly fulfills multiple Misvot and draws down abundant blessing. As we begin our study of the practical Halachot of Tefillin, we now understand why this Misva is treated with such reverence and importance.

Dr Isaac Amon shares how his diverse Sephardi, Mizrachi, and Ashkenazi heritage have shaped his sense of identity. From Istanbul to the American Midwest, Isaac reflects on how his family's stories, languages, food, and community influence his connection to Jewish life. Our GuestDr. Isaac Amon is an attorney and counselor at law, Adjunct Professor at Washington University School of Law in St. Louis, and Director of Academic Research at Jewish Heritage Alliance, an educational platform dedicated to promoting the legacy of Sefarad, or Iberian Jewry. Isaac is also Director of Academic Research at the Jewish Heritage Alliance, which aims to preserve and share the history of Sephardi and Mizrachi Jews. Key TopicsNavigating Identity: How Isaac's family history blends diverse Jewish roots, creating a rich but often challenging sense of belonging.Language and Culture: The role of multilingualism within Isaac's family and how language shapes identityChallenging Normativity: The experience of living as a Sephardi Jew in predominantly Ashkenazi spaces and the ongoing struggle for inclusionYour guideShort definitions of terms mentioned in this episode:Ladino: A Judeo-Spanish language spoken by Sephardi Jews.Kaddish: A prayer recited in memory of the dead, with variations between communities.Burekas: Savory pastries filled with cheese, spinach, or potatoes, common in Sephardi and Mizrachi Jewish cuisines.Shakshuka: A dish of poached eggs in a spicy tomato and pepper sauce, popular in Sephardi and Mizrachi cultures.Passover Brown Eggs: Eggs boiled in onion skins, a Sephardi Passover tradition.Want to learn more? Listen to previous episodes where we discuss identity.S2E1: Discussing diverse Jewish national identities with Yaacov Yadgar S1E7: Languages and Identities challenged by Ophira GamlielReferences & ResourcesJewish Heritage Alliance - An organisation preserving and promoting Sephardi and Mizrachi Jewish historyARTICLE “Five-Hundred Years in the Life of the Amon Family: From the surrender of Spain to the court of Suleiman the Magnificent and beyond, they were there” – Published, National Library of Israel Blog, December 2020VIDEO: “Crossroads of Sefarad: In the Footsteps of the Crypto-Jews,” created jointly by Jewish Heritage Alliance and ANU Museum of the Jewish PeopleFind us elsewhere, here!Show creditsHost / Producer: Eylan EzekielPost-production: Communicating for ImpactArtwork: Emily TheodoreMusic: Aleksafor utransndr KarabanovSound effects: Serge Quadrado Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

My recent interview with Rabbi Dr. Yosie Levine about his book, Hakham Tsevi Ashkenazi and the Battlegrounds of the Early Modern Rabbinate (Littman Library, 2024), illuminated the dynamic interplay between Sephardi and Ashkenazi traditions-a theme that resonates deeply with our mission at the Unity Through Diversity Institute. From the outset, Rabbi Levine's scholarship made clear that Hakham Tsevi's life was shaped by both geography and intellectual inheritance. The map at the beginning of his book, as he notes, is more than a visual aid; it is a testament to the diverse worlds Hakham Tsevi traversed. What struck me most was Hakham Tsevi's dual heritage. Raised in the Ashkenazi tradition, his formative years were marked by the customs and halakhic frameworks of Central and Eastern Europe. However, his sojourn in the Ottoman Empire brought him into close contact with the Sephardi world. This was not a mere footnote in his biography; it fundamentally altered his worldview and rabbinic outlook. The mere fact that he is called Hakham, a term of Rabbinic authority used by Sephardi Jews, yet insisted on only taking posts in Ashkenazi institutions, shows a menagerie of influences and appreciation for the diverse Jewish influences within halakhic practice. Rabbi Levine and I discussed how, despite his Ashkenazi roots, and adherence to his Ashkenazi traditions, Hakham Tsevi's training among Sephardim left an indelible mark. This influence became evident in his encouragement for scholars to prioritize accessible texts and to remain wary of the potential misuse of mystical works-a stance that echoed the concerns of Sephardi rabbis as books became more widely available. And the Sephardic influence may also be seen in his approach to education – much in line with the Sephardic philosophy, he recommended a TaNaKh first and then mishna focused curriculum with Talmud coming only after true comprehension and Kabbalah only for those who are truly gifted and fully fluent in all the other texts. “Hakham Tsevi broke new ground. He adopted a decidedly oppositional orientation towards minhag and freely attacked long-standing Ashkenazi traditions. He imported into his halakhic decisions practices from the Sephardi milieu, and advocated for a Sephardi educational curriculum.” (Rabbi Dr. Yosie Levine, p. 131) Hakham Tsevi's life demonstrates that Jewish identity is not static; it is forged in dialogue, sometimes in tension, but always in pursuit of a richer, more inclusive heritage. As we continue our work at the Unity Through Diversity Institute, Hakham Tsevi's example inspires us to embrace complexity, to learn from one another, and to honor the multiple strands that make up the fabric of Jewish life. “Before his tombstone was destroyed by the Nazis, it was adorned with the image of a gazelle, a tsevi. Moving swiftly and confidently from one field to the next, Hakham Tsevi was attacked often by adversaries who thought themselves wiser or more capable. Perhaps some of them were. But those adversaries never stopped him from speaking his mind, rendering his legal decisions, or publishing his rulings. In fact, they often compelled him to act or react…Students of halakhah remember him by the answers he generated; students of history, by the questions.” (Rabbi Dr. Yosie Levine, conclusion) I am grateful to Rabbi Levine for shedding light on this remarkable figure and hope we find this passion to challenge the norm and raise the difficult questions in more leaders. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

My recent interview with Rabbi Dr. Yosie Levine about his book, Hakham Tsevi Ashkenazi and the Battlegrounds of the Early Modern Rabbinate (Littman Library, 2024), illuminated the dynamic interplay between Sephardi and Ashkenazi traditions-a theme that resonates deeply with our mission at the Unity Through Diversity Institute. From the outset, Rabbi Levine's scholarship made clear that Hakham Tsevi's life was shaped by both geography and intellectual inheritance. The map at the beginning of his book, as he notes, is more than a visual aid; it is a testament to the diverse worlds Hakham Tsevi traversed. What struck me most was Hakham Tsevi's dual heritage. Raised in the Ashkenazi tradition, his formative years were marked by the customs and halakhic frameworks of Central and Eastern Europe. However, his sojourn in the Ottoman Empire brought him into close contact with the Sephardi world. This was not a mere footnote in his biography; it fundamentally altered his worldview and rabbinic outlook. The mere fact that he is called Hakham, a term of Rabbinic authority used by Sephardi Jews, yet insisted on only taking posts in Ashkenazi institutions, shows a menagerie of influences and appreciation for the diverse Jewish influences within halakhic practice. Rabbi Levine and I discussed how, despite his Ashkenazi roots, and adherence to his Ashkenazi traditions, Hakham Tsevi's training among Sephardim left an indelible mark. This influence became evident in his encouragement for scholars to prioritize accessible texts and to remain wary of the potential misuse of mystical works-a stance that echoed the concerns of Sephardi rabbis as books became more widely available. And the Sephardic influence may also be seen in his approach to education – much in line with the Sephardic philosophy, he recommended a TaNaKh first and then mishna focused curriculum with Talmud coming only after true comprehension and Kabbalah only for those who are truly gifted and fully fluent in all the other texts. “Hakham Tsevi broke new ground. He adopted a decidedly oppositional orientation towards minhag and freely attacked long-standing Ashkenazi traditions. He imported into his halakhic decisions practices from the Sephardi milieu, and advocated for a Sephardi educational curriculum.” (Rabbi Dr. Yosie Levine, p. 131) Hakham Tsevi's life demonstrates that Jewish identity is not static; it is forged in dialogue, sometimes in tension, but always in pursuit of a richer, more inclusive heritage. As we continue our work at the Unity Through Diversity Institute, Hakham Tsevi's example inspires us to embrace complexity, to learn from one another, and to honor the multiple strands that make up the fabric of Jewish life. “Before his tombstone was destroyed by the Nazis, it was adorned with the image of a gazelle, a tsevi. Moving swiftly and confidently from one field to the next, Hakham Tsevi was attacked often by adversaries who thought themselves wiser or more capable. Perhaps some of them were. But those adversaries never stopped him from speaking his mind, rendering his legal decisions, or publishing his rulings. In fact, they often compelled him to act or react…Students of halakhah remember him by the answers he generated; students of history, by the questions.” (Rabbi Dr. Yosie Levine, conclusion) I am grateful to Rabbi Levine for shedding light on this remarkable figure and hope we find this passion to challenge the norm and raise the difficult questions in more leaders. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/intellectual-history

With Daniel Jonas as our guide, we explore how Sephardi traditions merge with philosophy, language, and music to form a personal and uniquely ‘alive' sense of Jewish identity.Our guestMeet Daniel Jonas, a corporate innovation expert, leader of interfaith dialogue, and prominent figure in London's Sephardic community—a path that has led him to explore his Iraqi-Indian heritage and the influence of Judeo-Arabic culture. Key topicsLanguage and Identity: How language, particularly Hebrew and Judeo-Arabic, has shaped Daniel's Jewish expression.The Need for Change: Daniel advocates for systemic changes within communities and institutions to include the diversity of what it means to be Jewish.Your guideShort definitions of terms mentioned in this episode:Kippah / Yarmulke - a brimless Jewish skullcap with variations in design and placement. Similar to a Kufi or Taquiya in IslamAmba - a delectable tangy mango pickle condiment of Baghdadi Jewish originReform Judaism - Jewish denomination that emphasises autonomy, and adapting to modern life.Want to learn more? Listen to previous episodes where we discuss identity.S1E1 The Big Three Origin StoriesReferences & ResourcesLos Desterrados - A London band with a rootsy take on the ancient folk music of the Sephardic Jews.Nahamu - an organisation dedicated to combating religious extremism within the Jewish community3yin - a London-based ground-breaking band that performs the music of the Jewish communities of the Middle East and North AfricaDive deeper into the JewniverseSubscribe to our SubstackWho Jew you think you are? Share your storyFind us elsewhere, here!Show creditsHost / Producer: Eylan EzekielPost-production: Communicating for ImpactArtwork: Emily TheodoreMusic: Aleksafor utransndr KarabanovSound effects: Serge Quadrado Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

My recent interview with Rabbi Dr. Yosie Levine about his book, Hakham Tsevi Ashkenazi and the Battlegrounds of the Early Modern Rabbinate (Littman Library, 2024), illuminated the dynamic interplay between Sephardi and Ashkenazi traditions-a theme that resonates deeply with our mission at the Unity Through Diversity Institute. From the outset, Rabbi Levine's scholarship made clear that Hakham Tsevi's life was shaped by both geography and intellectual inheritance. The map at the beginning of his book, as he notes, is more than a visual aid; it is a testament to the diverse worlds Hakham Tsevi traversed. What struck me most was Hakham Tsevi's dual heritage. Raised in the Ashkenazi tradition, his formative years were marked by the customs and halakhic frameworks of Central and Eastern Europe. However, his sojourn in the Ottoman Empire brought him into close contact with the Sephardi world. This was not a mere footnote in his biography; it fundamentally altered his worldview and rabbinic outlook. The mere fact that he is called Hakham, a term of Rabbinic authority used by Sephardi Jews, yet insisted on only taking posts in Ashkenazi institutions, shows a menagerie of influences and appreciation for the diverse Jewish influences within halakhic practice. Rabbi Levine and I discussed how, despite his Ashkenazi roots, and adherence to his Ashkenazi traditions, Hakham Tsevi's training among Sephardim left an indelible mark. This influence became evident in his encouragement for scholars to prioritize accessible texts and to remain wary of the potential misuse of mystical works-a stance that echoed the concerns of Sephardi rabbis as books became more widely available. And the Sephardic influence may also be seen in his approach to education – much in line with the Sephardic philosophy, he recommended a TaNaKh first and then mishna focused curriculum with Talmud coming only after true comprehension and Kabbalah only for those who are truly gifted and fully fluent in all the other texts. “Hakham Tsevi broke new ground. He adopted a decidedly oppositional orientation towards minhag and freely attacked long-standing Ashkenazi traditions. He imported into his halakhic decisions practices from the Sephardi milieu, and advocated for a Sephardi educational curriculum.” (Rabbi Dr. Yosie Levine, p. 131) Hakham Tsevi's life demonstrates that Jewish identity is not static; it is forged in dialogue, sometimes in tension, but always in pursuit of a richer, more inclusive heritage. As we continue our work at the Unity Through Diversity Institute, Hakham Tsevi's example inspires us to embrace complexity, to learn from one another, and to honor the multiple strands that make up the fabric of Jewish life. “Before his tombstone was destroyed by the Nazis, it was adorned with the image of a gazelle, a tsevi. Moving swiftly and confidently from one field to the next, Hakham Tsevi was attacked often by adversaries who thought themselves wiser or more capable. Perhaps some of them were. But those adversaries never stopped him from speaking his mind, rendering his legal decisions, or publishing his rulings. In fact, they often compelled him to act or react…Students of halakhah remember him by the answers he generated; students of history, by the questions.” (Rabbi Dr. Yosie Levine, conclusion) I am grateful to Rabbi Levine for shedding light on this remarkable figure and hope we find this passion to challenge the norm and raise the difficult questions in more leaders. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/religion

We've learned about the primary religious groups within Judaism, and today we're going to learn about the different ethnic groups, the Mizrahi, Sephardi and Ashkenasi Jews. Your support sends the gospel to every corner of Australia through broadcast, online and print media: https://www.vision.org.au/donateSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

My recent interview with Rabbi Dr. Yosie Levine about his book, Hakham Tsevi Ashkenazi and the Battlegrounds of the Early Modern Rabbinate (Littman Library, 2024), illuminated the dynamic interplay between Sephardi and Ashkenazi traditions-a theme that resonates deeply with our mission at the Unity Through Diversity Institute. From the outset, Rabbi Levine's scholarship made clear that Hakham Tsevi's life was shaped by both geography and intellectual inheritance. The map at the beginning of his book, as he notes, is more than a visual aid; it is a testament to the diverse worlds Hakham Tsevi traversed. What struck me most was Hakham Tsevi's dual heritage. Raised in the Ashkenazi tradition, his formative years were marked by the customs and halakhic frameworks of Central and Eastern Europe. However, his sojourn in the Ottoman Empire brought him into close contact with the Sephardi world. This was not a mere footnote in his biography; it fundamentally altered his worldview and rabbinic outlook. The mere fact that he is called Hakham, a term of Rabbinic authority used by Sephardi Jews, yet insisted on only taking posts in Ashkenazi institutions, shows a menagerie of influences and appreciation for the diverse Jewish influences within halakhic practice. Rabbi Levine and I discussed how, despite his Ashkenazi roots, and adherence to his Ashkenazi traditions, Hakham Tsevi's training among Sephardim left an indelible mark. This influence became evident in his encouragement for scholars to prioritize accessible texts and to remain wary of the potential misuse of mystical works-a stance that echoed the concerns of Sephardi rabbis as books became more widely available. And the Sephardic influence may also be seen in his approach to education – much in line with the Sephardic philosophy, he recommended a TaNaKh first and then mishna focused curriculum with Talmud coming only after true comprehension and Kabbalah only for those who are truly gifted and fully fluent in all the other texts. “Hakham Tsevi broke new ground. He adopted a decidedly oppositional orientation towards minhag and freely attacked long-standing Ashkenazi traditions. He imported into his halakhic decisions practices from the Sephardi milieu, and advocated for a Sephardi educational curriculum.” (Rabbi Dr. Yosie Levine, p. 131) Hakham Tsevi's life demonstrates that Jewish identity is not static; it is forged in dialogue, sometimes in tension, but always in pursuit of a richer, more inclusive heritage. As we continue our work at the Unity Through Diversity Institute, Hakham Tsevi's example inspires us to embrace complexity, to learn from one another, and to honor the multiple strands that make up the fabric of Jewish life. “Before his tombstone was destroyed by the Nazis, it was adorned with the image of a gazelle, a tsevi. Moving swiftly and confidently from one field to the next, Hakham Tsevi was attacked often by adversaries who thought themselves wiser or more capable. Perhaps some of them were. But those adversaries never stopped him from speaking his mind, rendering his legal decisions, or publishing his rulings. In fact, they often compelled him to act or react…Students of halakhah remember him by the answers he generated; students of history, by the questions.” (Rabbi Dr. Yosie Levine, conclusion) I am grateful to Rabbi Levine for shedding light on this remarkable figure and hope we find this passion to challenge the norm and raise the difficult questions in more leaders. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/biography

My recent interview with Rabbi Dr. Yosie Levine about his book, Hakham Tsevi Ashkenazi and the Battlegrounds of the Early Modern Rabbinate (Littman Library, 2024), illuminated the dynamic interplay between Sephardi and Ashkenazi traditions-a theme that resonates deeply with our mission at the Unity Through Diversity Institute. From the outset, Rabbi Levine's scholarship made clear that Hakham Tsevi's life was shaped by both geography and intellectual inheritance. The map at the beginning of his book, as he notes, is more than a visual aid; it is a testament to the diverse worlds Hakham Tsevi traversed. What struck me most was Hakham Tsevi's dual heritage. Raised in the Ashkenazi tradition, his formative years were marked by the customs and halakhic frameworks of Central and Eastern Europe. However, his sojourn in the Ottoman Empire brought him into close contact with the Sephardi world. This was not a mere footnote in his biography; it fundamentally altered his worldview and rabbinic outlook. The mere fact that he is called Hakham, a term of Rabbinic authority used by Sephardi Jews, yet insisted on only taking posts in Ashkenazi institutions, shows a menagerie of influences and appreciation for the diverse Jewish influences within halakhic practice. Rabbi Levine and I discussed how, despite his Ashkenazi roots, and adherence to his Ashkenazi traditions, Hakham Tsevi's training among Sephardim left an indelible mark. This influence became evident in his encouragement for scholars to prioritize accessible texts and to remain wary of the potential misuse of mystical works-a stance that echoed the concerns of Sephardi rabbis as books became more widely available. And the Sephardic influence may also be seen in his approach to education – much in line with the Sephardic philosophy, he recommended a TaNaKh first and then mishna focused curriculum with Talmud coming only after true comprehension and Kabbalah only for those who are truly gifted and fully fluent in all the other texts. “Hakham Tsevi broke new ground. He adopted a decidedly oppositional orientation towards minhag and freely attacked long-standing Ashkenazi traditions. He imported into his halakhic decisions practices from the Sephardi milieu, and advocated for a Sephardi educational curriculum.” (Rabbi Dr. Yosie Levine, p. 131) Hakham Tsevi's life demonstrates that Jewish identity is not static; it is forged in dialogue, sometimes in tension, but always in pursuit of a richer, more inclusive heritage. As we continue our work at the Unity Through Diversity Institute, Hakham Tsevi's example inspires us to embrace complexity, to learn from one another, and to honor the multiple strands that make up the fabric of Jewish life. “Before his tombstone was destroyed by the Nazis, it was adorned with the image of a gazelle, a tsevi. Moving swiftly and confidently from one field to the next, Hakham Tsevi was attacked often by adversaries who thought themselves wiser or more capable. Perhaps some of them were. But those adversaries never stopped him from speaking his mind, rendering his legal decisions, or publishing his rulings. In fact, they often compelled him to act or react…Students of halakhah remember him by the answers he generated; students of history, by the questions.” (Rabbi Dr. Yosie Levine, conclusion) I am grateful to Rabbi Levine for shedding light on this remarkable figure and hope we find this passion to challenge the norm and raise the difficult questions in more leaders. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/new-books-network

My recent interview with Rabbi Dr. Yosie Levine about his book, Hakham Tsevi Ashkenazi and the Battlegrounds of the Early Modern Rabbinate (Littman Library, 2024), illuminated the dynamic interplay between Sephardi and Ashkenazi traditions-a theme that resonates deeply with our mission at the Unity Through Diversity Institute. From the outset, Rabbi Levine's scholarship made clear that Hakham Tsevi's life was shaped by both geography and intellectual inheritance. The map at the beginning of his book, as he notes, is more than a visual aid; it is a testament to the diverse worlds Hakham Tsevi traversed. What struck me most was Hakham Tsevi's dual heritage. Raised in the Ashkenazi tradition, his formative years were marked by the customs and halakhic frameworks of Central and Eastern Europe. However, his sojourn in the Ottoman Empire brought him into close contact with the Sephardi world. This was not a mere footnote in his biography; it fundamentally altered his worldview and rabbinic outlook. The mere fact that he is called Hakham, a term of Rabbinic authority used by Sephardi Jews, yet insisted on only taking posts in Ashkenazi institutions, shows a menagerie of influences and appreciation for the diverse Jewish influences within halakhic practice. Rabbi Levine and I discussed how, despite his Ashkenazi roots, and adherence to his Ashkenazi traditions, Hakham Tsevi's training among Sephardim left an indelible mark. This influence became evident in his encouragement for scholars to prioritize accessible texts and to remain wary of the potential misuse of mystical works-a stance that echoed the concerns of Sephardi rabbis as books became more widely available. And the Sephardic influence may also be seen in his approach to education – much in line with the Sephardic philosophy, he recommended a TaNaKh first and then mishna focused curriculum with Talmud coming only after true comprehension and Kabbalah only for those who are truly gifted and fully fluent in all the other texts. “Hakham Tsevi broke new ground. He adopted a decidedly oppositional orientation towards minhag and freely attacked long-standing Ashkenazi traditions. He imported into his halakhic decisions practices from the Sephardi milieu, and advocated for a Sephardi educational curriculum.” (Rabbi Dr. Yosie Levine, p. 131) Hakham Tsevi's life demonstrates that Jewish identity is not static; it is forged in dialogue, sometimes in tension, but always in pursuit of a richer, more inclusive heritage. As we continue our work at the Unity Through Diversity Institute, Hakham Tsevi's example inspires us to embrace complexity, to learn from one another, and to honor the multiple strands that make up the fabric of Jewish life. “Before his tombstone was destroyed by the Nazis, it was adorned with the image of a gazelle, a tsevi. Moving swiftly and confidently from one field to the next, Hakham Tsevi was attacked often by adversaries who thought themselves wiser or more capable. Perhaps some of them were. But those adversaries never stopped him from speaking his mind, rendering his legal decisions, or publishing his rulings. In fact, they often compelled him to act or react…Students of halakhah remember him by the answers he generated; students of history, by the questions.” (Rabbi Dr. Yosie Levine, conclusion) I am grateful to Rabbi Levine for shedding light on this remarkable figure and hope we find this passion to challenge the norm and raise the difficult questions in more leaders. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/jewish-studies

We have explained in a previous daily Halacha (see the Halacha entitled "Lag BaOmer- Cutting Hair, Weddings, Music, and More"), that Sephardim do not take hair cuts until the 34th day of the Omer. This is unlike the Ashkenazim who take hair cuts from the 33rd day of the Omer. So the question was asked about a case that is occurring this year 5765 (2005). Would it be permissible for a Sephardi to take a hair cut on the 33rd day of the Omer if the 34th day of the Omer falls out on Shabbat? Maran writes clearly in Shulchan Aruch that yes in deed, it is permissible for Sephardim to take a hair cut on the 33rd day of the Omer when the 34th day of the Omer falls out on Shabbat. One would not have to wait until Sunday. For that matter, Chacham Ovadia Yoseph writes in Yichaave Da'at in Helek 4, siman 32 that it is permissible to get a hair cut on Friday at any time. One does not have to wait until the afternoon. One can get a hair cut in the morning if he wants. As a mater of fact, Chacham Ovadia Yoseph says a person can even get a hair cut the night before (33rd of the Omer at night) if there is sufficient cause. For example, one can take a hair cut the night before if he has a business appointment the next morning, or if he can not get a hair cut appointment during the day, or if he needs to attend a Simcha. The question was asked about children and ladies and whether or not they may take hair cuts during the Omer. Well, we discussed this before in Daily Halacha (see the Halacha entitled "Lag BaOmer- Cutting Hair, Weddings, Music, and More"), but let's just repeat them again today for the purposes of review. Ladies are allowed to take hair cuts at any time during the Omer. As for children, they too may take hair cuts at any time during the Omer. Only once the boy becomes Bar Mitzvah he may not take hair cuts until the 34th (for Sephardim). But girls and ladies of all ages are not bound by this rule, and they may take a hair cut at any time during this period. The question was also asked about beards. Is it permissible to shave a beard on the 34th day of the Omer? More specifically, would it be permissible to allow Sephardim this year to shave on the 33rd? Chacham Ben Tzion Aba Shaul in his recently published book 'Or L'Tzion 3' discussed the Minhag of the Kabalists who do not take hair cuts for the 49 days of the Omer. The Arizal (Rabbi Yitzchak Luria, otherwise known as The Ari) also says this, however Chacham Ben Tzion holds that this restriction only applies to hair and not to beards. Therefore, even if someone wants to follow the Arizal and the Kabalists and refrain from taking a hair cut throughout all 49 days, he may however shave on the 34th day (the 33rd this year).

Yaffa Judah reflects on growing up between worlds—navigating her Indian and English heritage, attending Ashkenazi schools while rooted in Bene Israel culture, and marrying into a Moroccan Jewish family. Yaffa shares how music, memory, and food have shaped her identity and how she's working to create inclusive Jewish spaces for others.Our GuestYaffa Judah is a community organiser, creative and educator passionate about celebrating Jewish diversity and creating spaces where all Jews feel they belong.Key TopicsMixed Heritage: How growing up with Indian and English Jewish heritage shaped Yaffa's understanding of what it means to be Jewish.Jew-ish in Ashkenazi Spaces: Yaffa reflects on being “an ethnic minority within an ethnic minority” and the experience of feeling othered.Celebrating Difference: From leading inclusive student events at university to sharing Bene Israel traditions today, Yaffa is actively widening the circle.Beyond the Norm: Yaffa explores how labels like “Sephardi” are sometimes used as a catch-all that doesn't reflect the whole picture.Your GuideShort definitions of terms mentioned in this episode:Bene Israel - One of the oldest Jewish communities in IndiaSelichot - Prayers recited during holidays with variations between communitiesMinhag “Everyone should feel welcome—even if they're just Jew-ish”- A custom or tradition in Jewish practiceAdani - community originally from Aden, Yemen, known for their unique pronunciation and liturgical styleWant to learn more?Explore earlier episodes on Jewish identity and inclusion:S2E1: Diverse Jewish Stories with Yaacov YadgarS2E4: Classical Sephardi Culture with Daniel Jonas - to follow soonReferences & ResourcesGate of Mercy Synagogue – the oldest synagogue in Mumbai, built in 1796JDC Entwine – A global service organisation where Yaffa led intercultural eventsIllustrated Guide to a Jew in India by Solomon Devika – A fun visual storytelling project about Indian Jewish historyFind us elsewhere, here!Show creditsHost / Producer: Eylan EzekielPost-production: Communicating for ImpactArtwork: Emily TheodoreMusic: Aleksafor utransndr KarabanovSound effects: Serge Quadrado Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Sara Labaton, the Director of Teaching and Learning at the Shalom Hartman Institute of North America, recently taught a group of local rabbis. She observed that the prophetic ideals of peace (lion lies down the with lamb, nations will beat swords into ploughshares, neither will they know war anymore) are so lofty as to be unattainable. Would we be better off looking towards rabbinic ideals of peace?The good news for rabbinic ideals of peace: not lofty. Not utopian.The bad news: rabbinic ideals of peace are small, local, and very imperfect.On Shabbat we will consider a fascinating source about a most imperfect, indeed troubling peace. Three things about this source are striking.One the genre. It is sheilah u'teshuva, a legal question and answer, a responsum. Not a genre we have studied before.Two, the author is Ovadia Yosef, zichrono livracha, who was the Orthodox Chief Rabbi of the Sephardi community in Israel and throughout the world. He was incredibly learned and inspired passionate devotion among his followers. When he died in 2013, 800,000 people attended his funeral, the largest funeral in the history of Israel.Three, the fact pattern. A young woman has sex outside of marriage, gets pregnant, and has an abortion. Later, she becomes very observant, marries a yeshiva bocher, gets pregnant, has a baby boy. She never tells her husband about her abortion. When their child is born, the husband wants to do a ceremony called pidyon haben, the redemption of the first-born boy. Since she had had an abortion, she was not eligible for the pidyon haben. But he did not know. Would it be better to tell the truth, and not have the pidyon haben? Or to perpetuate the omission, and have the pidyon haben that she was not eligible to have, in which case the ceremony would contain a blessing that should not have been said?Read this short, saucy case. What did Ovadia Yosef decide? Why? Do you agree with his decision? How would you assess pros and cons? What do we learn from his decision that could apply to our very different world?Is an imperfect peace worth pursuing? Is local peace an adequate response to a world on fire?

On October 7, 2023, Hamas launched the deadliest attack on Jews since the Holocaust, calling it Operation Al Aqsa. For journalist Yardena Schwartz, the massacre was a chilling echo of the 1929 Hebron Massacre—the brutal slaughter of nearly 70 Jews, incited by propaganda that Jews sought to seize the Al Aqsa Mosque. At the time, she was deep into writing her first book, Ghosts of a Holy War: The 1929 Massacre in Palestine That Ignited the Arab-Israeli Conflict. In this episode, Yardena shares how history repeated itself, how the October 7 attack reshaped her book, and why understanding the past is essential to making sense of the present. ___ Read:  Ghosts of a Holy War: The 1929 Massacre in Palestine That Ignited the Arab Israeli Conflict Listen – AJC Podcasts: The Forgotten Exodus: Untold stories of Jews who left or were driven from Arab nations and Iran Social media influencer Hen Mazzig on leaving Tunisia Chef Einat Admony on leaving Iran Playwright Oren Safdie on leaving Syria Cartoonist Carol Isaacs on leaving Iraq Novelist Andre Aciman on leaving Egypt People of the Pod:  Latest Episode: Higher Education in Turmoil: Balancing Academic Freedom and the Fight Against Antisemitism Held Hostage in Gaza: A Mother's Fight for Freedom and Justice Yossi Klein Halevi on the Convergence of Politics and Religion at Jerusalem's Temple Mount Follow People of the Pod on your favorite podcast app, and learn more at AJC.org/PeopleofthePod You can reach us at: peopleofthepod@ajc.org If you've appreciated this episode, please be sure to tell your friends, and rate and review us on Apple Podcasts or Spotify. __ Transcript of Interview with Yardena Schwartz: Manya Brachear Pashman: Hello, and welcome to People of the Pod, brought to you by American Jewish Committee. Each week, we take you beyond the headlines to help you understand what they all mean for America, Israel and the Jewish people. I'm your host Manya Brachear Pashman:. In October 2023 journalist Yardena Schwartz was in the middle of writing her first book exploring the rarely talked about 1929 Hebron massacre, in which nearly 70 Jews were murdered, dozens more injured by their Muslim neighbors during riots incited by the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, who spread lies that Jews wanted to take over the Al Aqsa Mosque. When she heard reports of the October 7 terror attacks by Hamas dubbed Operation Al Aqsa, she realized just how relevant and prescient her book would be, and began drafting some new chapters. Yardena is with us now to discuss that book titled Ghosts of a Holy War: The 1929 Massacre in Palestine that ignited the Arab Israeli conflict. Yardena, welcome to People of the Pod.  Yardena Schwartz: Great to be here, Manya. Manya Brachear Pashman: So full disclosure to you and our audience. You attended Columbia Journalism School 10 years after I did, and you took Professor Ari Goldman's class on covering religions 10 years after I did that, class had always traveled to Israel, and I had hoped it would be my ticket to go to Israel for the first time, but the Second Intifada prevented that, and we went to Russia and Ukraine. Instead, your class did go to Israel, and that was your first visit to Hebron, correct?  Yardena Schwartz: So it was in 2011 and we went to Hebron for one day out of our 10 day trip to Israel, and it was my first time there. I was the only Jewish student in our class. It was about 15 of us, and I was the only one who had been to Israel. I had been all over Israel, but I had never been to Chevron. And our tour was with Breaking the Silence, an organization of former Israeli soldiers who had served in Hebron or in other parts of the West Bank and wanted Israelis to know what was happening in Hebron and how Palestinians were living there, and the various restrictions that were put in place as a result of terrorist attacks. But nevertheless, you know, those restrictions were extremely disturbing, and that brief visit in 2011 made me really never want to go back to Hebron. And when I moved to Israel two years later to become a freelance journalist there, and, you know, to move to Israel because I loved Israel, and still obviously love Israel, I didn't really go back to Chevron because I, you know, was really troubled by what I saw there. But this book took me, of course, back to Chevron hundreds of times, spending hundreds of hours there. And it came to be, you know, my expertise in this conflict, in my reporting. And you know, of course, Heron is kind of the main character in this book, Manya Brachear Pashman: Tell us how you came to find out about this massacre. Was it mentioned during that class visit in 2011 or was it later that you learned about it? Yardena Schwartz: So that was one of the most interesting things about my early adventure into writing this book, was that I had of course been to have Ron, and yet, during that day that we spent there learning so much about the history of this place, this deeply holy place to so many people, there was no mention of the massacre of 1929, so, you know, I knew that Chevron is, you know, the second holiest city in Judaism, the burial place of Abraham And the matrix and patriarchs of the Jewish people. And you know the first place where King David established his kingdom before Jerusalem. So it was holy before Jerusalem. And yet I had no idea that this ancient Jewish community in Hebron had been decimated in 1929 in one of the worst pogroms ever perpetrated. We all know about the kishineff pogrom of 1904 and yet the pogrom in 1929 in Hebron, perpetrated by the Muslim residents of Hebron, against their Jewish neighbors, was more deadly and more gruesome than the kishineff pogrom, and it effectively ended 1000s of years of Jewish presence in this holy city. And so when I was told by my mentor, Yossi Klein Halevi, the amazing writer, that there was a family in Memphis, Tennessee that had discovered a box of letters in their attic written by a young American man from. Memphis, who had traveled to Chevron in 1928 to study at the Hebron yeshiva, which was at the time, the most prestigious yeshiva in the land of Israel in what was then, of course, British Mandate Palestine. And that this young man had been killed in that massacre. Yet his letters, you know, painted this vivid portrait of what Chevron was before the massacre that took his life. I was immediately fascinated. And I, you know, wanted to meet this family, read these letters and see how I could bring the story to life. And I was introduced to them by, yes, in 2019 so that's when I began working on my book. And you know, as you mentioned, I was still writing the book in 2023 on October 7, and this book I had been writing about this massacre nearly a century ago immediately became more relevant than I ever hoped it would be.  Manya Brachear Pashman: The young American man from Memphis. His name was David Schoenberg. Give our listeners a history lesson. Tell us about this 1929 massacre. So Yardena Schwartz: On August 24 1929 also a Shabbat morning in crevorone, every Jewish family had locked their doors and windows. They were cowering in fear as 1000s of Muslim men rioted outside their homes, throwing rocks at their windows, breaking down their doors and essentially hunting down Jews, much like they did on October 7, families were slaughtered. Women and teenage girls were raped by their neighbors in front of their family members. Infants were murdered in their mother's arms. Children watched as their parents were butchered by their neighbors, rabbis, yeshiva students were castrated and Arabic speaking Jews, you know, Sephardi, Mizrahi, Jews, who composed about half of the Jewish population in Hebron at the time, and were very friendly with their Arab neighbors. You know, they went to each other's weddings and holidays, went to each other's shops, and these people were also slaughtered. It wasn't just the yeshiva students who had come from Europe or from America to study there, or, you know, the Ashkenazi Jewish families. It was, you know, Arabic speaking Jews whose families had been there for generations and had lived side by side in peace with their Muslim neighbors for centuries. They too were slaughtered. Manya Brachear Pashman: Why did their Muslim neighbors turn on them so suddenly and violently? The Yardena Schwartz: rioters that day were shouting Allahu Akbar. They claimed to be defending Islam and Al Aqsa from this supposed Jewish plot to destroy Al Aqsa in order to rebuild the Third Temple. This is what they had been told by their leaders and by Imams and their mosques and in Hebron, that Lai had also extended to the tomb of the patriarchs and matriarchs, which is known in Arabic as the Ibrahimi mosque. Imams there had told Muslims in Hebron that the Jews of Hebron were planning to conquer Ibrahimi mosque in order to turn it into a synagogue. So this incitement and this disinformation that continues to drive the conflict today. Really began in 1929 the rumors about this supposed Jewish plot to destroy Al Aqsa that began in 1928 around the same time that David Schoenberg arrived in Palestine to study at the yeshiva. Manya Brachear Pashman: So in addition to the letters that David Schoenberg wrote to his family back in Tennessee. How else did you piece together this history? How did you go about reporting and researching it? Who kept records?  Yardena Schwartz: So it's really interesting, because I was so surprised by the lack of literature on this really dramatic moment in history, in the history of Israel, the history of this conflict. And yet, despite the fact there are really no books in English, at least, about the massacre and about these riots and what led to them, there were mountains of, you know, testimony from victims and survivors. The British carried out this commission after the riots that produced this 400 page report filled with testimony of British officials, Arab officials, Jewish officials, survivors. So there was just so much material to work with. Also, survivors ended up writing books about their experiences in Hebron, very similar to David's letters, in a way, because they wrote not only about the riots and the massacre itself, but also what they experienced in Hebron before they too, wrote about, you know, the relatively peaceful relations between the city's Jewish minority and the Arab majority. And I also relied on archival newspaper reports so the. Riots really occupied the front pages of American newspapers for about a week, because it took about a week for the British to quell the riots, and they did so with an air, land and sea campaign. They sent warships and war planes from across the British Empire and sent troops from other parts of the British Empire. Because one of the reasons the riots were so effective, in a way, you know, were so deadly, especially in kharag, was because there was just no military force in Palestine. At the time, the British did not have a Palestine military force, and it was only after the 1929 riots that they did have troops in Palestine. Until then, they had the Palestine police force, and that police force was mostly Arabs. In Hebron, for example, there were about 40 policemen under the stewardship of one British police chief, and all but one of those policemen were Arabs, and many of them participated in the massacre or stood by outside of Jewish homes and allowed the mobs to enter the homes and carry out their slaughter. And Manya Brachear Pashman: I'm curious. There was a lot of newspaper coverage, but what about the international community's response beyond the British Empire? Yardena Schwartz: So there were actually protests around the world against the massacre in New York. 35,000 people marched through the streets of Manhattan to protest the British failure to protect their Jewish subjects from these riots. Most of the marchers were Jewish, but nevertheless, I mean 35,000 people. We didn't see anything like that after October 7. Of course, we saw the opposite people marching through the streets of New York and cities around the world supporting the mass of October 7. You know, I mentioned this March in New York, but similar protests were held around the world, mostly in Jewish communities. So in Poland, Warsaw and in England, there were protests against the British failure to protect Jews in Palestine from these riots. And the American government was livid with the British and they sent statements put out, statements to the press, criticizing the British inaction, the British failure to protect the Jewish subjects and the American citizens who were in Palestine at the time, there were eight Americans killed in Hebron on August 24 1929. Out of the 67 Jewish men, women and children who were killed, and all of them were unarmed. The Haganah at the time, you know, the underground Jewish Defense Force that would later become the nucleus of the IDF, the Haganah was active then, mostly in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, there were no Haganah members in Hebron. The Hebron Jewish community was very traditional, very religious, and when Haganah came to Hebron two days before the riots erupted, they because they knew that these riots were going to happen. There had been calls from Arab officials to riot, to attack Jewish communities across Palestine. And so the Haganah came to Hebron to warn Jewish leaders of Hebron that they could either come there to protect them or evacuate them to Jerusalem to safety until the riots subsided and the Jewish leaders of Hebron were unanimous in their opposition. They said, No, you know, we're friends with our Arab neighbors. They'll never hurt us. We trust them. If anything happens elsewhere, it won't happen here. And they believed that because, not only because they had such a good relationship with their Arab neighbors and friends, but also because in previous outbursts of violence in other years, like in 1920 1921 when they were much smaller riots and much less deadly riots. When those riots reached other parts of Palestine, they didn't reach Hebron because of those relations and because they weren't fueled by incitement and disinformation, which was what led the riots of 1929 to be so massive and so deadly, and what led them to be embraced by previously peaceful neighbors. Manya Brachear Pashman: How did that disinformation travel in 1929 How did it reach those neighbors in Hebron? Yardena Schwartz: When we talk about disinformation and misinformation today, we think of it as this, you know, modern plague of, you know, the social media era, or, you know our fractured media landscape. But back in 1929 disinformation was rampant, and it also traveled through Arabic newspapers. They were publishing these statements by Arab officials, mostly the Grand Mufti Hajime Husseini, who was the leader of Palestinian Muslims under British rule, he began this rumor that the Jews of Palestine were plotting to conquer Al Aqsa mosque to rebuild their ancient temple. Of course, Al Aqsa is built upon the ruins of the ancient temples. Temple Mount is the holiest place for Jews in the world. And in 1929, Jews were forbidden from accessing the Temple Mount because it was considered, you know, a solely holy Muslim site. But the closest place they could pray was the Western Wall, the Kotel. And Jews who were demanding British protection to pray in peace at the Western Wall without being attacked by Muslims as a result of this disinformation campaign were then painted by the Arabic press as working to conquer the Western Wall, turn it into a synagogue, and then from there, take Al Aqsa Mosque.  So this disinformation traveled from the very highest of Muslim officials. So the imams in mosques across Palestine, specifically in Al Aqsa and in Hebron, were repeating these rumors, these lies about this supposed Jewish plot. Those lies were then being published in flyers that were put in city squares. Jewish officials were warning the British and telling, you know, they should have known and they should have done more to end this campaign of disinformation, not only to achieve peace in this land that they were ruling over, but also because they were responsible for installing hajamina Husseini, the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, into his position they had chosen him for that position, that all powerful position. And so they were responsible, in a way, for all of these lies that he was spreading. And yet they took no responsibility.  And even in the commission that they sent to Palestine from London to investigate the causes of the riots, despite the fact that, you know, if you read these, you know, 400 pages, I don't recommend it. It's a tough reading. But, you know, I did that for this book. And it's so clear from all of these hearings that this disinformation campaign was very obvious, very clear and very clearly to blame for the riots. And yet, because saying so would have made the British responsible for so much death, their conclusions in this commission was that it was Jewish immigration to Palestine and Jewish land purchases at the time that had sparked the riots, and that it was this Jewish demonstration, peaceful demonstration at the Western Wall on to Shabaab in August of 1929 that had sparked these riots.  So there's just, you know, this absolute lack of accountability, not only for the Mufti, who retained his position and became even more powerful and more popular as a leader after these riots, but also for the British and instead, you know, the Jewish victims were blamed for their suffering. At the time, Jews were just 20% of the Palestinian population, which was just 1 million people. Of course, today, Israel is home to more than 10 million people. So you know, clearly there was room for everyone. And the Jews at the time were very peaceful. The Haganah was a very, you know, weak, decentralized force, and after these riots, it became much stronger, and Sephardi Jews and Mizrahi Jews, more traditional Jews who had not joined the Haganah before 1929 had not really embraced Zionism before 1929 now agreed that if Jews were going to be safe in our homeland, then we would need our own army. Manya Brachear Pashman: Can we talk a little bit about the turn toward radicalization and extremism during this time, and what role that has played in the years since? Yardena Schwartz: you know, the Zionist leadership was very adamant that Jews in Palestine should not be carrying out attacks against Arabs in Palestine. You know, it should be really about defending Jews, preventing attacks, but not carrying out retaliatory attacks. But as we've seen throughout the century, of this conflict. You know, extremism begets extremism. And you know, when violence is being used by one side, it is going to be used by the other side as well. And so the rise of a more militant form of Zionism was a direct result of 1929 and this feeling of just helplessness and this feeling of relying on this foreign power, the British, to protect them, and realizing that no foreign power was going to protect the Jews of Palestine and that Jews would have to protect themselves, and the radicalism and the extremism within the Muslim population, particularly the Muslim leadership of Palestine, really just accelerated after the massacre, because they saw that it succeeded. I mean, the British punished the Jewish population of Palestine for the riots by vastly limiting Jewish immigration, vastly limiting Jewish land purchases. Notice, I use the word land purchases because, contrary to a lot of the disinformation we hear. Much today, none of this land was being stolen. It was being purchased by Jews from Muslim land owners. Many of them were absentee landowners. Many of them were from the wealthiest families in Palestine. And many of them were members of, you know, this anti Zionist, pro Mufti circle, who were then telling their own people that Jews are stealing your land and evicting you from your land, when, in fact, it was these wealthy Arab landowners who were selling their land to Jews at exorbitant prices. Manya Brachear Pashman: Did you establish a motive for the Mufti and what were his intentions spreading this disinformation? Yardena Schwartz: Great question. So it was very clear. I mean, he never admitted this, but it was very clear what his motives were, and that was to counter the criticism and accusations of corruption that had dogged him for years, until he began this campaign of propaganda which led much of that criticism and much of those stories of his corruption within the Arabic press and among his Arab rivals to essentially disappear, because now they had a much more threatening enemy, and that enemy was the Jewish community of Palestine, who was plotting to destroy Al Aqsa, conquer Al Aqsa, rebuild their temple, take over Palestine and his campaign worked. You know, after that propaganda campaign became so successful, there were very few people willing to stand up to him and to criticize him, because after 1929 when he became so much more powerful, he began a campaign of assassinations and intimidation and violence used against not only his political rivals and dissidents, but also just Anyone who favored cooperation between Arabs and Jews in Palestine. So there were various mayors of Arab cities who wanted to work together with the Jewish community of those cities or with other Jewish leaders to bring about various economic initiatives, for instance. And some of those mayors were assassinated by the muftis henchmen, or they were just intimidated into silence and into kind of embracing his platform, which was that Palestine is and has always been and should always be, a purely Muslim land, and that there is no place for any kind of Jewish sovereignty or Jewish power in that land.  So, you know, the Mufti, in 1936 he ended up leading a violent rebellion against the British. And the British at that point, had gotten tired of ruling Palestine. They realized it was much more work than they were interested in doing, and they were interested in leaving Palestine, handing over governance to the local population to the Jews and Arabs of Palestine, and they had been interested in figuring out what could be done. Could there be a binational state with equal representation, or representative governance? If Jews are 40% of the population and Arabs are 60% then there could be some kind of governance on those ratios, all of those solutions, including a two state solution, which was presented in 1937 all of those solutions were rejected by the grand mufti, and his platform was embraced by the other Arab officials within Palestine, because if it wasn't, they could face death or violence. And he even rejected the idea of Jews remaining in Palestine under Arab rule. You know when the British said to him, okay, so what will be done with the 400,000 Jews who are in Palestine right now? He said they can't stay. So he didn't only reject the two state solution. He rejected, you know, this bi national, equal utopian society that we hear proposed by so many in pro Palestine movement today. You know, all of these solutions have been on the table for a century and always. They have been rejected by Palestinian leaders, whether it was the Grand Mufti or his apprentice, his young cousin, yas Arafat. Manya Brachear Pashman: Ah, okay, so what happened to Grand Mufti Husseini? Did he stick around? So The Mufti was eventually, finally wanted for arrest by the British after his rebellion claimed the life of a British official. Until then, it had only claimed the lives of Jews and Arabs, but once a British official was killed, then the British had decided that they'd had enough of the Mufti, and they ordered his arrest. He fled Palestine. He ended up in Iraq, where he was involved in riots there the far hood in which many Jews were massacred, perhaps hundreds, if not over 1000 Jews were slaughtered in Baghdad, which was at the time home to about. 100,000 Jews. He then fled Iraq and ended up in Berlin, where he lived from 1941 to 1945 in a Nazi financed mansion, and he led the Arab branch of Joseph Goebbels Ministry of Propaganda. He was the Nazi's leading voice in the Arab world, he spread Nazi propaganda throughout the Muslim world and recruited 10s of 1000s of Muslims to fight for the Nazis, including in the Waffen SS and when the war ended, when world war two ended, and the UN wanted him for Nazi war crimes, he was wanted for Nazi war crimes, placed on the UN's list of Nazi war criminals. Once again, he fled, first to France, then to Cairo, eventually settling in Beirut, where he continued to lead his people's jihad against the Jews of Palestine. So when, in 1947, when the UN voted to partition British Mandate Palestine into an Arab state and a Jewish state so that the British could finally leave Palestine. He declared jihad, and he rejected the Partition Plan, along with every other Arab state which also rejected it. Of course, the Jews of Palestine embraced it, celebrated it, and the very next day after the UN vote, riots erupted throughout Palestine, and he helped. He was kind of pulling the strings of that Jihad taking place in Palestine. And in fact, 1000 Muslim men who he had recruited for the Waffen. SS joined that holy war in Palestine. The Mufti helped create the army of the holy war. Yasser Arafat, who was also in Beirut at the time, also assisted the army of the holy war. He actually fought in the war that began in 1947 alongside the Muslim Brotherhood. So, you know the legacy that the Mufti had? You know, it doesn't end there. It continued to his dying day in 1974 and Arafat took over his mantle as the leader of the Palestinian people. And you know, we see how the disinformation and incitement and rejection of Jewish sovereignty in any part of the ancient land of Israel has continued to be a prominent force in Palestinian politics no matter who was in charge. You know, the Fatah, Mahmoud, Abbas and Hamas, of course, perpetuate the same lies about Al Aqsa. They perpetuate the same denial of a Jewish right to live in peace in our homeland, deny the history of Jewish presence in Israel. So, you know, it's really astounding to me how little is known about the Grand Mufti and how little is known about his impact on this conflict, and particularly in the very beginnings, the ground zero of this conflict in 1929 Manya Brachear Pashman: It's so interesting. We talk so much about Hitler, right? And his antisemitism, but we don't talk about Husseini. Yardena Schwartz: Yeah, and they were good friends. I mean, they met in 1941 shortly after the Mufti arrived, he had a private chauffeur. He was lavishly paid by the Nazis, and he was good friends with Himmler. He toured concentration camps. He knew very well about the final solution. Hitler himself considered the Mufti an honorary Aryan. I mean, the Mufti had blue eyes, fair skin, light hair. Hitler believed that Husseini had Roman blood, and he saw him as someone who could lead the Nazi forces once they arrived in the Middle East. He saw him as, you know, a great ally of the Nazis. He didn't just participate in the Nazis quest to eradicate the Jewish population of Europe and eventually arrive in Palestine, but he also the Mufti worked to convince various European leaders not to allow Jewish refugees from fleeing Europe and not allowing them to come to Palestine. He told them, send them to Poland, and he knew very well what was happening in Poland. Manya Brachear Pashman: So I want to go back to this family in Tennessee, the genesis of this story, and I'm curious. David Schoenberg's niece said that at one point in the book, she said they're Southern, so they sweep ugly under the rug in the south. And so they just didn't talk about that. And when I read that, I thought, actually, that's kind of a Jewish approach, not a southern approach, except we wouldn't say we sweep things under the rug. We move on, right? We treasure our resilience, and we move on from that pain and we build anew. But is moving on really in the Jewish community's best interest? Is that how we end up forgetting and letting this history and this very important history fade?. Yardena Schwartz: Yeah, absolutely. You know, I think it is possible to do both. It is possible to take great pride in our resilience and in our strength and our ability to experience so much devastation and suffering, and yet every time emerge stronger.  I mean, think about the Holocaust. First of all, for many years, we did sweep that under the rug. Survivors were discouraged from speaking about what they went through. They were seen as, you know, especially in Israel, they were seen as, you know, people who went like sheep to the slaughter. It wasn't something to talk about. It was something to move on from. And yet now we are able to hold both in both hands. You know. We're able to honor and commemorate the memory and speak about the atrocities that millions of Jews suffered during the Holocaust, while also celebrating where we went after the Holocaust. I mean, three years after the Holocaust, Israel was born. You know, that's just, on its own, you know, a remarkable symbol of our resilience and our strength as a people. But I think the way we commemorate the Holocaust is a really great example of how we do both how we honor the memory and use that as a lesson so that it never happens again.  And yet, I think that when it comes to the conflict and the various forces that have led us to where we are today, there is this tendency to kind of try to move on and not really speak about how we got here. And it's really a shame, because I think that this is the only way we'll ever find a way out of this tragic cycle of violence, is if we learn how we got here, the forces that continue to drive this conflict after a century, and you know, the people who brought us here. Not only the Grand Mufti, but also, you know, the leaders today who are very much capitalizing on fear and religion, exploiting religion for their own, their own interests, and utilizing disinformation to remain in power. And I think that, you know, we can't afford not to speak about these things and not to know about our own history. It's really telling that, you know, even in Jewish communities, where people know so much about Israel and about this conflict, there is just a complete lack of knowledge of, you know, the very bedrock of this conflict. And I think without that knowledge, we'll never get out of this mess. Manya Brachear Pashman: Yardena, thank you so much. This is such a wonderful book, and congratulations on writing it.  Yardena Schwartz: Thank you so much.  Manya Brachear Pashman: If you missed last week's episode, be sure to tune in for my conversation with Dr Laura Shaw Frank, Director of AJC Center for Education Advocacy. We discussed the delicate balance between combating antisemitism, safeguarding free speech, and ensuring campuses remain safe for all students.  Thank you for listening. This episode is brought to you by AJC. Our producer is Atara Lakritz. Our sound engineer is TK Broderick. You can subscribe to People of the Pod on Apple podcasts, Spotify or Google podcasts, or learn more at ajc.org/PeopleofthePod. The views and opinions of our guests don't necessarily reflect the positions of AJC. We'd love to hear your views and opinions or your questions. You can reach us at PeopleofthePod@ajc.org. If you've enjoyed this episode, please be sure to tell your friends. Tag us on social media with hashtag People of the Pod and hop on to Apple podcasts to rate us and write a review to help more listeners find us. Tune in next week for another episode of People of the Pod.

Sponsored by Anonymous in Honor of Rav Breitowitz

Raised in the Judería or Jewish quarter of Tetouan, Morocco, at the turn of the 20th-century, sixteen-year-old Mazaltob finds herself betrothed to José, an uncouth man from her own community who has returned from Argentina to take a wife. Mazaltob, however, is in love with Jean, who is French, half-Jewish, and a free spirit. In this classic of North African Jewish fiction, Blanche Bendahan evokes the two compelling forces tearing Mazaltob apart in her body and soul: her loyalty to the Judería and her powerful desire to follow her own voice and find true love. Bendahan's nuanced and moving novel is a masterly exploration of the language, religion, and quotidian customs constraining North African Jewish women on the cusp of emancipation and decolonization. Yaëlle Azagury and Frances Malino provide the first English translation of this modern coming-of-age tale, awarded a prize by the Académie Française in 1930, and analyze the ways in which Mazaltob, with its disconcerting blend of ethnographic details and modernist experimentation, is the first of its genre—that of the feminist Sephardi novel. A historical introduction, a literary analysis, and annotations elucidate historical and cultural terms for readers, supplementing the author's original notes. Blanche Bendahan was born in Oran, Algeria on November 26, 1893, to a Jewish family of Moroccan-Spanish origin. Bendahan published her first collection of poetry, La voile sur l'eau, in 1926 and then her first novel, Mazaltob, in 1930. Yaëlle Azagury is a writer, literary scholar, and critic. She was Lecturer in French and Francophone Studies at Barnard College, and Lecturer in Discipline in the English and Comparative Literature Department at Columbia University. She is a native of Tangier, Morocco. Frances Malino is the Sophia Moses Robison Professor of Jewish Studies and History Emerita at Wellesley College. Her current project is titled Teaching Freedom: Jewish Sisters in Muslim Lands. In 2012 she was named Chevalier dans l'Ordre des Palmes académiques by the French Ministry of Education. Azagury and Malino were finalists of the 74th Nation­al Jew­ish Book Awards in the category of Sephardic Culture. Mentioned in the podcast: • Blanche Bendahan,“Visages de Tétouan,” Les Cahiers de L'Alliance Israélite Universelle (Paix et Droit), no. 093 (November 1955): 5. • Susan Gilson Miller, “Gender and the Poetics and Emancipation: The Alliance Israélite Universelle in Northern Morocco (1890-1912).” In Franco-Arab Encounters, edited by L. Carl Brown and Matthew Gordon (1996) • Susan Gilson Miller, “Moïse Nahon and the Invention of the Modern Maghribi Jew.” In  French Mediterraneans, edited by P. Lorcin and T. Shepard (2016) • Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time (À la recherche du temps perdu published in seven volumes, previously translated as Remembrance of Things Past) (1913–1927) • Edward W. Said, Orientalism, 25th anniversary edition (1994) • Female teachers of the Alliance israélite universelle • Jewish figures in the literature of The Tharaud Brothers • Archives of the Alliance israélite universelle (AIU) Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/new-books-network

Raised in the Judería or Jewish quarter of Tetouan, Morocco, at the turn of the 20th-century, sixteen-year-old Mazaltob finds herself betrothed to José, an uncouth man from her own community who has returned from Argentina to take a wife. Mazaltob, however, is in love with Jean, who is French, half-Jewish, and a free spirit. In this classic of North African Jewish fiction, Blanche Bendahan evokes the two compelling forces tearing Mazaltob apart in her body and soul: her loyalty to the Judería and her powerful desire to follow her own voice and find true love. Bendahan's nuanced and moving novel is a masterly exploration of the language, religion, and quotidian customs constraining North African Jewish women on the cusp of emancipation and decolonization. Yaëlle Azagury and Frances Malino provide the first English translation of this modern coming-of-age tale, awarded a prize by the Académie Française in 1930, and analyze the ways in which Mazaltob, with its disconcerting blend of ethnographic details and modernist experimentation, is the first of its genre—that of the feminist Sephardi novel. A historical introduction, a literary analysis, and annotations elucidate historical and cultural terms for readers, supplementing the author's original notes. Blanche Bendahan was born in Oran, Algeria on November 26, 1893, to a Jewish family of Moroccan-Spanish origin. Bendahan published her first collection of poetry, La voile sur l'eau, in 1926 and then her first novel, Mazaltob, in 1930. Yaëlle Azagury is a writer, literary scholar, and critic. She was Lecturer in French and Francophone Studies at Barnard College, and Lecturer in Discipline in the English and Comparative Literature Department at Columbia University. She is a native of Tangier, Morocco. Frances Malino is the Sophia Moses Robison Professor of Jewish Studies and History Emerita at Wellesley College. Her current project is titled Teaching Freedom: Jewish Sisters in Muslim Lands. In 2012 she was named Chevalier dans l'Ordre des Palmes académiques by the French Ministry of Education. Azagury and Malino were finalists of the 74th Nation­al Jew­ish Book Awards in the category of Sephardic Culture. Mentioned in the podcast: • Blanche Bendahan,“Visages de Tétouan,” Les Cahiers de L'Alliance Israélite Universelle (Paix et Droit), no. 093 (November 1955): 5. • Susan Gilson Miller, “Gender and the Poetics and Emancipation: The Alliance Israélite Universelle in Northern Morocco (1890-1912).” In Franco-Arab Encounters, edited by L. Carl Brown and Matthew Gordon (1996) • Susan Gilson Miller, “Moïse Nahon and the Invention of the Modern Maghribi Jew.” In  French Mediterraneans, edited by P. Lorcin and T. Shepard (2016) • Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time (À la recherche du temps perdu published in seven volumes, previously translated as Remembrance of Things Past) (1913–1927) • Edward W. Said, Orientalism, 25th anniversary edition (1994) • Female teachers of the Alliance israélite universelle • Jewish figures in the literature of The Tharaud Brothers • Archives of the Alliance israélite universelle (AIU) Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/literary-studies

Raised in the Judería or Jewish quarter of Tetouan, Morocco, at the turn of the 20th-century, sixteen-year-old Mazaltob finds herself betrothed to José, an uncouth man from her own community who has returned from Argentina to take a wife. Mazaltob, however, is in love with Jean, who is French, half-Jewish, and a free spirit. In this classic of North African Jewish fiction, Blanche Bendahan evokes the two compelling forces tearing Mazaltob apart in her body and soul: her loyalty to the Judería and her powerful desire to follow her own voice and find true love. Bendahan's nuanced and moving novel is a masterly exploration of the language, religion, and quotidian customs constraining North African Jewish women on the cusp of emancipation and decolonization. Yaëlle Azagury and Frances Malino provide the first English translation of this modern coming-of-age tale, awarded a prize by the Académie Française in 1930, and analyze the ways in which Mazaltob, with its disconcerting blend of ethnographic details and modernist experimentation, is the first of its genre—that of the feminist Sephardi novel. A historical introduction, a literary analysis, and annotations elucidate historical and cultural terms for readers, supplementing the author's original notes. Blanche Bendahan was born in Oran, Algeria on November 26, 1893, to a Jewish family of Moroccan-Spanish origin. Bendahan published her first collection of poetry, La voile sur l'eau, in 1926 and then her first novel, Mazaltob, in 1930. Yaëlle Azagury is a writer, literary scholar, and critic. She was Lecturer in French and Francophone Studies at Barnard College, and Lecturer in Discipline in the English and Comparative Literature Department at Columbia University. She is a native of Tangier, Morocco. Frances Malino is the Sophia Moses Robison Professor of Jewish Studies and History Emerita at Wellesley College. Her current project is titled Teaching Freedom: Jewish Sisters in Muslim Lands. In 2012 she was named Chevalier dans l'Ordre des Palmes académiques by the French Ministry of Education. Azagury and Malino were finalists of the 74th Nation­al Jew­ish Book Awards in the category of Sephardic Culture. Mentioned in the podcast: • Blanche Bendahan,“Visages de Tétouan,” Les Cahiers de L'Alliance Israélite Universelle (Paix et Droit), no. 093 (November 1955): 5. • Susan Gilson Miller, “Gender and the Poetics and Emancipation: The Alliance Israélite Universelle in Northern Morocco (1890-1912).” In Franco-Arab Encounters, edited by L. Carl Brown and Matthew Gordon (1996) • Susan Gilson Miller, “Moïse Nahon and the Invention of the Modern Maghribi Jew.” In  French Mediterraneans, edited by P. Lorcin and T. Shepard (2016) • Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time (À la recherche du temps perdu published in seven volumes, previously translated as Remembrance of Things Past) (1913–1927) • Edward W. Said, Orientalism, 25th anniversary edition (1994) • Female teachers of the Alliance israélite universelle • Jewish figures in the literature of The Tharaud Brothers • Archives of the Alliance israélite universelle (AIU) Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/jewish-studies

Raised in the Judería or Jewish quarter of Tetouan, Morocco, at the turn of the 20th-century, sixteen-year-old Mazaltob finds herself betrothed to José, an uncouth man from her own community who has returned from Argentina to take a wife. Mazaltob, however, is in love with Jean, who is French, half-Jewish, and a free spirit. In this classic of North African Jewish fiction, Blanche Bendahan evokes the two compelling forces tearing Mazaltob apart in her body and soul: her loyalty to the Judería and her powerful desire to follow her own voice and find true love. Bendahan's nuanced and moving novel is a masterly exploration of the language, religion, and quotidian customs constraining North African Jewish women on the cusp of emancipation and decolonization. Yaëlle Azagury and Frances Malino provide the first English translation of this modern coming-of-age tale, awarded a prize by the Académie Française in 1930, and analyze the ways in which Mazaltob, with its disconcerting blend of ethnographic details and modernist experimentation, is the first of its genre—that of the feminist Sephardi novel. A historical introduction, a literary analysis, and annotations elucidate historical and cultural terms for readers, supplementing the author's original notes. Blanche Bendahan was born in Oran, Algeria on November 26, 1893, to a Jewish family of Moroccan-Spanish origin. Bendahan published her first collection of poetry, La voile sur l'eau, in 1926 and then her first novel, Mazaltob, in 1930. Yaëlle Azagury is a writer, literary scholar, and critic. She was Lecturer in French and Francophone Studies at Barnard College, and Lecturer in Discipline in the English and Comparative Literature Department at Columbia University. She is a native of Tangier, Morocco. Frances Malino is the Sophia Moses Robison Professor of Jewish Studies and History Emerita at Wellesley College. Her current project is titled Teaching Freedom: Jewish Sisters in Muslim Lands. In 2012 she was named Chevalier dans l'Ordre des Palmes académiques by the French Ministry of Education. Azagury and Malino were finalists of the 74th Nation­al Jew­ish Book Awards in the category of Sephardic Culture. Mentioned in the podcast: • Blanche Bendahan,“Visages de Tétouan,” Les Cahiers de L'Alliance Israélite Universelle (Paix et Droit), no. 093 (November 1955): 5. • Susan Gilson Miller, “Gender and the Poetics and Emancipation: The Alliance Israélite Universelle in Northern Morocco (1890-1912).” In Franco-Arab Encounters, edited by L. Carl Brown and Matthew Gordon (1996) • Susan Gilson Miller, “Moïse Nahon and the Invention of the Modern Maghribi Jew.” In  French Mediterraneans, edited by P. Lorcin and T. Shepard (2016) • Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time (À la recherche du temps perdu published in seven volumes, previously translated as Remembrance of Things Past) (1913–1927) • Edward W. Said, Orientalism, 25th anniversary edition (1994) • Female teachers of the Alliance israélite universelle • Jewish figures in the literature of The Tharaud Brothers • Archives of the Alliance israélite universelle (AIU) Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/middle-eastern-studies

Raised in the Judería or Jewish quarter of Tetouan, Morocco, at the turn of the 20th-century, sixteen-year-old Mazaltob finds herself betrothed to José, an uncouth man from her own community who has returned from Argentina to take a wife. Mazaltob, however, is in love with Jean, who is French, half-Jewish, and a free spirit. In this classic of North African Jewish fiction, Blanche Bendahan evokes the two compelling forces tearing Mazaltob apart in her body and soul: her loyalty to the Judería and her powerful desire to follow her own voice and find true love. Bendahan's nuanced and moving novel is a masterly exploration of the language, religion, and quotidian customs constraining North African Jewish women on the cusp of emancipation and decolonization. Yaëlle Azagury and Frances Malino provide the first English translation of this modern coming-of-age tale, awarded a prize by the Académie Française in 1930, and analyze the ways in which Mazaltob, with its disconcerting blend of ethnographic details and modernist experimentation, is the first of its genre—that of the feminist Sephardi novel. A historical introduction, a literary analysis, and annotations elucidate historical and cultural terms for readers, supplementing the author's original notes. Blanche Bendahan was born in Oran, Algeria on November 26, 1893, to a Jewish family of Moroccan-Spanish origin. Bendahan published her first collection of poetry, La voile sur l'eau, in 1926 and then her first novel, Mazaltob, in 1930. Yaëlle Azagury is a writer, literary scholar, and critic. She was Lecturer in French and Francophone Studies at Barnard College, and Lecturer in Discipline in the English and Comparative Literature Department at Columbia University. She is a native of Tangier, Morocco. Frances Malino is the Sophia Moses Robison Professor of Jewish Studies and History Emerita at Wellesley College. Her current project is titled Teaching Freedom: Jewish Sisters in Muslim Lands. In 2012 she was named Chevalier dans l'Ordre des Palmes académiques by the French Ministry of Education. Azagury and Malino were finalists of the 74th Nation­al Jew­ish Book Awards in the category of Sephardic Culture. Mentioned in the podcast: • Blanche Bendahan,“Visages de Tétouan,” Les Cahiers de L'Alliance Israélite Universelle (Paix et Droit), no. 093 (November 1955): 5. • Susan Gilson Miller, “Gender and the Poetics and Emancipation: The Alliance Israélite Universelle in Northern Morocco (1890-1912).” In Franco-Arab Encounters, edited by L. Carl Brown and Matthew Gordon (1996) • Susan Gilson Miller, “Moïse Nahon and the Invention of the Modern Maghribi Jew.” In  French Mediterraneans, edited by P. Lorcin and T. Shepard (2016) • Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time (À la recherche du temps perdu published in seven volumes, previously translated as Remembrance of Things Past) (1913–1927) • Edward W. Said, Orientalism, 25th anniversary edition (1994) • Female teachers of the Alliance israélite universelle • Jewish figures in the literature of The Tharaud Brothers • Archives of the Alliance israélite universelle (AIU) Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/biography

Raised in the Judería or Jewish quarter of Tetouan, Morocco, at the turn of the 20th-century, sixteen-year-old Mazaltob finds herself betrothed to José, an uncouth man from her own community who has returned from Argentina to take a wife. Mazaltob, however, is in love with Jean, who is French, half-Jewish, and a free spirit. In this classic of North African Jewish fiction, Blanche Bendahan evokes the two compelling forces tearing Mazaltob apart in her body and soul: her loyalty to the Judería and her powerful desire to follow her own voice and find true love. Bendahan's nuanced and moving novel is a masterly exploration of the language, religion, and quotidian customs constraining North African Jewish women on the cusp of emancipation and decolonization. Yaëlle Azagury and Frances Malino provide the first English translation of this modern coming-of-age tale, awarded a prize by the Académie Française in 1930, and analyze the ways in which Mazaltob, with its disconcerting blend of ethnographic details and modernist experimentation, is the first of its genre—that of the feminist Sephardi novel. A historical introduction, a literary analysis, and annotations elucidate historical and cultural terms for readers, supplementing the author's original notes. Blanche Bendahan was born in Oran, Algeria on November 26, 1893, to a Jewish family of Moroccan-Spanish origin. Bendahan published her first collection of poetry, La voile sur l'eau, in 1926 and then her first novel, Mazaltob, in 1930. Yaëlle Azagury is a writer, literary scholar, and critic. She was Lecturer in French and Francophone Studies at Barnard College, and Lecturer in Discipline in the English and Comparative Literature Department at Columbia University. She is a native of Tangier, Morocco. Frances Malino is the Sophia Moses Robison Professor of Jewish Studies and History Emerita at Wellesley College. Her current project is titled Teaching Freedom: Jewish Sisters in Muslim Lands. In 2012 she was named Chevalier dans l'Ordre des Palmes académiques by the French Ministry of Education. Azagury and Malino were finalists of the 74th Nation­al Jew­ish Book Awards in the category of Sephardic Culture. Mentioned in the podcast: • Blanche Bendahan,“Visages de Tétouan,” Les Cahiers de L'Alliance Israélite Universelle (Paix et Droit), no. 093 (November 1955): 5. • Susan Gilson Miller, “Gender and the Poetics and Emancipation: The Alliance Israélite Universelle in Northern Morocco (1890-1912).” In Franco-Arab Encounters, edited by L. Carl Brown and Matthew Gordon (1996) • Susan Gilson Miller, “Moïse Nahon and the Invention of the Modern Maghribi Jew.” In  French Mediterraneans, edited by P. Lorcin and T. Shepard (2016) • Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time (À la recherche du temps perdu published in seven volumes, previously translated as Remembrance of Things Past) (1913–1927) • Edward W. Said, Orientalism, 25th anniversary edition (1994) • Female teachers of the Alliance israélite universelle • Jewish figures in the literature of The Tharaud Brothers • Archives of the Alliance israélite universelle (AIU) Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

J.J. and Dr. Matt Goldish Introduce us to Shabbetai Tzevi and his cadre of prophets and promoters. This is episode 1 or our mini-series about Sabbateanism and its afterlife. Follow us on Twitter (X) @JewishIdeas_Pod and Bluesky @jewishideaspod.bsky.social for updates about messiahs, true and false. Please rate and review the the show in the podcast app of your choice!We welcome all complaints and compliments at podcasts@torahinmotion.org or just DM us. For more information visit torahinmotion.org/podcastsMatt Goldish is the Samuel M. and Esther Melton Chair in History at The Ohio State University. His research focuses on the Sephardi diaspora after 1492, early modern Sephardic and Italian rabbinic culture, messianism, and Jewish-Christian intellectual relations. He is the author of several books, including, The Sabbatean Prophet (Harvard University Press, 2004) and Jewish Questions: Responsa on Jewish Life in the Early Modern Period (Princeton University Press, 2008). His newest book, having nothing to do with Jewish history, is Science and Specters at Salem (Routledge, 2025). 

The Rhodes blood libel of 1840, an outbreak of anti-Jewish violence, was initiated by the island's governor in collusion with Levantine merchants, who charged the local Jewish community with murdering a Christian boy for ritual purposes. An episode in the shared histories of Ottomans and Jews, it was forgotten by the former and, even if remembered, misunderstood by the latter. The 1840 Rhodes Blood Libel: Ottoman Jews at the Dawn of the Tanzimat Era (Berghahn Books, 2024) aims to restore the place of this event in Sephardi and Ottoman history. Based on newly discovered Ottoman and Jewish sources it argues that the acquittal of Rhodian Jews is adequately understood only in the context of the Tanzimat and the Sublime Porte's foreign relations. Contrary to the common view that Ottoman Jews did not experience the impact of the Tanzimat reforms until the mid-1850s, this study shows that their effects were felt as early as 1840. Furthermore, this book offers a window onto life and intercommunal relations in the Eastern Mediterranean during the late Ottoman era. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/new-books-network

The Rhodes blood libel of 1840, an outbreak of anti-Jewish violence, was initiated by the island's governor in collusion with Levantine merchants, who charged the local Jewish community with murdering a Christian boy for ritual purposes. An episode in the shared histories of Ottomans and Jews, it was forgotten by the former and, even if remembered, misunderstood by the latter. The 1840 Rhodes Blood Libel: Ottoman Jews at the Dawn of the Tanzimat Era (Berghahn Books, 2024) aims to restore the place of this event in Sephardi and Ottoman history. Based on newly discovered Ottoman and Jewish sources it argues that the acquittal of Rhodian Jews is adequately understood only in the context of the Tanzimat and the Sublime Porte's foreign relations. Contrary to the common view that Ottoman Jews did not experience the impact of the Tanzimat reforms until the mid-1850s, this study shows that their effects were felt as early as 1840. Furthermore, this book offers a window onto life and intercommunal relations in the Eastern Mediterranean during the late Ottoman era. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/history

The Rhodes blood libel of 1840, an outbreak of anti-Jewish violence, was initiated by the island's governor in collusion with Levantine merchants, who charged the local Jewish community with murdering a Christian boy for ritual purposes. An episode in the shared histories of Ottomans and Jews, it was forgotten by the former and, even if remembered, misunderstood by the latter. The 1840 Rhodes Blood Libel: Ottoman Jews at the Dawn of the Tanzimat Era (Berghahn Books, 2024) aims to restore the place of this event in Sephardi and Ottoman history. Based on newly discovered Ottoman and Jewish sources it argues that the acquittal of Rhodian Jews is adequately understood only in the context of the Tanzimat and the Sublime Porte's foreign relations. Contrary to the common view that Ottoman Jews did not experience the impact of the Tanzimat reforms until the mid-1850s, this study shows that their effects were felt as early as 1840. Furthermore, this book offers a window onto life and intercommunal relations in the Eastern Mediterranean during the late Ottoman era. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/jewish-studies

The Rhodes blood libel of 1840, an outbreak of anti-Jewish violence, was initiated by the island's governor in collusion with Levantine merchants, who charged the local Jewish community with murdering a Christian boy for ritual purposes. An episode in the shared histories of Ottomans and Jews, it was forgotten by the former and, even if remembered, misunderstood by the latter. The 1840 Rhodes Blood Libel: Ottoman Jews at the Dawn of the Tanzimat Era (Berghahn Books, 2024) aims to restore the place of this event in Sephardi and Ottoman history. Based on newly discovered Ottoman and Jewish sources it argues that the acquittal of Rhodian Jews is adequately understood only in the context of the Tanzimat and the Sublime Porte's foreign relations. Contrary to the common view that Ottoman Jews did not experience the impact of the Tanzimat reforms until the mid-1850s, this study shows that their effects were felt as early as 1840. Furthermore, this book offers a window onto life and intercommunal relations in the Eastern Mediterranean during the late Ottoman era. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/middle-eastern-studies

The Rhodes blood libel of 1840, an outbreak of anti-Jewish violence, was initiated by the island's governor in collusion with Levantine merchants, who charged the local Jewish community with murdering a Christian boy for ritual purposes. An episode in the shared histories of Ottomans and Jews, it was forgotten by the former and, even if remembered, misunderstood by the latter. The 1840 Rhodes Blood Libel: Ottoman Jews at the Dawn of the Tanzimat Era (Berghahn Books, 2024) aims to restore the place of this event in Sephardi and Ottoman history. Based on newly discovered Ottoman and Jewish sources it argues that the acquittal of Rhodian Jews is adequately understood only in the context of the Tanzimat and the Sublime Porte's foreign relations. Contrary to the common view that Ottoman Jews did not experience the impact of the Tanzimat reforms until the mid-1850s, this study shows that their effects were felt as early as 1840. Furthermore, this book offers a window onto life and intercommunal relations in the Eastern Mediterranean during the late Ottoman era. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/law

The Rhodes blood libel of 1840, an outbreak of anti-Jewish violence, was initiated by the island's governor in collusion with Levantine merchants, who charged the local Jewish community with murdering a Christian boy for ritual purposes. An episode in the shared histories of Ottomans and Jews, it was forgotten by the former and, even if remembered, misunderstood by the latter. The 1840 Rhodes Blood Libel: Ottoman Jews at the Dawn of the Tanzimat Era (Berghahn Books, 2024) aims to restore the place of this event in Sephardi and Ottoman history. Based on newly discovered Ottoman and Jewish sources it argues that the acquittal of Rhodian Jews is adequately understood only in the context of the Tanzimat and the Sublime Porte's foreign relations. Contrary to the common view that Ottoman Jews did not experience the impact of the Tanzimat reforms until the mid-1850s, this study shows that their effects were felt as early as 1840. Furthermore, this book offers a window onto life and intercommunal relations in the Eastern Mediterranean during the late Ottoman era. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/christian-studies

“I never thought there's antisemitism. It's something from the past, for my grandparents, for my mom a little, but it's not something in my generation, or my kids' generation. It's done . . . apparently, not.” Einat Admony is a chef, cookbook author, comedian, and social media star who grew up in Bnei Brak, Israel. With parents from Iran and Yemen, Einat spent her childhood in the kitchens of Mizrahi, Sephardi, and Ashkenazi neighbors. Learn about her family's deep-rooted Jewish heritage in Iran and the broader Middle East. Along with her mother Ziona's journey from Iran to Israel in 1948, Einat discusses the antisemitism she's dealt with online and on the streets in the past year. Hear her stories of Jewish-Muslim coexistence in Iran and memories of spices and perfumes that inspire Einat's dishes. Her cookbooks Balaboosta and Shuk, along with her Manhattan restaurant Balaboosta, reflect a blend of tradition and innovation. “You could not have Judaism today, if it were not for the Jews of Iran,” says Houman Sarshar, an independent scholar and director of publications at the Center for Iranian Jewish Oral History in Los Angeles. Sarshar highlights the historical relationship between Iran and Israel, noting that Iran was the second Muslim-majority country to recognize Israel post-1948.  The conversation also touches on the challenges faced by Jews in Iran, their cultural integration, and the impact of the 1979 Islamic Revolution.  —- Show notes: How much do you know about Jewish history in the Middle East? Take our quiz. Sign up to receive podcast updates. Learn more about the series. Song credits:  Pond5:  “Desert Caravans”: Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Beta (BMI), Composer: Tiemur Zarobov (BMI), IPI#1098108837 “Suspense Middle East” Publisher: Victor Romanov, Composer: Victor Romanov; Item ID: 196056047 ___ Episode Transcript: EINAT ADMONY: I've been in Israel a few months ago. It's like you always feel loved, you always feel supported. It's still home. It's always going to be my home. MANYA BRACHEAR PASHMAN: The world has overlooked an important episode in modern history: the 800,000 Jews who left or were driven from their homes in the Middle East and North Africa in the mid-20th century. Welcome to the second season of The Forgotten Exodus, brought to you by American Jewish Committee. This series explores that pivotal moment in history and the little-known Jewish heritage of Iran and Arab nations. As Jews around the world confront violent antisemitism and Israelis face daily attacks by terrorists on multiple fronts, our second season explores how Jews have lived throughout the region for generations despite hardship, hostility, and hatred, then sought safety and new possibilities in their ancestral homeland. I'm your host, Manya Brachear Pashman. Join us as we explore untold family histories and personal stories of courage, perseverance, and resilience from this transformative and tumultuous period of history for the Jewish people and the Middle East.  The world has ignored these voices. We will not.  This is The Forgotten Exodus. Today's episode: Leaving Iran. MANYA: Whether she's deviling eggs soaked in beet juice, simmering Oxtail in shawarma spices, or sprinkling za'atar on pastry dough, chef Einat Admony is honoring her family's Middle Eastern heritage. Both the places where they have lived for generations, as well as the place they have and will always call home: Israel.   EINAT/Clip: Start with brushing the puff pastry with olive oil and za'atar. Have some feta all around and shredded mozzarella. Take the other sheet and just cut it to one inch strips. Now we're going to twist. Need to be careful. Now we're just gonna brush the top with the mix of oil and za'atar. Get it some shiny and glazy. This is ready for the oven. Bake at 400 until it's golden. That's it super easy, just sprinkle some za'atar and eat. MANYA: For the chef, author, reality TV star, and comedian, food reflects the Zionist roots that have been a constant for Einat, the self-made balaboosta, who is largely credited with introducing Israeli cuisine to the U.S. That love for Israel goes back generations, long before the modern state existed, when her maternal ancestors lived in the land, that until 1935 was known as Persia, but is now known as Iran. Her own mother Ziona, the third of seven siblings, was even named for the destination where Einat's grandparents aspired to one day raise their family. Returning home to the land of Zion from which Jews had been exiled centuries earlier was always the goal. When you ask her why, Einat laughs in disbelief.  EINAT: Why? Why? That's homeland. I think a lot of Jewish people for hundreds of years was, that's in every prayer, it's in every Shabbat dinner evening. MANYA: The hatred directed toward Israel by Iran's regime in the form of the deadly attacks on Israel by Iran-backed terrorist groups and the Islamic Republic of Iran itself make it hard to believe that Iran was once a place where Jews and the Zionist movement thrived. But in fact, Iran's history includes periods when the wide-open roads between Iran and Israel ran two ways and the countries not only lived in harmony but worked in close partnership.  Iran was the second Muslim-majority country after Turkey to recognize the modern state of Israel after its formation in 1948, and the two established diplomatic ties. Regular flights ran between Tehran's Mehrabad International Airport and Tel Aviv's Ben Gurion airport.  SARSHAR: We cannot overlook the fact that since October 29, 539 BCE the Jewish community of Iran remains to this day the largest community of Jews anywhere in the Middle East outside the state of Israel. To this day. You could not have Judaism today, if it were not for the Jews of Iran.  MANYA: Houman Sarshar is an independent scholar and director of publications at the Center for Iranian Jewish Oral History in Los Angeles. He has edited a number of books, including Esther's Children: A Portrait of Iranian Jews.  SARSHAR: The history of the Jews in Iran begins about 2,700 years ago, when the first community of known Jews was taken to Iran. They are commonly believed to be one of the 10 Lost Tribes. And then when we fast forward to when Nebuchadnezzar came and destroyed the temple in Jerusalem and took Jews into captivity. Some years after that at 539 BCE on October 29, 539 BCE, to be exact, Cyrus the Great, the founder of the Achaemenid dynasty, liberated Babylon and gave Jews the permission to go back to Israel and rebuild the Second Temple. MANYA: Cyrus the Great – a Persian emperor particularly renowned among contemporary scholars for the respect he showed toward peoples' customs and religions in the lands that he conquered. According to the Book of Ezra in the Hebrew Bible, Cyrus even paid for the restoration of the Jewish temple in Jerusalem. SARSHAR: This is known as the Second Temple period in Jewish history, and under the Achaemenid dynasty, Jews participated in every level of society. And a few centuries forward, around the 5th Century, we know the Jews continue to live with many freedoms, because that is the era when the Babylonian Talmud was originally produced in Iran by Rav Ashi. So, you know, there was a thriving rabbanut (rabbanite) in Iran who had the freedom and the luxury and the time to be able to produce such an important document as the Talmud, which has become the cornerstone of all jurisprudence that we know, Western law, and everything. MANYA: The advent and arrival of Islam in Iran in the 7th Century CE changed circumstances somewhat. As was the case across the Middle East, all non-Muslims became dhimmis – residents who paid a special tax and lived under certain restrictions. The situation for Jews worsened in the 16th Century when the Safavid dynasty made the Shiite creed the dominant form of Islam in Iran. Fatwas made life for all non-Shiites quite difficult. SARSHAR: And for reasons that are still open to discussion, all of these restrictions were most vehemently imposed on the Jews of Iran. And because of these restrictions, all non-Shiites were considered religiously impure. And this religious impurity, kind of like the concept of the untouchable sect in India, they were considered pollutive. MANYA: Jews could not look Muslims in the eye. They were placed in ghettos called mahaleh where they could not leave on rainy days for fear the water that splattered on them could contaminate the water supply. They wore yellow stars and special shoes to distinguish them from the rest of the population. They were not allowed to purchase property from Muslims or build homes with walls that were higher than those of their Muslim neighbors. SARSHAR: They could not, for example, participate in the trade of edible goods because, you know, fruits and vegetables and meats carried this pollution. So Muslims could no longer consume the foods that were touched by Jews. And as a result, this created a certain path forward in history for the Jews of Iran.  They went into antique trades. They went into carpet trades. They went into work of textiles. They became musicians. And for the following 500 years, these restrictions kind of guided the way the Jews of Iran lived in that country, even though they had been there for thousands of years previously. MANYA: Houman said the 1895 arrival of the Alliance Israélite Universelle, a Paris-based network of schools for Jewish children throughout the Middle East and North Africa, including within the mahalehs in Persia, was the first step in a series of improvements for Jews there. SARSHAR: Previous to that, Jews were not allowed to get any kind of an education whatsoever. The only teachers were the Muslim clergy, and they refused to teach anything to Jewish students. So this allowed for the Jewish community to finally start to get a Western-style education, which was very important at that time, given all of the dynamics that were going on in society with modernity. MANYA: As educational opportunities increased in the middle of the 19th Century, so did opportunities for the courtiers and elite to travel and see the Western world as it industrialized and modernized, expanding international trade and sharing wealth more widely. SARSHAR: Often they would be sent by their families to go and try to see if they can, you know, find a way to expand the family's businesses and lives as merchants, and they would come back shocked. I mean, Iran was a place where you know of mostly mud brick homes and dirt roads and people riding around on donkeys. And imagine this is all you've known. You never see women walking around the street. The only women you have ever seen with your own eyes in your life are your mom, your sister, your daughter or your wife, and occasionally, sex workers. And that's it. So all of a sudden, you know, you travel a couple of months by boat and train, and you get to Paris, and it's impossible to try to even conceive of the experience. It must have been something like the Hegelian experience of the sublime. What can the world look like? And where is it that I live in, and why isn't my country the same as this? MANYA: By the early 20th Century, the Persian people concluded the answer to that question was in the rule of law. The reason the European nations provided such opportunity for the community at-large had to do with the fact that the law of the land was not arbitrary or enforced by religion or royalty. It was embedded in a constitution – a set of laws that define the structure of a government and the rights of its citizens – a Western tenet that reduced the power of the clergy and created a parliament called the Majles. SARSHAR: They were starting to read travel journals. They were starting to understand the perspective that Westerners had on Iranians, and those perspectives were often awful. You know, the Western world believed, for example –the country was corrupt to the bone in every respect.  So all of these things gradually led to a call for a constitution, the major pivot of which was the establishment of a legislature of law that would start to create a community where everyone can feel like they're equal in the eyes of the law and have something to gain by trying to improve the country as a whole. Iran became the first constitutional monarchy in the Middle East in 1906 when that revolution happened, it was a momentous event. And really, things really, really did, in fact, start to change. MANYA: In 1925, Reza Shah Pahlavi – an arch nationalist who wanted to propel Iran forward into the industrial age – took over the crown of Iran. He welcomed any Iranian citizen to participate in that agenda. SARSHAR: By now, we had a good two generations of Jews who had been French-educated by the Allianz Society.  They had all gone to France at some point in their lives, so they were able to participate in this industrialization of the country, given the language skills that they had and some of the connections they had built in the Western world. MANYA: Both World Wars in Europe took a massive toll on Iran. Despite declaring neutrality, Iran was occupied by European nations that took over the nation's agriculture, treating Iran as a pantry to feed the armies. Droughts and disease worsened the toll. SARSHAR: One of the lesser-known factoids about history is that during World War I, the nation that lost the most individuals as a result of the war was Iran. Above and beyond all European nations who were at war, because of a famine that had started in Iran. The same dynamic started to happen in World War II. MANYA: With nationalist fever sweeping Europe and Iran, the Allies feared the arch-nationalist Shah would go the way of Franco in Spain, Mussolini in Italy, and Hitler in Germany. They also feared the Shah would collaborate with Hitler's Germany to provide oil for the German oil machine and cease being the pantry the Allies needed it to be. In 1941, the Western powers convinced him to abdicate the throne to his son Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi. And when the war ended, Iran was able to enjoy the same economic benefits as the rest of the world at peace time. Most importantly, it was able to profit from its own oil reserves, significantly boosting Iran's national income. SARSHAR: In 1941, it was really the beginning of what is commonly referred to by the scholars of Jewish Iranian history as the Golden Age of Iranian Jewry. From 1941 until the revolution in 1978, the Jewish community of Iran saw a meteoric rise to power and social wealth. Industries such as pharmaceuticals, banking, insurance, real estate development, and other major industries, the aluminum plastics industries in Iran, all were either directly owned by the Jews of Iran or managed under their management.  And during this period, really, we can say that for the first time, after 2,500 years, the Jews of Iran really started to experience the kinds of freedoms that they had not seen since the Achaemenid dynasty. And it is during this time that, you know, we see, really, that life started to change for the Jews of Iran, even though some of the age-old social dynamics were still there.  The institutionalized antisemitism had not been completely wiped out. But for the most part, things had changed because Iranian society in general was also being Westernized, light speed. And many educated people had realized that antisemitism was really looked down upon, you know, that kind of prejudice was really no longer acceptable in the world at large. So many, many sections of the community really had shifted, genuinely shifted. And some, even though maybe their feelings had not changed, knew that their antisemitism was something that they needed to keep private. MANYA: At that time, Iran also became a refuge for Jews fleeing Europe and other parts of the Middle East. On June 1, 1941, a brutal pogrom in Iraq known as the Farhud, incited by Nazi propaganda, targeted Jews celebrating the holiday of Shavuot. Nearly 200 Jews were murdered in the streets. The violence became a turning point for Iraqi Jews. Thousands fled, many stopping in Iran, which became a way station for those headed to Palestine.  In 1942, thousands of Jewish refugees from Poland who had fled across the border into the Soviet Union during the German invasion traveled on trains and ships to Iran. Among the refugees – 1,000 orphaned children.  As Zionist leaders worked to negotiate the young Jews' immigration to Palestine, the Jewish Agency established the “Tehran Home for Jewish Children” – a complex of tents on the grounds of a former Iranian Air Force barracks outside Tehran. More than 800 orphans, escorted by adults, most of them also refugees, moved from Tehran to kibbutzim in Palestine the following year. Later, in 1948, when most Arab League states forbade the emigration of their Jews after the creation of Israel, the Zionist underground continued to smuggle Jews to Iran at about a rate of 1,000 a month, before they were flown to Israel. SARSHAR: The Zionist movement was fairly strong in Iran. It was a very lively movement. The Balfour Declaration was celebrated in all of the Allianz schools in Iran, and very soon thereafter, the first Zionist organization of Iran was established. And truly many of its founding fathers were some of the leading industrialists and intellectuals in Iranian society, in the Jewish Iranian community for the years to come. It was not unlike the kind of Zionism we see today in the United States, for example. You know, the wealthy families of the Jewish communities in New York and Los Angeles, all are very passionate about Israel, but you don't see very many of them selling their homes and packing up and moving to Israel because they just don't want to do it. They feel like they're very comfortable here. And what matters is that a state of Israel should exist, and they are political advocates of that state and of that policy and of its continued existence, but not necessarily diehard participants in the experiment itself. Iranians, after the establishment of the State of Israel, were being encouraged to move to Israel, and the Israeli government was having a lot of difficulty with that, because a lot of Iranians were seeing that life had become better for them, and they weren't as willing to leave, despite the fact that the Kourosh Project provided airplanes to get Jews out of Iran. My own great-grandmother was one of those passengers. She is buried in Mount of Olives in Jerusalem. She was one of the early citizens of Israel who went to live out the Zionist dream. MANYA: Both sides of Einat's family – her mother and father's ancestors – were among those early Israeli citizens. Einat's father was born in Tel Aviv. His parents and grandparents had come from Yemen in the late 19th Century. Einat's mother Ziona was 10 years old when in 1948, the family left Kerman, a city in southeastern Iran known for its carpet weaving and woolen shawls. They arrived in Israel with their suitcases ready to fulfill their dream. But living the dream in the new Jewish nation was not easy. After all, the day after Israel declared its independence, Arab nations attacked the Jewish state, launching the first of a series of Arab-Israeli Wars. EINAT: The story of my mom, it's a very interesting story. The family didn't have much money. There wasn't like, rich family that left, very different story. No, both of my parents come from very, I would say, very poor family. My grandpa was, like, dealing with textile. He was like, traveling from town to town with fabric. And that's what they did. They put them in what's called ma'aborot, which was like a very kind of small villages, tin houses. My mom always said there were seven kids, so all of them in one room. In the winter it's freezing; in the summer, it's super hot. But it was also close to the border, so the one window they have, they always had to cover it so at night, the enemy cannot see the light inside that room and shoot there. Also in the ma'aabarot, nobody speaks the same language. So, it was Moroccan and Iraqi and nobody speak the same dialect or the same language. So, they cannot even communicate quite yet. MANYA: Most of Ziona's six siblings did not go to school. To make it possible for Ziona, her parents placed her in a foster home with an Iraqi family in Ramat Gan, east of Tel Aviv. EINAT: My mom's family decided that for her, she should get education, because most of the siblings didn't went to school or anything, So they put her in a foster home. In an Iraqi home, and she didn't speak a word there. So my mom, as a 10 years old, became a kid for foster parents that live in a center in Ramat Gan, where I basically grew up. And she got education, which was great. She learned also Iraqi, which is Arabic. So she speaks fluent Arabic, but she had not an easy life in coming to Israel from a different country. MANYA: Ziona has shared many of these stories with her daughter in the kitchen and dining room as they prepare and enjoy dishes that remind them of home. When she visited her daughter at her home in upstate New York at the end of the summer, Einat collected as many stories as she could over cutting boards, steaming pots, and sizzling pans. EINAT: There's a lot of story coming up, some old story that I know, some new stories. And it's really nice, because my mom is 84, 85. So, it's really nice to capture all of it, all of it. There is a lot of interesting stuff that happened during the first 10 years when she came to Israel.  That's the main, I think, I always talk about, like, how I grew up and how much food was a very substantial part of our life, if not the biggest part. You know, it's like, family can fight and this, but when it's come to the dinner, it's just change everything, the dynamic. For us, it was a big, significant part of everything. So obviously, most of these stories and memories come in while we're cooking or eating. A lot of time she used to talk about, and still talking about the smells, the smells of the flowers, the smells of the zafar (perfume). She still have the nostalgia from that time and talking very highly about what Iran used to be, and how great, and the relationship between the Muslims and the Jews back then. My grandpa's best friend was crying when he left, and he said: ‘Please don't go. Stay with us.' And he said: ‘I want to go to homeland.' So, they have a really great relationship. She's always talking, actually, about how they come for Shabbat dinner, the friends if they put the cigarettes outside of the door in Shabbat because they were observant. So cigarettes, lighter, everything, they keep it outside, in the garden, not coming inside the house. So a lot of mutual respect for the religion to each other. And I love that stories. It just showed what's happened when people take it extreme. MANYA: Einat's cookbooks and restaurant menus are filled with recipes from her own childhood and her parents' upbringing. To satisfy the appetite of her father, a former Israeli athlete, her house always had hummus and every weekend, the family made a hilbeh sauce --  a traditional Yemenite fenugreek dip made with cardamom, caraway seeds and chili flakes. Other recipes reflect her mother's Persian roots. And then there are recipes that, at first blush, seem to come out of left field, but are inspired by the Iraqi Jewish foster family that raised her mother, and the Mizrahi, Sephardi, and Ashkenazi neighbors that passed through the dining room and kitchen where Einat was raised in Bnei Brak.  Now a Haredi town east of Tel Aviv, it was then a diverse population of Jews from, well, everywhere. Einat still remembers standing on a stool next to the Moroccan neighbor in her building learning how to roll couscous. EINAT: One neighbor that was my second mom, her name was Tova, and she was Moroccan, so it was like, I have another Moroccan mom. But all the building was all Holocaust survivors. None of them had kids, and they were all speaking in Yiddish, mostly. So I grew up with a lot of mix. I wouldn't say, you know, in my time, it's not like our neighborhood. I grew up in Bnei Brak, and our neighborhood was very, it was before Bnei Brak became so religious like today. It was still religious, if you go really in, but we're close to Ramat Gan, and I have to say that it's, I would say, I didn't grow up with, it's very mixed, very mixed.  Wouldn't say I grew up just with Moroccan or Mizrahi, I say that it's very, very mixed. And my mom same. I think a lot of her friend is like, It's my mom would speak some Yiddish. She would do Kugel on Shabbat next to the jachnun and all the Mizrahi food. You know, this is the multi-pot and one things I love in Israel. You can see in one table so many different cultures. And that's something that would have happened in my house a lot. MANYA: That amalgam of Jewish cultures is reflected in her cookbooks Balaboosta and Shuk. It also shows up in her menu at the brick-and-mortar Balaboosta, a quaint Middle Eastern trattoria on Mulberry Street in Manhattan.  The name Balaboosta is borrowed from Yiddish meaning “a perfect housewife” – a twist on ba'al habayit, Hebrew for master of the house, or boss. But Einat insists that the term is no longer exclusively Ashkenazi, nor does it refer exclusively to a woman's domestic role. EINAT: An old friend, chef, asked me when I went to open Balaboosta, and I said, ‘I don't have a name.' She said: ‘What do you call a badass woman in Hebrew?' I'm like, ‘balaboosta.' She said, ‘It's a perfect name. We done.' Took five minutes to find this name, and I love it. It's really connected because for me it's so so much different things. You know, I always talk about the 20th century balaboosta. The balaboosta that outside going to work, the balaboosta that asking a man for a date. The balaboosta that it's not just like she's the housewife and the homekeeper. It's much more than that. Today, she's a multitask badass.  It's much more spiritual than what it is. I think it's the one that can bond the people together and bring them together and make peace between two parties clashing. So for me, it's much more than somebody that can cook and clean. So, much, much more than that. MANYA: Einat's parents became more religious when she was 12, which of course had the opposite effect on their daughter: she rebelled. When her time came to do her mandatory service in the Israel Defense Force, she was determined not to serve in a role typically assigned to women. She requested a post as a firing instructor. But after reviewing the high school transcript shaped by her rebellious adolescence, the IDF assigned her to the Nevatim Air Base where she served as a chauffeur for fighter pilots. EINAT: Back then most women would be secretaries giving coffee to some assholes. I was trying not to do that, and somehow I got very lucky, and I was in the same division, I was in the Air Force. I had amazing time for two years. I start the military a very different person, and left a very different person. I used to hang with a lot of bad people before, really bad people. And when I get to the military, I was a driver of pilots, it's the top of the top of the top in the hierarchy in the military in all IDF. So now I'm hanging with people that have the biggest ambition ever, and I'm learning new stuff, and everything opened up, even my language changed completely. Everything. I was want to travel more than I ever want before, and I have like, crazy dreams. MANYA: To make sure the elite pilots were well-fed, the IDF bused in a group of Yemenite grandmothers to provide ochel bayit, or home-cooked meals. Einat befriended the kitchen staff and helped out from time to time. Then in January 1991, she was tapped to cook a meal that probably launched her career. The IDF chiefs of staff had convened at Nevatim base to discuss the U.S. plan to bomb Iraq during the Gulf War and what Israel would do if Saddam Hussein retaliated with an attack on the Jewish state. But they needed to plot that strategy on full stomachs. A couple of pilots served as her sous chefs. That night, the Israeli generals dined on Chinese chicken with garlic, honey, and soy. And a rice salad. EINAT: It was definitely the turning point, the military.  I would say there is some values of relationship and working ethics that I wouldn't see anywhere else, and that's coming, I think because the military. They're waking up in the morning, the friendship, they're no snitching or none of this. It's to stand up for each other. There is so many other values that I grabbed from that. So when I start my culinary career, and I was in a fine dining kitchen, it was very helpful, very helpful. MANYA: After spending five years in a van driving around Germany – an extended celebration of freedom after IDF service --  it was time to get serious about a career. A culinary career made as good a sense as any. Einat worked as a waitress in Eilat and enrolled in culinary school. At the end, she marched into the kitchen of Keren, one of the first restaurants in Israel to offer haute cuisine. She got an internship, then a job. The former restaurant, run by Israeli Chef and television host Haim Cohen, is credited for reinventing Israeli cuisine. Now, as a restaurant owner and TV personality herself, Einat is largely credited for introducing Israeli cuisine to the U.S. But before she became the self-made Balaboosta of fine Israeli dining, Einat was America's Falafel Queen, made famous by two victories on the Food Network's show Chopped and her first restaurant – now a fast food chain called Ta'im Falafel. But her fame and influence when it comes to Israeli cooking has exposed her to a fair bit of criticism. She has become a target on social media by those who accuse Israelis of appropriating Palestinian foods – an argument she calls petty and ridiculous. So ridiculous, she has found the best platform to address it is on the stage of her new hobby: stand-up comedy. Cooking has always been her Zen. But so is dark humor. EINAT: I like comedy more than anything, not more than food, but close enough. EINAT/Clip: Yeah, this year was great here on Instagram, lot of hate comments, though. A lot about food appropriation, me making Arabic dishes. So let me clarify something here. I check my DNA through ancestry.com and I am 97% Middle Eastern, so I fucking bleed hummus. EINAT: It's very petty. Food, supposed always to share. Food supposed to moving forward.  It's tiring and life is much more complex than to even argue and have a debate about stupid things. I'm done. OK, yes, we're indigenous.I have connection to the land. My parents, my grandparents and great grandparents have connection to that land. Okay, I get it. Now we need to solve what's going on, because there was Palestinian that lived there before, and how we can, for me, how we change the ideology, which I don't see how we can, but how we can change the ideology, convince them that they want peace. And they want…I don't know. MANYA: Needless to say, in the year that has followed the attacks of October 7, stand-up comedy has not been the balm it once was. The attacks that unfolded that day by Iran-backed terrorists that killed more than 1,200 Israelis and kidnapped more than 250 more was simply too devastating. EINAT: I was broken there, my husband was with me, I was every day on a bed crying, and then going to work, and it was like I couldn't hear music, because every music thinking about Nova and my friends and then I couldn't see babies with a mom. Everything was a trigger. It was bad. We had a disaster of October 7 and then October 8 to see the world reaction was another. It's not just enough that we going through so much grief and need to kind of contain all that emotion and crazy and anger and rage and now we need to see the world's. Like, ok. I never thought there is antisemitism. It's something from the past, for my grandparents, for my mom a little, but it's not something in my generation, or my kids' generation. It's done, apparently, not. MANYA: The lack of sympathy around the world and among her culinary peers only amplified Einat's grief. As a way to push for a cease-fire and end U.S. support for Israel, nearly 900 chefs, farmers and others in the food industry signed a pledge to boycott Israel-based food businesses and culinary events that promote Israel. EINAT: I felt very, very alone, very alone. The first few months, I felt like, wow, not one call from anyone to check on me. It was pretty sad. At the same time, I'm in the best company ever Jewish community. There is nothing like that, nothing. MANYA: Her team at Balaboosta also checked in on their Israeli boss. But they too were scared. Soon after she posted pictures of the hostages on the window of her restaurant, she confronted a group of teenagers who tried to tear them down. EINAT: I stand in front of them and I said, ‘You better move fast'. MANYA: It's no secret that Iran helped plan Oct. 7. What is not as well known is how many Jews still live and thrive in Iran. Before the 1979 Islamic Revolution, there were nearly 100,000 Jews in Iran. Today, Israeli sources say the population numbers less than 10,000, while the regime and Iran's Jewish leaders say it's closer to 20,000. Regardless, Iran's Jewish community remains the largest in the Middle East outside Israel.  To be sure, the constitution adopted in 1906 is still in place nominally, and it still includes Jews as a protected religious minority. Jews in Iran have synagogues, access to kosher meat, and permission to consume wine for Shabbat, despite a national ban on alcohol. There's also a Jewish representative in Iran's parliament or Majlis. But all women and girls regardless of religion are required to wear a veil, according to the Islamist dress code, and Jews are pressured to vote in elections at Jewish-specific ballot stations so the regime can monitor their participation. Zionism is punishable by death and after Oct. 7, the regime warned its Jewish citizens to sever contact with family and friends in Israel or risk arrest. They also can't leave. Iranian law forbids an entire Jewish nuclear family from traveling abroad at the same time. At least one family member, usually the father, must remain behind to prevent emigration. But Houman points out that many Iranian Jews, including himself, are deeply attached to Iranian culture. As a resident of Los Angeles, he reads Persian literature, cooks Persian herb stew for his children and speaks in Persian to his pets. He would return to Iran in an instant if given the opportunity to do so safely. For Jews living in Iran it may be no different. They've become accustomed to living under Islamist laws. They may not want to leave, even if they could. SARSHAR: The concept of living and thriving in Iran, for anyone who is not related to the ruling clergy and the Revolutionary Guard, is a dream that feels unattainable by anyone in Iran, let alone the Jews. In a world where there is really no fairness for anyone, the fact that you're treated even less fairly almost fades. MANYA: Scholars say since the Islamic Revolution, most Jews who have left Iran have landed in Los Angeles or Long Island, New York. Still, more Jews of Iranian descent live in Israel – possibly more than all other countries combined. The reason why? Because so many like Einat's family made aliyah–up until the mid-20th Century.  It's hard to say where another exodus might lead Iranian Jews to call home. Einat will be forever grateful that her family left when they still could and landed in a beautiful and beloved place. Though she lives in the U.S. now, she travels back to Israel at least twice a year. EINAT: It's a dream for every Jew, it's not just me. It's the safe zone for every Jew. It's the one place that, even if we have, it's not safe because there is people around us that want to kill us. It's still emotionally. You know, I've been in Israel a few months ago, it's like, you always feel loved, you always feel supported. It's incredible. And it's still home. It's always going to be my home. MANYA: Persian Jews are just one of the many Jewish communities who, in the last century, left Middle Eastern and North African countries to forge new lives for themselves and future generations.  Many thanks to Einat for sharing her family's story. You can enjoy some of her family's favorite recipes in her cookbooks Balaboosta and Shuk. Her memoir Taste of Love was recently released in  an audio and digital format.  Too many times during my reporting, I encountered children and grandchildren who didn't have the answers to my questions because they'd never asked. That's why one of the goals of this project is to encourage you to ask those questions. Find your stories. Atara Lakritz is our producer. T.K. Broderick is our sound engineer. Special thanks to Jon Schweitzer, Nicole Mazur, Sean Savage, and Madeleine Stern, and so many of our colleagues, too many to name really, for making this series possible. You can subscribe to The Forgotten Exodus on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts, and you can learn more at AJC.org/theforgottenexodus.  The views and opinions of our guests don't necessarily reflect the positions of AJC. You can reach us at theforgottenexodus@ajc.org. If you've enjoyed this episode, please be sure to spread the word, and hop onto Apple Podcasts or Spotify to rate us and write a review to help more listeners find us.

A  conference entitled This is our Home will take place on  Thursday in Jerusalem. The conference is organized by the "Home" association, a national Israeli network that unites more than 40 communities of immigrants from different countries. The conference includes lectures on immigration and absorption in wartime and a discussion on the challenges facing young  immigrants and their future in Israel. Rabbi Ariel Konstantyn is the Founding Rabbi of The Tel Aviv International Synagogue and the Director of HaBayta (Home) in Tel Aviv, building a thriving community of Olim and Israelis, religious and secular, Ashkenazi and Sephardi. KAN's Mark Weiss spoke with  about the conference. (Photo:Flash90)See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

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“It's quite clear to me that he was trying to recreate the hillside of Haifa with the gardens... It comes from somebody being ripped out from their home.” Syrian Jewish Playwright Oren Safdie, son of world-renowned architect Moshe Safdie, who designed Habitat 67 along with much of modern Jerusalem, knows loss, regret, and longing. Oren and his father explore their Syrian heritage and their connection to the Jewish state that has developed since Moshe's father left Aleppo, Syria and moved, in the mid-20th century, to what is modern-day Israel. Oren also knows that being Jewish is about stepping up. Describing his frustrations with modern anti-Israel sentiments and protests that harken back to 1943, Oren is passionately combating anti-Israel propaganda in theater and academia.  Abraham Marcus, Associate Professor Emeritus at University of Texas at Austin, joins the conversation with historical insights into Jewish life in Syria dating back to Roman times. —- Show notes: Sign up to receive podcast updates here. Learn more about the series here. Song credits:  Al Fadimem, Bir Demet Yasemen, Fidayda; all by Turku, Nomads of the Silk Road Aleppo Bakkashah  Pond5:  “Desert Caravans”: Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Beta (BMI), Composer: Tiemur Zarobov (BMI), IPI#1098108837 “Oud Nation”: Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Beta (BMI); Composer: Haygaz Yossoulkanian (BMI), IPI#1001905418 “Arabic (Middle Eastern Music)”: Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Beta (BMI), Composer: Andrei Skliarov, Item ID #152407112 “Fields Of Elysium”; Publisher: Mysterylab Music; Composer: Mott Jordan; ID#79549862 “Middle Eastern Dawn”: Publisher: Victor Romanov, Composer: Victor Romanov; Item ID #202256497 “Ney Flute Melody 01”: Publisher: Ramazan Yuksel; Composer: Ramazan Yuksel; P.R.O. Track: BMI 00712367557 “Uruk”: Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Beta (BMI); Composer: Marcus Bressler; Item ID: 45886699 “Suspense Middle East” Publisher: Victor Romanov, Composer: Victor Romanov; Item ID: 196056047 ___ Episode Transcript: OREN SAFDIE:  I've sort of wanted to shine a light on North American Jews being hypercritical of Israel. Because I've spent a lot of time in Israel. And I know what it is. It's not a simple thing. And I think it's very easy for Americans in the comfort of their little brownstones in Brooklyn, and houses in Cambridge to criticize, but these people that live in Israel are really standing the line for them. MANYA BRACHEAR PASHMAN: The world has overlooked an important episode in modern history: the 800,000 Jews who left or were driven from their homes in the Middle East and North Africa in the mid-20th century. Welcome to the second season of The Forgotten Exodus, brought to you by American Jewish Committee. This series explores that pivotal moment in history and the little-known Jewish heritage of Iran and Arab nations. As Jews around the world confront violent antisemitism and Israelis face daily attacks by terrorists on multiple fronts, our second season explores how Jews have lived throughout the region for generations despite hardship, hostility, and hatred, then sought safety and new possibilities in their ancestral homeland. I'm your host, Manya Brachear Pashman. Join us as we explore untold family histories and personal stories of courage, perseverance, and resilience from this transformative and tumultuous period of history for the Jewish people and the Middle East.  The world has ignored these voices. We will not.  This is The Forgotten Exodus. Today's episode: leaving Aleppo. MANYA: Playwright and screenwriter Oren Safdie has had just about enough of the anti-Israel sentiments on stage and screen. And what irks him the most is when it comes from Jewish artists and celebrities who have never spent time in the Middle East's one and only democracy. Remember film director Jonathan Glazer's speech at the 2024 Academy Awards? JONATHAN GLAZER: Right now, we stand here as men who refute their Jewishness and the Holocaust being hijacked by an occupation which has led to conflict for so many innocent people. Whether the victims of October the … [APPLAUSE] MANYA: Yeah, Oren didn't much appreciate his own Jewishness being hijacked in that moment. Drawing a moral equivalence between the Nazi regime and Israel never really sits well with him. OREN: I do feel like they're very selective in their criticism of Israel. You know, it's very easy to say, ‘Oh, well, they didn't do that. They don't do this.' But it's a complicated situation. And to simplify it, is just to me beyond, especially if you're not somebody who has spent a lot of time in Israel. MANYA: Oren Safdie has penned more than two dozen scripts for stages and screens around the world. His latest film, Lunch Hour, starring Alan Cumming, is filming in Minnesota.  Meanwhile, The Man Who Saved the Internet with A Sunflower, another script he co-wrote, is on the festival circuit. And his latest play Survival of the Unfit, made its North American debut in the Berkshires this summer, is headed to Broadway. And by the way, since an early age, Oren Safdie has spent quite a bit of time in Israel. His father Moshe Safdie is the legendary architect behind much of modern Jerusalem, Ben-Gurion International Airport, and the Yad Vashem Holocaust History Museum.  Oren's grandfather, Leon, emigrated from Syria. OREN: I'm sort of a synthesis of the two main parts that established Israel because my mother came from Poland, escaped the Holocaust. And my father's family came from Syria. So, I'm a half breed.  I've never been asked about my Sephardic side, even though that was really the dominant side that I grew up with. Because my mother's family was quite small. I grew up in Montreal, it was much more in the Syrian tradition for holidays, food, everything like that. My grandfather was from Aleppo, Syria, and my grandmother was from Manchester, England, but originally from Aleppo. Her family came to Manchester, but two generations before, had been from Aleppo. So, they're both Halabi Jews.  MANYA: Halabi refers to a diverse group of Jews from Aleppo, one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world that has gone by several names. The oldest? Haleb.  Halabi Jews include Mizrahi Jews -- the name for Jews who call the Middle East or North Africa home; and Sephardi Jews, who fled to the region after being expelled from Spain in the 15th Century.  Jews are believed to have been in what is now Syria since the time of King David and certainly since early Roman times. ABRAHAM MARCUS: It's a community that starts, as far as we can record, in the Greco-Roman period. And we see the arrival of Islam. So the Jews were really the indigenous people when Arabs arrived. MANYA: Abraham Marcus, born to parents from Aleppo, is an internationally renowned authority on the city. He served as director of the Center for Middle Eastern Studies at the University of Texas at Austin. For the past 16 years, he has been working on a book about the history of Aleppo's Jews that goes well beyond what has been previously published. As part of his research, he examined thousands of documents from the Syrian national archive and the Ottoman archive in Istanbul. He also did extensive fieldwork on the ground in Aleppo, documenting the synagogues, cemeteries, residential districts, and workplaces.  MARCUS: One of the synagogues, the famous ancient synagogue of Aleppo, which dates to the 5th Century, meaning it predates the arrival of Arabs. It is a remarkable structure. Unfortunately, what is left of it now is really a skeleton. MANYA: Abraham is referring to the Great Synagogue or Central Synagogue of Aleppo, which functioned as the main house of worship for the Syrian Jewish community for more than 1,600 years. For 600 of those years, its catacombs safeguarded a medieval manuscript believed to be the oldest, most complete, most accurate text of the Hebrew Bible, known as the Aleppo Codex. The codex was used by Maimonides as a reference for his magnum opus, the Mishneh Torah, or Jewish religious legal code. In the 7th Century, Aleppo was conquered by Arab Muslims and a Great Mosque was built. For the next four centuries, the Byzantine Empire, Crusaders, and various Muslim rulers fought to gain control of Aleppo and the surrounding region. A savage Mongol invasion, a bout of the Black Death and another invasion took its toll on the city, and its Jews.  For most of this time, Muslim rulers treated them as dhimmis, or second-class citizens.  MARCUS: There were restrictions on dress, which were renewed time and again. They could not carry arms. They could not ride horses. MANYA: After half of Spain's Jews converted to Christianity following the pogroms of 1391, the Catholic monarchs issued the Alhambra Decree of 1492 – an edict that expelled any remaining Jews from the Iberian Peninsula to ensure their descendants didn't revert back to Judaism.  As Jews fled, many made their way to parts of the Ottoman Empire. In 1516, Aleppo became part of that empire and emerged as a strategic trading post at the end of the Silk Road, between the Mediterranean Sea and Mesopotamia, or modern-day Iraq. As was the case in other parts of the Ottoman Empire, Jews lived relatively comfortably, serving as merchants and tax collectors.  MARCUS: The policy of the Ottoman Empire was to essentially welcome the Sephardic Jews. The Sultan at the time is reputed to have said, ‘I don't understand the King of Spain. But if he's thinking at all, giving up all this human capital, essentially, we can take it.'  Many of the successful Jews in Aleppo and Damascus–in business, as leaders, as rabbis–were Sephardic Jews. They revived these communities, they brought new blood and new energy to them, a new wealth. MANYA: This was not always the case throughout Ottoman Syria as persecution and pogroms erupted at times.  By the mid-19th Century, Aleppo's Jewish population was slightly smaller than that of Baghdad, by about 2,000. In 1869, the opening of the Suez Canal shifted trade away from the route through Syria. Aleppo lost much of its commercial edge, motivating many Jews to seek opportunity elsewhere. MARCUS: The story of Aleppo is one of a society gradually hemorrhaging, losing people. They went to Beirut, which was a rising star. And Egypt became very attractive. So they went to Alexandria and Cairo. And many of the rabbis from the 1880s began to move to Jerusalem where there were yeshivot that were being set up. And in effect, over the next several decades, essentially the spiritual center of Aleppo's Jews was Jerusalem and no longer Aleppo.  MANYA: Another turning point for Aleppo came in World War I when the Ottoman Empire abandoned its neutral position and sided with the Central Powers–including Bulgaria, Austria-Hungary and Germany.  Many wealthy Jews had acquired foreign nationalities from countries that were not allies. Now considered enemy citizens, they were deported and never came back. In addition, Jews and Christians up to that point could pay a special tax to avoid serving in the army. That privilege ended in 1909. MARCUS: Because of the Balkan Wars, there was a sense that the empire is going to collapse if they don't essentially raise a large force to defend it. And there was a kind of flight that really decimated the community by 1918, when the war ended. MANYA: Besides those two wartime exceptions, Abraham says the departure of Jews from Syria was almost always motivated by the promise of better opportunities. In fact, opportunity might have been what drew the Safdie family to and from Aleppo. MANYA: Originally from Safed, as their name suggests, the Safdie family arrived in Aleppo sometime during the 16th or 17th centuries. By that time, the Jewish community in Safed, one of the Four Holy Cities in Judaism located in modern-day Israel, had transformed it into a lucrative textile center. So lucrative that the sultan of the ruling Ottoman Empire ordered the forced deportation of 1,000 Jewish families to Cyprus to boost that island's economy.  It's not clear if those deportations or the decline that followed pushed the Safdie family north to Aleppo. Most of them stayed for roughly three centuries–through World War One and France's brief rule during the Interwar period. But in 1936, amid the Great Depression, which affected Syria as well, Leon Safdie, the ninth of ten children born to textile merchants, moved to Haifa and set up his own trading business. Importing textiles, woolens, and cottons from England and fabrics from Japan and India.  A year later, he met his wife Rachel who had sailed from Manchester to visit her sister in Jerusalem. She spoke English and a little French. He spoke Arabic and French. They married a month later. OREN: My grandfather lived in Haifa, he was a merchant like many Syrian Jews were. He imported textiles. He freely went between the different countries, you know, there weren't really so many borders. A lot of his people he worked with were Arab, Druze, Christian, Muslim. Before independence, even though there was obviously some tension, being somebody who is a Syrian Jew, who spoke Arabic, who spoke French, he was sort of just one of the region. MANYA: Moshe Safdie was born in 1938. He says the onset of the Second World War created his earliest memories – hosting Australian soldiers in their home for Shabbat and making nightly trips into air raid shelters. Every summer, the family vacationed in the mountain resorts of Lebanon to visit aunts and uncles that had moved from Aleppo to Beirut. Their last visit to Lebanon in the summer of 1947 culminated with all of the aunts, uncles, and cousins piling into three Chrysler limousines and caravanning from Beirut to Aleppo to visit their grandmother and matriarch, Symbol. MOSHE: I remember sort of the fabric of the city. I have vague memories of the Citadel of Aleppo, because it was an imposing structure. I remember her – a very fragile woman, just vaguely. MANYA: While most of Moshe's memories of Aleppo are vague, one memory in particular is quite vivid. At that time, the United Nations General Assembly was debating the partition plan that would divide what was then the British Mandate of Palestine between Jews and Arabs. Tensions ran high throughout the region. When Moshe's uncles noticed Moshe wearing his school uniform on the streets of Aleppo, they panicked.  MOSHE: They were terrified. We were walking in the street, and we had khaki shirts and khaki pants. And it had stitched on it, as required in our school, the school badge, and it said, ‘Thou shalt be humble' in Hebrew. And they saw that, or at least they noticed we had that, and they said: ‘No, this is very dangerous!' and they ripped it off.' MANYA: It would be the first and last time Moshe Safdie visited Aleppo. On the 29th of November, the UN voted on a resolution to divide Palestine into two states, one Arab and one Jewish. The news arrived in Aleppo the following morning. MARCUS: This was New York time, in the evening, when the decision was made. So already, people started planning demonstrations for the next day, in support of the Palestinians. And that next day began with what was a peaceful demonstration of students, and then all kinds of people joined in and before long it became an attack on Jewish property. The synagogues were set ablaze. Many Jewish homes were burned, businesses were looted. And so the day ended with the Jews really in a state of fright.  MANYA: The mob looted the Jewish quarter and burned the Great Synagogue, scattering and desecrating the pages of the Aleppo Codex. The caretaker of the synagogue and his son later returned to the ashes to salvage as much as they could. But most of the community's leadership took a train to Beirut and never looked back.  Of course, as previously mentioned, Aleppo had already witnessed a steep decline in its Jewish population. The numbers vary widely, depending on the source, but by 1947, on the eve of the Jewish exodus from Syria, Iraq, and other Arab countries, Aleppo had anywhere between 6,000 and 15,000 Jews, whereas Baghdad had between 75 and 90,000. MARCUS: More than half the population left within a month. The community after that, in the next two, three weeks, was in a situation in which some people decided that was the end.  They took possessions that they could, got on buses and left for Beirut. That was the safe destination to go to. And there was traffic between the two areas.  Some people decided to stay. I mean, they had business, they had interest, they had property that they didn't want to leave. You can imagine the kind of dilemmas face people suddenly, the world has changed, and what do I do? Which part of the fork do I go?  MANYA: Those who left effectively forfeited their property to the Syrian government. To this day, the only way to reclaim that property and be allowed to sell it is to return and become Syrian citizens. Those who stayed were trapped. Decimated and demoralized, Aleppo's Jews came under severe travel restrictions, unable to travel more than four kilometers from their homes without permission from the government, which tracked their comings and goings. MARCUS: The view was that if they leave, they'll end up in what's called the Zionist entity and provide the soldiers and aid to the enemy. So the idea was to keep them in.  So there's a reality there of a community that is now stuck in place. Unable to emigrate. That remained in place until 1970, when things began to relax. It was made possible for you to leave temporarily for a visit. But you have to leave a very large sum as a deposit. The other option was essentially to hire some smugglers to take you to the Turkish or the Lebanese border, and basically deliver you to another country where Jews had already networked. The Mossad had people who helped basically transfer them to Israel. But that was very risky. If you were caught, it's prison time and torture.  Over the next 45 years, many of the young left gradually, and many of them left without the parents even knowing. They will say ‘I'm going to the cinema and I'll come back'. MANYA: On May 14, 1948, Israel declared independence. But the socialist politics of the new Jewish state did not sit well with Leon Safdie who much preferred private enterprise. He also felt singled out, as did many Sephardi and Mizrahi Jews in Israel at the time.  OREN: In some ways, it almost created some tension for him on several fronts, right? First of all, between him and his clients, who he had been doing business with in the Arab world, for many years. All of a sudden, those relationships are called into question. And as my grandfather was an importer of textiles, it was considered a luxury good. And when you're in wartime, there were rations.  The high tariffs really killed my grandfather's business. So, he wanted to stay in Israel. He helped with the war effort. He really loved the country and he knew the people, but really for three years, he sat idle and just did not have work. He was a man that really needed to work, had a lot of pride. MANYA: In 1953, Leon and Rachel sought opportunity once again – this time in Montreal – a move Moshe Safdie would forever resent. When in 1959 he married Oren's mother Nina, an Israeli expat who was trying to return to Israel herself, they both resolved to return to the Jewish state. Life and phenomenal success intervened. While studying architecture at McGill University, Moshe designed a modern urban apartment building [Habitat 67] that incorporated garden terraces and multiple stories. It was built and unveiled during the 1967 World's Fair in Montreal, and Moshe's career took off.  OREN: It's quite clear to me that he was trying to recreate the hillside of Haifa with the gardens. And it's something that has sort of preoccupied him for his whole career. It comes from somebody being ripped out from their home. Those kinds of things I think stay with you. MANYA: Eventually, in 1970, Moshe opened a branch of his architecture firm in Jerusalem and established a second home there. Oren recalls visiting every summer – often with his grandfather Leon.   OREN: And I remember going with him when he'd come to Israel when I was there, because we used to go pretty much every summer. He would love to go down to Jericho. And we'd sit at the restaurants. I mean, there was a period of time, you know, when it was sort of accepted that Jews could travel to the West Bank, to Ramallah and everything. And he loved to just speak with the merchants and everything, he loved that. He felt so at home in that setting. It was not dangerous, as it is today, obviously. I think everyone back then thought it was a temporary situation. And obviously, the longer it goes, and the more things happen, it feels more permanent. And of course, that's where we are today. But that time, in my head, sort of just is a confirmation that Jews and Arabs have a lot more in common and can get along … if the situation was different. MANYA: As the son of an Israeli citizen, Oren is considered an Israeli citizen too. But he concedes that he is not fully Israeli. That requires more sacrifice. In 1982, at the age of 17, he signed up for Chetz V'Keshet, at that time a 10-week program run in conjunction with the Israel Defense Forces for American and Canadian teens and designed to foster a connection to Israel. The program took place during the First Lebanon War, Israel's operation to remove terrorists from southern Lebanon, where they had been launching attacks against Israeli civilians. OREN: So this was a mix of basic training, where we trained with artillery and things and did a lot of war games. And from there, you know, their hope was that you would join the military for three years. And I did not continue.  I guess there's a part of me that regrets that. Even though I'm an Israeli citizen, I can't say I'm Israeli in the way that Israelis are. If the older me would look back, then I would say, ‘If you really want to be connected to Israel, the military is really the only way. I'd say at that young age, I didn't understand that the larger picture of what being Jewish, what being Israeli is, and it's about stepping up. MANYA: Now in his early 50s, Oren tries to step up by confronting the anti-Israel propaganda that's become commonplace in both of his professional worlds: theater and academia. In addition to writing his own scripts and screenplays, he has taught college level playwriting and screenwriting. He knows all too often students fall prey to misinformation and consider anything they see on social media or hear from their friends as an authoritative source.  A few years ago, Oren assigned his students the task of writing a script based on real-life experience and research. One of the students drafted a script about bloodthirsty Israelis killing Palestinian children. When Oren asked why he chose that topic and where he got his facts, the student cited his roommate.  Oren didn't discourage him from pitching the script to his classmates, but warned him to come prepared to defend it with facts. The student turned in a script on an entirely different topic. OREN: You know, there were a lot of plays that came up in the past 10 years that were anti-Israel. You'd be very hard-pressed to find me one that's positive about Israel. No one's doing them. MANYA: Two of his scripts have come close. In 2017, he staged a play at the St. James Theatre in Old Montreal titled Mr. Goldberg Goes to Tel Aviv– a farce about a gay Jewish author who arrives in Tel Aviv to deliver a blistering attack on the Israeli government to the country's left-leaning literati.  But before he even leaves his hotel room, he is kidnapped by a terrorist. Investors lined up to bring it to the silver screen and Alan Cumming signed on to play Mr. Goldberg. But in May 2021, Hamas terrorists launched rockets at Israeli civilians, igniting an 11-day war. The conflict led to a major spike in antisemitism globally.  OREN: The money people panicked and said, ‘We can't put up a comedy about the Middle East within this environment. Somebody is going to protest and shut us down,' and they cut out. MANYA: Two years later, an Israeli investor expressed interest in giving the movie a second chance. Then on October 7 [2023], Hamas launched a surprise attack on 20 Israeli communities -- the deadliest attack on the Jewish people since the Holocaust. More than 1,200 Israelis have been killed, thousands of rockets have been fired on Israel, and more than 100 hostages are still in captivity. OREN: Mr. Goldberg Goes to Tel Aviv collapsed after October 7th. I don't think anybody would have the appetite for a comedy about a Hamas assassin taking a left-wing Jew hostage in a hotel room. MANYA: Another play titled “Boycott This” was inspired by Oren's visit to a coffee shop in Oaxaca, Mexico in 2011. The walls of the cafe were plastered with posters urging boycotts of Israel and accusing it of blood libel. Oren and his daughter created their own posters and stood outside the coffee shop calling on customers to boycott the cafe instead. But the father and daughter's impromptu protest is just one of three storylines in the play, including one about the 1943 boycott of Jews in Poland–where his mother spent part of her childhood in hiding during the Holocaust.  The third storyline takes place in a post-apocalyptic world where Iran has succeeded in wiping Israel off the map. A Jewish woman has been forced to become one of the enemy's wives – a threat some hostages taken on October 7 have reported hearing from their captors.  OREN: It was really my attempt to try and show how the boycotts of Israel today, in light of, you know, 1943, were really not different.  MANYA:  Even now, Oren has not been able to convince a college or theater to stage “Boycott This,” including the Jewish museum in Los Angeles that hosted his daughter's bat mitzvah on October 7, 2023.    OREN: I've sort of wanted to shine a light on North American Jews being hypercritical of Israel, which I guess ties into BDS. Because I've spent a lot of time in Israel. And I know what it is. It's not a simple thing. And I think it's very easy for Americans in the comfort of their little brownstones in Brooklyn, and houses in Cambridge to criticize, but these people that live in Israel are really standing the line for them. MANYA: When Presidents George Bush and Bill Clinton finally secured a legal way for Syrian Jews to leave between 1992 and 1994, most did. The last Jews of Aleppo were evacuated from the city in October 2016. MARCUS: They took all the siddurim and everything, put them in boxes. It was just essentially closing shop for good. They knew they're not coming back. MANYA: The food, liturgy, music, the traditions of hospitality and social welfare endure, but far from the world of which it was part. Walk into any synagogue in the Aleppo tradition after sundown on Shabbat and be treated to a concert until dawn – a custom called baqashot. MANYA: Before Oren's grandmother Rachel passed away, his cousin Rebecca did a piece for Canadian Broadcast News featuring their 95-year-old grandmother in the kitchen.  RACHEL SAFDIE: When we were children, we used to love all these dishes. My mother used to make them all the time and it's very, very tasty. Anything made, Middle East food, is very tasty. OREN: It's 10 minutes for me to see my grandmother again, in video, cooking the mehshi kusa, which is sort of the stuffed eggplant with the apricots and the meat. And there's really a great moment in it, because they're doing it together and they put it in the oven, and at the end of this 10-minute movie, they all come out of the oven, and like they're looking at it and they're tasting, and my grandmother points … RACHEL: I know which ones you did. You did this one.  CBN INTERVIEWER: How do you know?  RACHEL: I know. And this recipe has been handed down from generation to generation. OREN: It's so much like my grandmother because she's sort of a perfectionist, but she did everything without measuring. It was all by feel. The kibbeh, beans and lamb and potatoes and chicken but done in a different way than the Ashkenaz. I don't know how to sort of describe it.  The ka'ake, which were like these little pretzels that are, I'd say they have a taste of cumin in them. MARCUS: Stuffed aubergine, stuffed zucchini, tomatoes, with rice, pine nuts and ground beef and so forth. Meatballs with sour cherries during the cherry season. MANYA: Oren would one day like to see where his ancestors lived. But according to Abraham, few Aleppo Jews share that desire. After the Civil War and Siege of Aleppo in 2012 there's little left to see. And even when there was, Aleppo's Jews tended to make a clean break. MARCUS: People did not go back to visit, the second and third generations did not go back. So you see, for example, here Irish people of Irish origin in the United States, they still have families there. And they go, and they take the kids to see what Ireland is like. Italians, they do the same, because they have a kind of sense, this is our origin.  And with Aleppo, there wasn't. This is a really unusual situation in terms of migrations of people not going back to the place. And I think that probably will continue that way. MANYA: Syrian Jews are just one of the many Jewish communities who, in the last century, left Arab countries to forge new lives for themselves and future generations.  Join us next week as we share another untold story of The Forgotten Exodus. Many thanks to Oren and Moshe for sharing their story. You can read more in Moshe's memoir If Walls Could Speak: My Life in Architecture. Too many times during my reporting, I encountered children and grandchildren who didn't have the answers to my questions because they'd never asked. That's why one of the goals of this project is to encourage you to ask those questions. Find your stories. Atara Lakritz is our producer. T.K. Broderick is our sound engineer. Special thanks to Jon Schweitzer, Nicole Mazur, Sean Savage, and Madeleine Stern, and so many of our colleagues, too many to name really, for making this series possible.  You can subscribe to The Forgotten Exodus on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts, and you can learn more at AJC.org/theforgottenexodus.  The views and opinions of our guests don't necessarily reflect the positions of AJC.  You can reach us at theforgottenexodus@ajc.org. If you've enjoyed this episode, please be sure to spread the word, and hop onto Apple Podcasts or Spotify to rate us and write a review to help more listeners find us.

Listen to the premiere episode of the second season of The Forgotten Exodus, the multi-award-winning, chart-topping, and first-ever narrative podcast series to focus exclusively on Mizrahi and Sephardic Jews. This week's episode focuses on Jews from Tunisia. If you like what you hear, subscribe before the next episode drops on September 3. “In the Israeli DNA and the Jewish DNA, we have to fight to be who we are. In every generation, empires and big forces tried to erase us . . . I know what it is to be rejected for several parts of my identity... I'm fighting for my ancestors, but I'm also fighting for our future generation.”  Hen Mazzig, a writer, digital creator, and founder of the Tel Aviv Institute, shares his powerful journey as a proud Israeli, LGBTQ+, and Mizrahi Jew, in the premiere episode of the second season of the award-winning podcast, The Forgotten Exodus. Hen delves into his family's deep roots in Tunisia, their harrowing experiences during the Nazi occupation, and their eventual escape to Israel. Discover the rich history of Tunisia's ancient Amazigh Jewish community, the impact of French colonial and Arab nationalist movements on Jews in North Africa, and the cultural identity that Hen passionately preserves today. Joining the conversation is historian Lucette Valensi, an expert on Tunisian Jewish culture, who provides scholarly insights into the longstanding presence of Jews in Tunisia, from antiquity to their exodus in the mid-20th century. ___ Show notes: Sign up to receive podcast updates here. Learn more about the series here. Song credits:  "Penceresi Yola Karsi" -- by Turku, Nomads of the Silk Road Pond5:  “Desert Caravans”: Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Beta (BMI), Composer: Tiemur Zarobov (BMI), IPI#1098108837 “Sentimental Oud Middle Eastern”: Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Beta (BMI), Composer: Sotirios Bakas (BMI), IPI#797324989. “Meditative Middle Eastern Flute”: Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Beta (BMI), Composer: Danielyan Ashot Makichevich (BMI), IPI Name #00855552512, United States BMI “Tunisia Eastern”: Publisher: Edi Surya Nurrohim, Composer: Edi Surya Nurrohim, Item ID#155836469. “At The Rabbi's Table”: Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Beta (BMI), Composer: Fazio Giulio (IPI/CAE# 00198377019). “Fields Of Elysium”; Publisher: Mysterylab Music; Composer: Mott Jordan; ID#79549862  “Frontiers”: Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Beta (BMI); Composer: Pete Checkley (BMI), IPI#380407375 “Hatikvah (National Anthem Of Israel)”; Composer: Eli Sibony; ID#122561081 “Tunisian Pot Dance (Short)”: Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Beta (BMI); Composer: kesokid, ID #97451515 “Middle East Ident”; Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Alpha (ASCAP); Composer: Alon Marcus (ACUM), IPI#776550702 “Adventures in the East”: Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Beta (BMI) Composer: Petar Milinkovic (BMI), IPI#00738313833. ___ Episode Transcript: HEN MAZZIG: They took whatever they had left and they got on a boat. And my grandmother told me this story before she passed away on how they were on this boat coming to Israel.  And they were so happy, and they were crying because they felt that finally after generations upon generations of oppression they are going to come to a place where they are going to be protected, and that she was coming home. MANYA BRACHEAR PASHMAN: The world has overlooked an important episode in modern history: the 800,000 Jews who left or were driven from their homes in the Middle East and North Africa in the mid-20th century. Welcome to the second season of The Forgotten Exodus, brought to you by American Jewish Committee. This series explores that pivotal moment in history and the little-known Jewish heritage of Iran and Arab nations. As Jews around the world confront violent antisemitism and Israelis face daily attacks by terrorists on multiple fronts, our second season explores how Jews have lived throughout the region for generations–despite hardship, hostility, and hatred–then sought safety and new possibilities in their ancestral homeland. I'm your host, Manya Brachear Pashman. Join us as we explore untold family histories and personal stories of courage, perseverance, and resilience from this transformative and tumultuous period of history for the Jewish people and the Middle East.  The world has ignored these voices. We will not. This is The Forgotten Exodus.  Today's episode: leaving Tunisia. __ [Tel Aviv Pride video] MANYA BRACHEAR PASHMAN: Every June, Hen Mazzig, who splits his time between London and Tel Aviv, heads to Israel to show his Pride. His Israeli pride. His LGBTQ+ pride. And his Mizrahi Jewish pride. For that one week, all of those identities coalesce.  And while other cities around the world have transformed Pride into a June version of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, Israel is home to one of the few vibrant LGBTQ communities in the Middle East. Tel Aviv keeps it real. HEN: For me, Pride in Israel, in Tel Aviv, it still has this element of fighting for something. And that it's important for all of us to show up and to come out to the Pride Parade because if we're not going to be there, there's some people with agendas to erase us and we can't let them do it. MANYA: This year, the Tel Aviv Pride rally was a more somber affair as participants demanded freedom for the more than 100 hostages still held in Gaza since October 7th.  On that day, Hamas terrorists bent on erasing Jews from the Middle East went on a murderous rampage, killing more than 1,200, kidnapping 250 others, and unleashing what has become a 7-front war on Israel. HEN: In the Israeli DNA and the Jewish DNA we have to fight to be who we are. In every generation, empires and big forces tried to erase us, and we had to fight. And the LGBTQ+ community also knows very well how hard it is. I know what it is to be rejected for several parts of my identity. And I don't want anyone to go through that. I don't want my children to go through that. I'm fighting for my ancestors, but I'm also fighting for our future generation. MANYA: Hen Mazzig is an international speaker, writer, and digital influencer. In 2022, he founded the Tel Aviv Institute, a social media laboratory that tackles antisemitism online. He's also a second-generation Israeli, whose maternal grandparents fled Iraq, while his father's parents fled Tunisia – roots that echo in the family name: Mazzig. HEN: The last name Mazzig never made sense, because in Israel a lot of the last names have meaning in Hebrew.  So I remember one of my teachers in school was saying that Mazzig sounds like mozeg, which means pouring in Hebrew. Maybe your ancestors were running a bar or something? Clearly, this teacher did not have knowledge of the Amazigh people. Which, later on I learned, several of those tribes, those Amazigh tribes, were Jewish or practiced Judaism, and that there was 5,000 Jews that came from Tunisia that were holding both identities of being Jewish and Amazigh.  And today, they have last names like Mazzig, and Amzaleg, Mizzoug. There's several of those last names in Israel today. And they are the descendants of those Jewish communities that have lived in the Atlas Mountains. MANYA: The Atlas Mountains. A 1,500-mile chain of magnificent peaks and treacherous terrain that stretch across Algeria, Morocco, and Tunisia, separating the Sahara from the Mediterranean and Atlantic coastline.  It's where the nomadic Amazigh have called home for thousands of years. The Amazigh trace their origins to at least 2,000 BCE  in western North Africa. They speak the language of Tamazight and rely on cattle and agriculture as their main sources of income.  But textiles too. In fact, you've probably heard of the Amazigh or own a rug woven by them. A Berber rug. HEN: Amazigh, which are also called Berbers. But they're rejecting this term because of the association with barbarians, which was the title that European colonialists when they came to North Africa gave them. There's beautiful folklore about Jewish leaders within the Amazigh people. One story that I really connected to was the story of Queen Dihya that was also known as El-Kahina, which in Arabic means the Kohen, the priest, and she was known as this leader of the Amazigh tribes, and she was Jewish.  Her derrogaters were calling her a Jewish witch, because they said that she had the power to foresee the future. And her roots were apparently connected to Queen Sheba and her arrival from Israel back to Africa. And she was the descendant of Queen Sheba. And that's how she led the Amazigh people.  And the stories that I read about her, I just felt so connected. How she had this long, black, curly hair that went all the way down to her knees, and she was fierce, and she was very committed to her identity, and she was fighting against the Islamic expansion to North Africa.  And when she failed, after years of holding them off, she realized that she can't do it anymore and she's going to lose. And she was not willing to give up her Jewish identity and convert to Islam and instead she jumped into a well and died. This well is known today in Tunisia. It's the [Bir] Al-Kahina or Dihya's Well that is still in existence. Her descendants, her kids, were Jewish members of the Amazigh people.  Of course, I would like to believe that I am the descendant of royalty. MANYA: Scholars debate whether the Amazigh converted to Judaism or descended from Queen Dihya and stayed.  Lucette Valensi is a French scholar of Tunisian history who served as a director of studies at the School for Advanced Studies in the Social Sciences in Paris, one of the most prestigious institutions of graduate education in France. She has written extensively about Tunisian Jewish culture.   Generations of her family lived in Tunisia. She says archaeological evidence proves Jews were living in that land since Antiquity. LUCETTE VALENSI: I myself am a Chemla, born Chemla. And this is an Arabic name, which means a kind of belt. And my mother's name was Tartour, which is a turban [laugh]. So the names were Arabic. So my ancestors spoke Arabic. I don't know if any of them spoke Berber before, or Latin. I have no idea. But there were Jews in antiquity and of course, through Saint Augustin. MANYA: So when did Jews arrive in Tunisia? LUCETTE: [laugh] That's a strange question because they were there since Antiquity. We have evidence of their presence in mosaics of synagogues, from the times of Byzantium. I think we think in terms of a short chronology, and they would tend to associate the Jews to colonization, which does not make sense, they were there much before French colonization. They were there for millennia. MANYA: Valensi says Jews lived in Tunisia dating to the time of Carthage, an ancient city-state in what is now Tunisia, that reached its peak in the fourth century BCE. Later, under Roman and then Byzantine rule, Carthage continued to play a vital role as a center of commerce and trade during antiquity.  Besides the role of tax collectors, Jews were forbidden to serve in almost all public offices. Between the 5th and 8th centuries CE, conditions fluctuated between relief and forced conversions while under Christian rule.  After the Islamic conquest of Tunisia in the seventh and early eighth centuries CE, the treatment of Jews largely depended on which Muslim ruler was in charge at the time.  Some Jews converted to Islam while others lived as dhimmis, or second-class citizens, protected by the state in exchange for a special tax known as the jizya. In 1146, the first caliph of the Almohad dynasty, declared that the Prophet Muhammad had granted Jews religious freedom for only 500 years, by which time if the messiah had not come, they had to convert.  Those who did not convert and even those who did were forced to wear yellow turbans or other special garb called shikra, to distinguish them from Muslims. An influx of Jews expelled from Spain and Portugal arrived in the 14th Century. In the 16th Century, Tunisia became part of the Ottoman Empire, and the situation of Jews improved significantly. Another group who had settled in the coastal Tuscan city of Livorno crossed the Mediterranean in the 17th and 18th centuries to make Tunisia their home. LUCETTE: There were other groups that came, Jews from Italy, Jews from Spain, of course, Spain and Portugal, different periods. 14th century already from Spain and then from Spain and Portugal. From Italy, from Livorno, that's later, but the Jews from Livorno themselves came from Spain.  So I myself am named Valensi. From Valencia. It was the family name of my first husband. So from Valencia in Spain they went to Livorno, and from Livorno–Leghorn in English–to Tunisia. MANYA: At its peak, Tunisia's Jewish population exceeded 100,000 – a combination of Sephardi and Mizrahi. HEN: When we speak about Jews from the Middle East and North Africa, specifically in the West, or mainly in the West, we're referring to them as Sephardi. But in Tunisia, it's very interesting to see that there was the Grana community which are Livorno Jews that moved to Tunisia in the 1800s, and they brought the Sephardi way of praying.  And that's why I always use the term Mizrahi to describe myself, because I feel like it encapsulates more of my identity. And for me, the Sephardi title that we often use on those communities doesn't feel accurate to me, and it also has the connection to Ladino, which my grandparents never spoke.  They spoke Tamazight, Judeo-Tamazight, which was the language of those tribes in North Africa. And my family from my mother's side, from Iraq, they were speaking Judeo-Iraqi-Arabic.  So for me, the term Sephardi just doesn't cut it. I go with Mizrahi to describe myself. MANYA: The terms Ashkenazi, Sephardi, and Mizrahi all refer to the places Jews once called home.  Ashkenazi Jews hail from Central and Eastern Europe, particularly Germany, Poland, and Russia. They traditionally speak Yiddish, and their customs and practices reflect the influences of Central and Eastern European cultures.  Pogroms in Eastern Europe and the Holocaust led many Ashkenazi Jews to flee their longtime homes to countries like the United States and their ancestral homeland, Israel.  Mizrahi, which means “Eastern” in Hebrew, refers to the diaspora of descendants of Jewish communities from Middle Eastern countries such as: Iraq, Iran, and Yemen, and North African countries such as: Tunisia, Libya, and Morocco. Ancient Jewish communities that have lived in the region for millennia long before the advent of Islam and Christianity. They often speak dialects of Arabic. Sephardi Jews originate from Spain and Portugal, speaking Ladino and incorporating Spanish and Portuguese cultural influences. Following their expulsion from the Iberian Peninsula in 1492, they settled in regions like North Africa and the Balkans. In Tunisia, the Mizrahi and Sephardi communities lived side by side, but separately. HEN: As time passed, those communities became closer together, still quite separated, but they became closer and closer. And perhaps the reason they were becoming closer was because of the hardship that they faced as Jews.  For the leaders of Muslim armies that came to Tunisia, it didn't matter if you were a Sephardi Jew, or if you were an Amazigh Jew. You were a Jew for them. MANYA: Algeria's invasion of Tunisia in the 18th century had a disproportionate effect on Tunisia's Jewish community. The Algerian army killed thousands of the citizens of Tunis, many of whom were Jewish. Algerians raped Jewish women, looted Jewish homes. LUCETTE: There were moments of trouble when you had an invasion of the Algerian army to impose a prince. The Jews were molested in Tunis. MANYA: After a military invasion, a French protectorate was established in 1881 and lasted until Tunisia gained independence in 1956. The Jews of Tunisia felt much safer under the French protectorate.  They put a lot of stock in the French revolutionary promise of Liberté, égalité, fraternité. Soon, the French language replaced Judeo-Arabic. LUCETTE: Well, under colonization, the Jews were in a better position. First, the school system. They went to modern schools, especially the Alliance [Israélite Universelle] schools, and with that started a form of Westernization.  You had also schools in Italian, created by Italian Jews, and some Tunisian Jews went to these schools and already in the 19th century, there was a form of acculturation and Westernization.  Access to newspapers, creation of newspapers. In the 1880s Jews had already their own newspapers in Hebrew characters, but Arabic language.  And my grandfather was one of the early journalists and they started having their own press and published books, folklore, sort of short stories. MANYA: In May 1940, Nazi Germany invaded France and quickly overran the French Third Republic, forcing the French to sign an armistice agreement in June. The armistice significantly reduced the territory governed by France and created a new government known as the Vichy regime, after the central French city where it was based.  The Vichy regime collaborated with the Nazis, establishing a special administration to introduce anti-Jewish legislation and enforce a compulsory Jewish census in all of its territories including Tunisia. Hen grew up learning about the Holocaust, the Nazis' attempt to erase the Jewish people. As part of his schooling, he learned the names of concentration and death camps and he heard the stories from his friends' grandparents.  But because he was not Ashkenazi, because his grandparents didn't suffer through the same catastrophe that befell Europe, Hen never felt fully accepted.  It was a trauma that belonged to his Ashkenazi friends of German and Polish descent, not to him. Or so they thought and so he thought, until he was a teenager and asked his grandmother Kamisa to finally share their family's journey from Tunisia. That's when he learned that the Mazzig family had not been exempt from Hitler's hatred. In November 1942, Tunisia became the only North African country to come under Nazi Germany's occupation and the Nazis wasted no time. Jewish property was confiscated, and heavy fines were levied on large Jewish communities. With the presence of the Einsatzkommando, a subgroup of the Einsatzgruppen, or mobile killing units, the Nazis were prepared to implement the systematic murder of the Jews of Tunisia. The tide of the war turned just in time to prevent that. LUCETTE: At the time the Germans came, they did not control the Mediterranean, and so they could not export us to the camps. We were saved by that. Lanor camps for men in dangerous places where there were bombs by the Allies. But not for us, it was, I mean, they took our radios. They took the silverware or they took money, this kind of oppression, but they did not murder us.  They took the men away, a few families were directly impacted and died in the camps. A few men. So we were afraid. We were occupied. But compared to what Jews in Europe were subjected to, we didn't suffer.  MANYA: Almost 5,000 Jews, most of them from Tunis and from certain northern communities, were taken captive and incarcerated in 32 labor camps scattered throughout Tunisia. Jews were not only required to wear yellow stars, but those in the camps were also required to wear them on their backs so they could be identified from a distance and shot in the event they tried to escape. HEN: My grandmother never told me until before she died, when she was more open about the stories of oppression, on how she was serving food for the French Nazi officers that were occupying Tunisia, or how my grandfather was in a labor camp, and he was supposed to be sent to a death camp in Europe as well. They never felt like they should share these stories. MANYA: The capture of Tunisia by the Allied forces in May 1943 led the Axis forces in North Africa to surrender. But the country remained under French colonial rule and the antisemitic legislation of the Vichy regime continued until 1944. Many of the Vichy camps, including forced labor camps in the Sahara, continued to operate.  Even after the decline and fall of the Vichy regime and the pursuit of independence from French rule began, conditions for the Mazzig family and many others in the Tunisian Jewish community did not improve.  But the source of much of the hostility and strife was actually a beacon of hope for Tunisia's Jews. On May 14, 1948, the world had witnessed the creation of the state of Israel, sparking outrage throughout the Arab world. Seven Arab nations declared war on Israel the day after it declared independence.  Amid the rise of Tunisian nationalism and its push for independence from France, Jewish communities who had lived in Tunisia for centuries became targets. Guilty by association. No longer welcome. Rabbinical councils were dismantled. Jewish sports associations banned. Jews practiced their religion in hiding. Hen's grandfather recounted violence in the Jewish quarter of Tunis.  HEN: When World War Two was over, the Jewish community in Tunisia was hoping that now that Tunisia would have emancipation, and it would become a country, that their neighbors and the country itself would protect them. Because when it was Nazis, they knew that it was a foreign power that came from France and oppressed them. They knew that there was some hatred in the past, from their Muslim neighbors towards them.  But they also were hoping that, if anything, they would go back to the same status of a dhimmi, of being a protected minority. Even if they were not going to be fully accepted and celebrated in this society, at least they would be protected, for paying tax. And this really did not happen. MANYA: By the early 1950s, life for the Mazzig family became untenable. By then, American Jewish organizations based in Tunis started working to take Jews to Israel right away.  HEN: [My family decided to leave.] They took whatever they had left. And they got on a boat. And my grandmother told me this story before she passed away on how they were on this boat coming to Israel.  And they were so happy, and they were crying because they felt that finally after generations upon generations of oppression of living as a minority that knows that anytime the ruler might turn on them and take everything they have and pull the ground underneath their feet, they are going to come to a place where they are going to be protected. And maybe they will face hate, but no one will hate them because they're Jewish.  And I often dream about my grandmother being a young girl on this boat and how she must have felt to know that the nightmare and the hell that she went through is behind her and that she was coming home. MANYA: The boat they sailed to Israel took days. When Hen's uncle, just a young child at the time, got sick, the captain threatened to throw him overboard. Hen's grandmother hid the child inside her clothes until they docked in Israel. When they arrived, they were sprayed with DDT to kill any lice or disease, then placed in ma'abarot, which in Hebrew means transit camps. In this case, it was a tent with one bed. HEN: They were really mistreated back then. And it's not criticism. I mean, yes, it is also criticism, but it's not without understanding the context. That it was a young country that just started, and those Jewish communities, Jewish refugees came from Tunisia, they didn't speak Hebrew. They didn't look like the other Jewish communities there. And while they all had this in common, that they were all Jews, they had a very different experience. MANYA: No, the family's arrival in the Holy Land was nothing like what they had imagined. But even still, it was a dream fulfilled and there was hope, which they had lost in Tunisia. HEN: I think that it was somewhere in between having both this deep connection to Israel and going there because they wanted to, and also knowing that there's no future in Tunisia. And the truth is that even–and I'm sure people that are listening to us, that are strong Zionists and love Israel, if you tell them ‘OK, so move tomorrow,' no matter how much you love Israel, it's a very difficult decision to make.  Unless it's not really a decision. And I think for them, it wasn't really a decision. And they went through so much, they knew, OK, we have to leave and I think for the first time having a country, having Israel was the hope that they had for centuries to go back home, finally realized. MANYA: Valensi's family did stay a while longer. When Tunisia declared independence in 1956, her father, a ceramicist, designed tiles for the residence of President Habib Bourguiba. Those good relations did not last.  Valensi studied history in France, married an engineer, and returned to Tunisia. But after being there for five years, it became clear that Jews were not treated equally and they returned to France in 1965. LUCETTE: I did not plan to emigrate. And then it became more and more obvious that some people were more equal than others [laugh]. And so there was this nationalist mood where responsibilities were given to Muslims rather than Jews and I felt more and more segregated.  And so, my husband was an engineer from a good engineering school. Again, I mean, he worked for another engineer, who was a Muslim. We knew he would never reach the same position. His father was a lawyer. And in the tribunal, he had to use Arabic. And so all these things accumulated, and we were displaced. MANYA: Valensi said Jewish emigration from Tunisia accelerated at two more mileposts. Even after Tunisia declared independence, France maintained a presence and a naval base in the port city of Bizerte, a strategic port on the Mediterranean for the French who were fighting with Algeria.  In 1961, Tunisian forces blockaded the naval base and warned France to stay out of its airspace. What became known as the Bizerte Crisis lasted for three days. LUCETTE: There were critical times, like what we call “La Crise de Bizerte.” Bizerte is a port to the west of Tunis that used to be a military port and when independence was negotiated with France, the French kept this port, where they could keep an army, and Bourguiba decided that he wanted this port back. And there was a war, a conflict, between Tunisia and France in ‘61.  And that crisis was one moment when Jews thought: if there is no French presence to protect us, then anything could happen. You had the movement of emigration.  Of course, much later, ‘67, the unrest in the Middle East, and what happened there provoked a kind of panic, and there were movements against the Jews in Tunis – violence and destruction of shops, etc. So they emigrated again. Now you have only a few hundred Jews left. MANYA: Valensi's first husband died at an early age. Her second husband, Abraham Udovitch, is the former chair of Near Eastern Studies at Princeton University. Together, they researched and published a book about the Jewish communities in the Tunisian island of Djerba. The couple now splits their time between Paris and Princeton. But Valensi returns to Tunisia every year. It's still home. LUCETTE: When I go, strange thing, I feel at home. I mean, I feel I belong. My Arabic comes back. The words that I thought I had forgotten come back. They welcome you. I mean, if you go, you say you come from America, they're going to ask you questions. Are you Jewish? Did you go to Israel? I mean, these kind of very brutal questions, right away. They're going there. The taxi driver won't hesitate to ask you: Are you Jewish? But at the same time, they're very welcoming. So, I have no trouble. MANYA: Hen, on the other hand, has never been to the land of his ancestors. He holds on to his grandparents' trauma. And fear.  HEN: Tunisia just still feels a bit unsafe to me. Just as recent as a couple of months ago, there was a terror attack. So it's something that's still occurring.  MANYA: Just last year, a member of the Tunisian National Guard opened fire on worshippers outside El Ghriba Synagogue where a large gathering of Jewish pilgrims were celebrating the festival of Lag BaOmer. The synagogue is located on the Tunisian island of Djerba where Valensi and her husband did research for their book. Earlier this year, a mob attacked an abandoned synagogue in the southern city of Sfax, setting fire to the building's courtyard. Numbering over 100,000 Jews on the eve of Israel's Independence in 1948, the Tunisian Jewish community is now estimated to be less than 1,000.  There has been limited contact over the years between Tunisia and Israel. Some Israeli tourists, mostly of Tunisian origin, annually visit the El Ghriba synagogue in Djerba. But the government has largely been hostile to the Jewish state.  In the wake of the October 7 attack, the Tunisian parliament began debate on a law that would criminalize any normalization of ties with Israel. Still, Hen would like to go just once to see where his grandparents lived. Walked. Cooked. Prayed.  But to him it's just geography, an arbitrary place on a map. The memories, the music, the recipes, the traditions. It's no longer in Tunisia. It's elsewhere now – in the only country that preserved it. HEN: The Jewish Tunisian culture, the only place that it's been maintained is in Israel. That's why it's still alive. Like in Tunisia, it's not really celebrated. It's not something that they keep as much as they keep here.  Like if you want to go to a proper Mimouna, you would probably need to go to Israel, not to North Africa, although that's where it started. And the same with the Middle Eastern Jewish cuisine. The only place in the world, where be it Tunisian Jews and Iraqi Jews, or Yemenite Jews, still develop their recipes, is in Israel.  Israel is home, and this is where we still celebrate our culture and our cuisine and our identity is still something that I can engage with here.  I always feel like I am living the dreams of my grandparents, and I know that my grandmother is looking from above and I know how proud she is that we have a country, that we have a place to be safe at.  And that everything I do today is to protect my people, to protect the Jewish people, and making sure that next time when a country, when an empire, when a power would turn on Jews we'll have a place to go to and be safe. MANYA: Tunisian Jews are just one of the many Jewish communities who, in the last century, left Arab countries to forge new lives for themselves and future generations.  Join us next week as we share another untold story of The Forgotten Exodus. Many thanks to Hen for sharing his story. You can read more in his memoir The Wrong Kind of Jew: A Mizrahi Manifesto. Too many times during my reporting, I encountered children and grandchildren who didn't have the answers to my questions because they'd never asked. That's why one of the goals of this project is to encourage you to ask those questions. Find your stories. Atara Lakritz is our producer. T.K. Broderick is our sound engineer. Special thanks to Jon Schweitzer, Nicole Mazur, Sean Savage, and Madeleine Stern, and so many of our colleagues, too many to name really, for making this series possible.  You can subscribe to The Forgotten Exodus on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts, and you can learn more at AJC.org/theforgottenexodus.  The views and opinions of our guests don't necessarily reflect the positions of AJC.  You can reach us at theforgottenexodus@ajc.org. If you've enjoyed this episode, please be sure to spread the word, and hop onto Apple Podcasts or Spotify to rate us and write a review to help more listeners find us.

“In the Israeli DNA and the Jewish DNA, we have to fight to be who we are. In every generation, empires and big forces tried to erase us . . . I know what it is to be rejected for several parts of my identity... I'm fighting for my ancestors, but I'm also fighting for our future generation.”  Hen Mazzig, a writer, digital creator, and founder of the Tel Aviv Institute, shares his powerful journey as a proud Israeli, LGBTQ+, and Mizrahi Jew, in the premiere episode of the second season of the award-winning podcast, The Forgotten Exodus. Hen delves into his family's deep roots in Tunisia, their harrowing experiences during the Nazi occupation, and their eventual escape to Israel. Discover the rich history of Tunisia's ancient Amazigh Jewish community, the impact of French colonial and Arab nationalist movements on Jews in North Africa, and the cultural identity that Hen passionately preserves today. Joining the conversation is historian Lucette Valensi, an expert on Tunisian Jewish culture, who provides scholarly insights into the longstanding presence of Jews in Tunisia, from antiquity to their exodus in the mid-20th century. ___ Show notes: Sign up to receive podcast updates here. Learn more about the series here. Song credits:  "Penceresi Yola Karsi" -- by Turku, Nomads of the Silk Road Pond5:  “Desert Caravans”: Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Beta (BMI), Composer: Tiemur Zarobov (BMI), IPI#1098108837 “Sentimental Oud Middle Eastern”: Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Beta (BMI), Composer: Sotirios Bakas (BMI), IPI#797324989. “Meditative Middle Eastern Flute”: Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Beta (BMI), Composer: Danielyan Ashot Makichevich (BMI), IPI Name #00855552512, United States BMI “Tunisia Eastern”: Publisher: Edi Surya Nurrohim, Composer: Edi Surya Nurrohim, Item ID#155836469. “At The Rabbi's Table”: Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Beta (BMI), Composer: Fazio Giulio (IPI/CAE# 00198377019). “Fields Of Elysium”; Publisher: Mysterylab Music; Composer: Mott Jordan; ID#79549862  “Frontiers”: Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Beta (BMI); Composer: Pete Checkley (BMI), IPI#380407375 “Hatikvah (National Anthem Of Israel)”; Composer: Eli Sibony; ID#122561081 “Tunisian Pot Dance (Short)”: Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Beta (BMI); Composer: kesokid, ID #97451515 “Middle East Ident”; Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Alpha (ASCAP); Composer: Alon Marcus (ACUM), IPI#776550702 “Adventures in the East”: Publisher: Pond5 Publishing Beta (BMI) Composer: Petar Milinkovic (BMI), IPI#00738313833. ___ Episode Transcript: HEN MAZZIG: They took whatever they had left and they got on a boat. And my grandmother told me this story before she passed away on how they were on this boat coming to Israel.  And they were so happy, and they were crying because they felt that finally after generations upon generations of oppression they are going to come to a place where they are going to be protected, and that she was coming home. MANYA BRACHEAR PASHMAN: The world has overlooked an important episode in modern history: the 800,000 Jews who left or were driven from their homes in the Middle East and North Africa in the mid-20th century. Welcome to the second season of The Forgotten Exodus, brought to you by American Jewish Committee. This series explores that pivotal moment in history and the little-known Jewish heritage of Iran and Arab nations. As Jews around the world confront violent antisemitism and Israelis face daily attacks by terrorists on multiple fronts, our second season explores how Jews have lived throughout the region for generations–despite hardship, hostility, and hatred–then sought safety and new possibilities in their ancestral homeland. I'm your host, Manya Brachear Pashman. Join us as we explore untold family histories and personal stories of courage, perseverance, and resilience from this transformative and tumultuous period of history for the Jewish people and the Middle East.  The world has ignored these voices. We will not. This is The Forgotten Exodus.  Today's episode: leaving Tunisia. __ [Tel Aviv Pride video] MANYA BRACHEAR PASHMAN: Every June, Hen Mazzig, who splits his time between London and Tel Aviv, heads to Israel to show his Pride. His Israeli pride. His LGBTQ+ pride. And his Mizrahi Jewish pride. For that one week, all of those identities coalesce.  And while other cities around the world have transformed Pride into a June version of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, Israel is home to one of the few vibrant LGBTQ communities in the Middle East. Tel Aviv keeps it real. HEN: For me, Pride in Israel, in Tel Aviv, it still has this element of fighting for something. And that it's important for all of us to show up and to come out to the Pride Parade because if we're not going to be there, there's some people with agendas to erase us and we can't let them do it. MANYA: This year, the Tel Aviv Pride rally was a more somber affair as participants demanded freedom for the more than 100 hostages still held in Gaza since October 7th.  On that day, Hamas terrorists bent on erasing Jews from the Middle East went on a murderous rampage, killing more than 1,200, kidnapping 250 others, and unleashing what has become a 7-front war on Israel. HEN: In the Israeli DNA and the Jewish DNA we have to fight to be who we are. In every generation, empires and big forces tried to erase us, and we had to fight. And the LGBTQ+ community also knows very well how hard it is. I know what it is to be rejected for several parts of my identity. And I don't want anyone to go through that. I don't want my children to go through that. I'm fighting for my ancestors, but I'm also fighting for our future generation. MANYA: Hen Mazzig is an international speaker, writer, and digital influencer. In 2022, he founded the Tel Aviv Institute, a social media laboratory that tackles antisemitism online. He's also a second-generation Israeli, whose maternal grandparents fled Iraq, while his father's parents fled Tunisia – roots that echo in the family name: Mazzig. HEN: The last name Mazzig never made sense, because in Israel a lot of the last names have meaning in Hebrew.  So I remember one of my teachers in school was saying that Mazzig sounds like mozeg, which means pouring in Hebrew. Maybe your ancestors were running a bar or something? Clearly, this teacher did not have knowledge of the Amazigh people. Which, later on I learned, several of those tribes, those Amazigh tribes, were Jewish or practiced Judaism, and that there was 5,000 Jews that came from Tunisia that were holding both identities of being Jewish and Amazigh.  And today, they have last names like Mazzig, and Amzaleg, Mizzoug. There's several of those last names in Israel today. And they are the descendants of those Jewish communities that have lived in the Atlas Mountains. MANYA: The Atlas Mountains. A 1,500-mile chain of magnificent peaks and treacherous terrain that stretch across Algeria, Morocco, and Tunisia, separating the Sahara from the Mediterranean and Atlantic coastline.  It's where the nomadic Amazigh have called home for thousands of years. The Amazigh trace their origins to at least 2,000 BCE  in western North Africa. They speak the language of Tamazight and rely on cattle and agriculture as their main sources of income.  But textiles too. In fact, you've probably heard of the Amazigh or own a rug woven by them. A Berber rug. HEN: Amazigh, which are also called Berbers. But they're rejecting this term because of the association with barbarians, which was the title that European colonialists when they came to North Africa gave them. There's beautiful folklore about Jewish leaders within the Amazigh people. One story that I really connected to was the story of Queen Dihya that was also known as El-Kahina, which in Arabic means the Kohen, the priest, and she was known as this leader of the Amazigh tribes, and she was Jewish.  Her derrogaters were calling her a Jewish witch, because they said that she had the power to foresee the future. And her roots were apparently connected to Queen Sheba and her arrival from Israel back to Africa. And she was the descendant of Queen Sheba. And that's how she led the Amazigh people.  And the stories that I read about her, I just felt so connected. How she had this long, black, curly hair that went all the way down to her knees, and she was fierce, and she was very committed to her identity, and she was fighting against the Islamic expansion to North Africa.  And when she failed, after years of holding them off, she realized that she can't do it anymore and she's going to lose. And she was not willing to give up her Jewish identity and convert to Islam and instead she jumped into a well and died. This well is known today in Tunisia. It's the [Bir] Al-Kahina or Dihya's Well that is still in existence. Her descendants, her kids, were Jewish members of the Amazigh people.  Of course, I would like to believe that I am the descendant of royalty. MANYA: Scholars debate whether the Amazigh converted to Judaism or descended from Queen Dihya and stayed.  Lucette Valensi is a French scholar of Tunisian history who served as a director of studies at the School for Advanced Studies in the Social Sciences in Paris, one of the most prestigious institutions of graduate education in France. She has written extensively about Tunisian Jewish culture.   Generations of her family lived in Tunisia. She says archaeological evidence proves Jews were living in that land since Antiquity. LUCETTE VALENSI: I myself am a Chemla, born Chemla. And this is an Arabic name, which means a kind of belt. And my mother's name was Tartour, which is a turban [laugh]. So the names were Arabic. So my ancestors spoke Arabic. I don't know if any of them spoke Berber before, or Latin. I have no idea. But there were Jews in antiquity and of course, through Saint Augustin. MANYA: So when did Jews arrive in Tunisia? LUCETTE: [laugh] That's a strange question because they were there since Antiquity. We have evidence of their presence in mosaics of synagogues, from the times of Byzantium. I think we think in terms of a short chronology, and they would tend to associate the Jews to colonization, which does not make sense, they were there much before French colonization. They were there for millennia. MANYA: Valensi says Jews lived in Tunisia dating to the time of Carthage, an ancient city-state in what is now Tunisia, that reached its peak in the fourth century BCE. Later, under Roman and then Byzantine rule, Carthage continued to play a vital role as a center of commerce and trade during antiquity.  Besides the role of tax collectors, Jews were forbidden to serve in almost all public offices. Between the 5th and 8th centuries CE, conditions fluctuated between relief and forced conversions while under Christian rule.  After the Islamic conquest of Tunisia in the seventh and early eighth centuries CE, the treatment of Jews largely depended on which Muslim ruler was in charge at the time.  Some Jews converted to Islam while others lived as dhimmis, or second-class citizens, protected by the state in exchange for a special tax known as the jizya. In 1146, the first caliph of the Almohad dynasty, declared that the Prophet Muhammad had granted Jews religious freedom for only 500 years, by which time if the messiah had not come, they had to convert.  Those who did not convert and even those who did were forced to wear yellow turbans or other special garb called shikra, to distinguish them from Muslims. An influx of Jews expelled from Spain and Portugal arrived in the 14th Century. In the 16th Century, Tunisia became part of the Ottoman Empire, and the situation of Jews improved significantly. Another group who had settled in the coastal Tuscan city of Livorno crossed the Mediterranean in the 17th and 18th centuries to make Tunisia their home. LUCETTE: There were other groups that came, Jews from Italy, Jews from Spain, of course, Spain and Portugal, different periods. 14th century already from Spain and then from Spain and Portugal. From Italy, from Livorno, that's later, but the Jews from Livorno themselves came from Spain.  So I myself am named Valensi. From Valencia. It was the family name of my first husband. So from Valencia in Spain they went to Livorno, and from Livorno–Leghorn in English–to Tunisia. MANYA: At its peak, Tunisia's Jewish population exceeded 100,000 – a combination of Sephardi and Mizrahi. HEN: When we speak about Jews from the Middle East and North Africa, specifically in the West, or mainly in the West, we're referring to them as Sephardi. But in Tunisia, it's very interesting to see that there was the Grana community which are Livorno Jews that moved to Tunisia in the 1800s, and they brought the Sephardi way of praying.  And that's why I always use the term Mizrahi to describe myself, because I feel like it encapsulates more of my identity. And for me, the Sephardi title that we often use on those communities doesn't feel accurate to me, and it also has the connection to Ladino, which my grandparents never spoke.  They spoke Tamazight, Judeo-Tamazight, which was the language of those tribes in North Africa. And my family from my mother's side, from Iraq, they were speaking Judeo-Iraqi-Arabic.  So for me, the term Sephardi just doesn't cut it. I go with Mizrahi to describe myself. MANYA: The terms Ashkenazi, Sephardi, and Mizrahi all refer to the places Jews once called home.  Ashkenazi Jews hail from Central and Eastern Europe, particularly Germany, Poland, and Russia. They traditionally speak Yiddish, and their customs and practices reflect the influences of Central and Eastern European cultures.  Pogroms in Eastern Europe and the Holocaust led many Ashkenazi Jews to flee their longtime homes to countries like the United States and their ancestral homeland, Israel.  Mizrahi, which means “Eastern” in Hebrew, refers to the diaspora of descendants of Jewish communities from Middle Eastern countries such as: Iraq, Iran, and Yemen, and North African countries such as: Tunisia, Libya, and Morocco. Ancient Jewish communities that have lived in the region for millennia long before the advent of Islam and Christianity. They often speak dialects of Arabic. Sephardi Jews originate from Spain and Portugal, speaking Ladino and incorporating Spanish and Portuguese cultural influences. Following their expulsion from the Iberian Peninsula in 1492, they settled in regions like North Africa and the Balkans. In Tunisia, the Mizrahi and Sephardi communities lived side by side, but separately. HEN: As time passed, those communities became closer together, still quite separated, but they became closer and closer. And perhaps the reason they were becoming closer was because of the hardship that they faced as Jews.  For the leaders of Muslim armies that came to Tunisia, it didn't matter if you were a Sephardi Jew, or if you were an Amazigh Jew. You were a Jew for them. MANYA: Algeria's invasion of Tunisia in the 18th century had a disproportionate effect on Tunisia's Jewish community. The Algerian army killed thousands of the citizens of Tunis, many of whom were Jewish. Algerians raped Jewish women, looted Jewish homes. LUCETTE: There were moments of trouble when you had an invasion of the Algerian army to impose a prince. The Jews were molested in Tunis. MANYA: After a military invasion, a French protectorate was established in 1881 and lasted until Tunisia gained independence in 1956. The Jews of Tunisia felt much safer under the French protectorate.  They put a lot of stock in the French revolutionary promise of Liberté, égalité, fraternité. Soon, the French language replaced Judeo-Arabic. LUCETTE: Well, under colonization, the Jews were in a better position. First, the school system. They went to modern schools, especially the Alliance [Israélite Universelle] schools, and with that started a form of Westernization.  You had also schools in Italian, created by Italian Jews, and some Tunisian Jews went to these schools and already in the 19th century, there was a form of acculturation and Westernization.  Access to newspapers, creation of newspapers. In the 1880s Jews had already their own newspapers in Hebrew characters, but Arabic language.  And my grandfather was one of the early journalists and they started having their own press and published books, folklore, sort of short stories. MANYA: In May 1940, Nazi Germany invaded France and quickly overran the French Third Republic, forcing the French to sign an armistice agreement in June. The armistice significantly reduced the territory governed by France and created a new government known as the Vichy regime, after the central French city where it was based.  The Vichy regime collaborated with the Nazis, establishing a special administration to introduce anti-Jewish legislation and enforce a compulsory Jewish census in all of its territories including Tunisia. Hen grew up learning about the Holocaust, the Nazis' attempt to erase the Jewish people. As part of his schooling, he learned the names of concentration and death camps and he heard the stories from his friends' grandparents.  But because he was not Ashkenazi, because his grandparents didn't suffer through the same catastrophe that befell Europe, Hen never felt fully accepted.  It was a trauma that belonged to his Ashkenazi friends of German and Polish descent, not to him. Or so they thought and so he thought, until he was a teenager and asked his grandmother Kamisa to finally share their family's journey from Tunisia. That's when he learned that the Mazzig family had not been exempt from Hitler's hatred. In November 1942, Tunisia became the only North African country to come under Nazi Germany's occupation and the Nazis wasted no time. Jewish property was confiscated, and heavy fines were levied on large Jewish communities. With the presence of the Einsatzkommando, a subgroup of the Einsatzgruppen, or mobile killing units, the Nazis were prepared to implement the systematic murder of the Jews of Tunisia. The tide of the war turned just in time to prevent that. LUCETTE: At the time the Germans came, they did not control the Mediterranean, and so they could not export us to the camps. We were saved by that. Lanor camps for men in dangerous places where there were bombs by the Allies. But not for us, it was, I mean, they took our radios. They took the silverware or they took money, this kind of oppression, but they did not murder us.  They took the men away, a few families were directly impacted and died in the camps. A few men. So we were afraid. We were occupied. But compared to what Jews in Europe were subjected to, we didn't suffer.  MANYA: Almost 5,000 Jews, most of them from Tunis and from certain northern communities, were taken captive and incarcerated in 32 labor camps scattered throughout Tunisia. Jews were not only required to wear yellow stars, but those in the camps were also required to wear them on their backs so they could be identified from a distance and shot in the event they tried to escape. HEN: My grandmother never told me until before she died, when she was more open about the stories of oppression, on how she was serving food for the French Nazi officers that were occupying Tunisia, or how my grandfather was in a labor camp, and he was supposed to be sent to a death camp in Europe as well. They never felt like they should share these stories. MANYA: The capture of Tunisia by the Allied forces in May 1943 led the Axis forces in North Africa to surrender. But the country remained under French colonial rule and the antisemitic legislation of the Vichy regime continued until 1944. Many of the Vichy camps, including forced labor camps in the Sahara, continued to operate.  Even after the decline and fall of the Vichy regime and the pursuit of independence from French rule began, conditions for the Mazzig family and many others in the Tunisian Jewish community did not improve.  But the source of much of the hostility and strife was actually a beacon of hope for Tunisia's Jews. On May 14, 1948, the world had witnessed the creation of the state of Israel, sparking outrage throughout the Arab world. Seven Arab nations declared war on Israel the day after it declared independence.  Amid the rise of Tunisian nationalism and its push for independence from France, Jewish communities who had lived in Tunisia for centuries became targets. Guilty by association. No longer welcome. Rabbinical councils were dismantled. Jewish sports associations banned. Jews practiced their religion in hiding. Hen's grandfather recounted violence in the Jewish quarter of Tunis.  HEN: When World War Two was over, the Jewish community in Tunisia was hoping that now that Tunisia would have emancipation, and it would become a country, that their neighbors and the country itself would protect them. Because when it was Nazis, they knew that it was a foreign power that came from France and oppressed them. They knew that there was some hatred in the past, from their Muslim neighbors towards them.  But they also were hoping that, if anything, they would go back to the same status of a dhimmi, of being a protected minority. Even if they were not going to be fully accepted and celebrated in this society, at least they would be protected, for paying tax. And this really did not happen. MANYA: By the early 1950s, life for the Mazzig family became untenable. By then, American Jewish organizations based in Tunis started working to take Jews to Israel right away.  HEN: [My family decided to leave.] They took whatever they had left. And they got on a boat. And my grandmother told me this story before she passed away on how they were on this boat coming to Israel.  And they were so happy, and they were crying because they felt that finally after generations upon generations of oppression of living as a minority that knows that anytime the ruler might turn on them and take everything they have and pull the ground underneath their feet, they are going to come to a place where they are going to be protected. And maybe they will face hate, but no one will hate them because they're Jewish.  And I often dream about my grandmother being a young girl on this boat and how she must have felt to know that the nightmare and the hell that she went through is behind her and that she was coming home. MANYA: The boat they sailed to Israel took days. When Hen's uncle, just a young child at the time, got sick, the captain threatened to throw him overboard. Hen's grandmother hid the child inside her clothes until they docked in Israel. When they arrived, they were sprayed with DDT to kill any lice or disease, then placed in ma'abarot, which in Hebrew means transit camps. In this case, it was a tent with one bed. HEN: They were really mistreated back then. And it's not criticism. I mean, yes, it is also criticism, but it's not without understanding the context. That it was a young country that just started, and those Jewish communities, Jewish refugees came from Tunisia, they didn't speak Hebrew. They didn't look like the other Jewish communities there. And while they all had this in common, that they were all Jews, they had a very different experience. MANYA: No, the family's arrival in the Holy Land was nothing like what they had imagined. But even still, it was a dream fulfilled and there was hope, which they had lost in Tunisia. HEN: I think that it was somewhere in between having both this deep connection to Israel and going there because they wanted to, and also knowing that there's no future in Tunisia. And the truth is that even–and I'm sure people that are listening to us, that are strong Zionists and love Israel, if you tell them ‘OK, so move tomorrow,' no matter how much you love Israel, it's a very difficult decision to make.  Unless it's not really a decision. And I think for them, it wasn't really a decision. And they went through so much, they knew, OK, we have to leave and I think for the first time having a country, having Israel was the hope that they had for centuries to go back home, finally realized. MANYA: Valensi's family did stay a while longer. When Tunisia declared independence in 1956, her father, a ceramicist, designed tiles for the residence of President Habib Bourguiba. Those good relations did not last.  Valensi studied history in France, married an engineer, and returned to Tunisia. But after being there for five years, it became clear that Jews were not treated equally and they returned to France in 1965. LUCETTE: I did not plan to emigrate. And then it became more and more obvious that some people were more equal than others [laugh]. And so there was this nationalist mood where responsibilities were given to Muslims rather than Jews and I felt more and more segregated.  And so, my husband was an engineer from a good engineering school. Again, I mean, he worked for another engineer, who was a Muslim. We knew he would never reach the same position. His father was a lawyer. And in the tribunal, he had to use Arabic. And so all these things accumulated, and we were displaced. MANYA: Valensi said Jewish emigration from Tunisia accelerated at two more mileposts. Even after Tunisia declared independence, France maintained a presence and a naval base in the port city of Bizerte, a strategic port on the Mediterranean for the French who were fighting with Algeria.  In 1961, Tunisian forces blockaded the naval base and warned France to stay out of its airspace. What became known as the Bizerte Crisis lasted for three days. LUCETTE: There were critical times, like what we call “La Crise de Bizerte.” Bizerte is a port to the west of Tunis that used to be a military port and when independence was negotiated with France, the French kept this port, where they could keep an army, and Bourguiba decided that he wanted this port back. And there was a war, a conflict, between Tunisia and France in ‘61.  And that crisis was one moment when Jews thought: if there is no French presence to protect us, then anything could happen. You had the movement of emigration.  Of course, much later, ‘67, the unrest in the Middle East, and what happened there provoked a kind of panic, and there were movements against the Jews in Tunis – violence and destruction of shops, etc. So they emigrated again. Now you have only a few hundred Jews left. MANYA: Valensi's first husband died at an early age. Her second husband, Abraham Udovitch, is the former chair of Near Eastern Studies at Princeton University. Together, they researched and published a book about the Jewish communities in the Tunisian island of Djerba. The couple now splits their time between Paris and Princeton. But Valensi returns to Tunisia every year. It's still home. LUCETTE: When I go, strange thing, I feel at home. I mean, I feel I belong. My Arabic comes back. The words that I thought I had forgotten come back. They welcome you. I mean, if you go, you say you come from America, they're going to ask you questions. Are you Jewish? Did you go to Israel? I mean, these kind of very brutal questions, right away. They're going there. The taxi driver won't hesitate to ask you: Are you Jewish? But at the same time, they're very welcoming. So, I have no trouble. MANYA: Hen, on the other hand, has never been to the land of his ancestors. He holds on to his grandparents' trauma. And fear.  HEN: Tunisia just still feels a bit unsafe to me. Just as recent as a couple of months ago, there was a terror attack. So it's something that's still occurring.  MANYA: Just last year, a member of the Tunisian National Guard opened fire on worshippers outside El Ghriba Synagogue where a large gathering of Jewish pilgrims were celebrating the festival of Lag BaOmer. The synagogue is located on the Tunisian island of Djerba where Valensi and her husband did research for their book. Earlier this year, a mob attacked an abandoned synagogue in the southern city of Sfax, setting fire to the building's courtyard. Numbering over 100,000 Jews on the eve of Israel's Independence in 1948, the Tunisian Jewish community is now estimated to be less than 1,000.  There has been limited contact over the years between Tunisia and Israel. Some Israeli tourists, mostly of Tunisian origin, annually visit the El Ghriba synagogue in Djerba. But the government has largely been hostile to the Jewish state.  In the wake of the October 7 attack, the Tunisian parliament began debate on a law that would criminalize any normalization of ties with Israel. Still, Hen would like to go just once to see where his grandparents lived. Walked. Cooked. Prayed.  But to him it's just geography, an arbitrary place on a map. The memories, the music, the recipes, the traditions. It's no longer in Tunisia. It's elsewhere now – in the only country that preserved it. HEN: The Jewish Tunisian culture, the only place that it's been maintained is in Israel. That's why it's still alive. Like in Tunisia, it's not really celebrated. It's not something that they keep as much as they keep here.  Like if you want to go to a proper Mimouna, you would probably need to go to Israel, not to North Africa, although that's where it started. And the same with the Middle Eastern Jewish cuisine. The only place in the world, where be it Tunisian Jews and Iraqi Jews, or Yemenite Jews, still develop their recipes, is in Israel.  Israel is home, and this is where we still celebrate our culture and our cuisine and our identity is still something that I can engage with here.  I always feel like I am living the dreams of my grandparents, and I know that my grandmother is looking from above and I know how proud she is that we have a country, that we have a place to be safe at.  And that everything I do today is to protect my people, to protect the Jewish people, and making sure that next time when a country, when an empire, when a power would turn on Jews we'll have a place to go to and be safe. MANYA: Tunisian Jews are just one of the many Jewish communities who, in the last century, left Arab countries to forge new lives for themselves and future generations.  Join us next week as we share another untold story of The Forgotten Exodus. Many thanks to Hen for sharing his story. You can read more in his memoir The Wrong Kind of Jew: A Mizrahi Manifesto. Too many times during my reporting, I encountered children and grandchildren who didn't have the answers to my questions because they'd never asked. That's why one of the goals of this project is to encourage you to ask those questions. Find your stories. Atara Lakritz is our producer. T.K. Broderick is our sound engineer. Special thanks to Jon Schweitzer, Nicole Mazur, Sean Savage, and Madeleine Stern, and so many of our colleagues, too many to name really, for making this series possible.  You can subscribe to The Forgotten Exodus on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts, and you can learn more at AJC.org/theforgottenexodus.  The views and opinions of our guests don't necessarily reflect the positions of AJC.  You can reach us at theforgottenexodus@ajc.org. If you've enjoyed this episode, please be sure to spread the word, and hop onto Apple Podcasts or Spotify to rate us and write a review to help more listeners find us.

The multi-award-winning, chart-topping Jewish podcast, The Forgotten Exodus, is back for season two.  The world has overlooked an important episode in modern history: the 800,000 Jews who left or were driven from their homes in the Middle East and North Africa in the mid-20th century to forge new lives for themselves and future generations.  The Forgotten Exodus, a limited podcast series by American Jewish Committee (AJC), explores the critical lessons we can learn from this pivotal moment and the little-known Jewish heritage of the Middle East and North Africa. As Jews around the world confront rising antisemitism, hear five new stories of Mizrahi and Sephardi courage, perseverance, and resilience from this transformative and tumultuous period of history for the Jewish people. The world has ignored them. We will not.  Season 2 premieres August 26, 2024.  New episodes will be released weekly. Subscribe wherever you listen to your favorite podcasts. ___ Show Notes: AJC.org/Podcasts Theme song credit: Pond5; Composer: Mayson; ID#279780040 Transcript: MANYA BRACHEAR PASHMAN: The world has forgotten them, but we will not: the 800,000 Jews who left or were driven from their homes in the Middle East and North Africa in the mid-20th century. American Jewish Committee presents the second season of its award-winning podcast, The Forgotten Exodus. As Jews around the world confront antisemitism, this season explores how Jews lived among their Arab neighbors until they no longer safely could.   HEN MAZZIG: They completely destroyed the Tunis Jewish quarter and my family decided to leave. MANYA: Others sought new paths, only to discover the homes they left behind did not always welcome them back. When countries turned hostile toward Jews, many sought refuge in Israel, to their ancestral homeland. HEN: And they took whatever they had left. And they got on a boat coming to Israel. To a place where they are going to be protected. MANYA: Whether they landed in Israel or elsewhere in the diaspora, these Jews forged new lives for themselves and future generations. Join Hen Mazzig, Adiel Cohen, and others as we remember The Forgotten Exodus.  

Cairo's synagogues shed new light on the transformation Egyptian society and its Jewish community underwent from 1875 to the present. Sacred Places Tell Tales: Jewish Life and Heritage in Modern Cairo (U Pennsylvania Press, 2024) is the previously untold history of Egyptian Jewry and the ways in which Cairo's synagogues historically functioned as active institutions in the social lives of these Jews. Historian Yoram Meital interprets Cairo's synagogues as exquisite storytellers. The synagogues still stand in Cairo, and they shed new light on the social, cultural, and political processes that Egyptian society and the Jews underwent from 1875 to the present. Studying old and new synagogues in the Egyptian capital, their locations, the items they stored, and the range of religious and nonreligious activities they hosted reveals the social heterogeneity and the diverse ways in which modern Jewish sociocultural identity was constructed within Cairo's Sephardi, Ashkenazi, and Karaite communities. Meital contends that studying the congregations and the social services provided in synagogues reveals the local Jewish community's customs, cultural preferences, socioeconomic gaps, and class divisions. Sacred Places Tell Tales narrates not only the past but also the unprecedented transformations that have occurred in recent years in Egypt. While only a handful of Jews live in Egypt, the preservation of Jewish heritage, first and foremost synagogues and cemeteries, enjoy a growing interest in public discourse and popular culture. This new desire to preserve Jewish heritage is inseparable from the ongoing public debate about Egyptian society, its characteristics, and its identity, past and present. By contextualizing Jewish heritage preservation in a longer Egyptian and Jewish history, Meital opens a window into one of the most significant political discussions dividing Egyptian society today. If you'd like to see the Ben Ezra Synagogue, you can on YouTube.  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/new-books-network

Cairo's synagogues shed new light on the transformation Egyptian society and its Jewish community underwent from 1875 to the present. Sacred Places Tell Tales: Jewish Life and Heritage in Modern Cairo (U Pennsylvania Press, 2024) is the previously untold history of Egyptian Jewry and the ways in which Cairo's synagogues historically functioned as active institutions in the social lives of these Jews. Historian Yoram Meital interprets Cairo's synagogues as exquisite storytellers. The synagogues still stand in Cairo, and they shed new light on the social, cultural, and political processes that Egyptian society and the Jews underwent from 1875 to the present. Studying old and new synagogues in the Egyptian capital, their locations, the items they stored, and the range of religious and nonreligious activities they hosted reveals the social heterogeneity and the diverse ways in which modern Jewish sociocultural identity was constructed within Cairo's Sephardi, Ashkenazi, and Karaite communities. Meital contends that studying the congregations and the social services provided in synagogues reveals the local Jewish community's customs, cultural preferences, socioeconomic gaps, and class divisions. Sacred Places Tell Tales narrates not only the past but also the unprecedented transformations that have occurred in recent years in Egypt. While only a handful of Jews live in Egypt, the preservation of Jewish heritage, first and foremost synagogues and cemeteries, enjoy a growing interest in public discourse and popular culture. This new desire to preserve Jewish heritage is inseparable from the ongoing public debate about Egyptian society, its characteristics, and its identity, past and present. By contextualizing Jewish heritage preservation in a longer Egyptian and Jewish history, Meital opens a window into one of the most significant political discussions dividing Egyptian society today. If you'd like to see the Ben Ezra Synagogue, you can on YouTube.  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/history

Cairo's synagogues shed new light on the transformation Egyptian society and its Jewish community underwent from 1875 to the present. Sacred Places Tell Tales: Jewish Life and Heritage in Modern Cairo (U Pennsylvania Press, 2024) is the previously untold history of Egyptian Jewry and the ways in which Cairo's synagogues historically functioned as active institutions in the social lives of these Jews. Historian Yoram Meital interprets Cairo's synagogues as exquisite storytellers. The synagogues still stand in Cairo, and they shed new light on the social, cultural, and political processes that Egyptian society and the Jews underwent from 1875 to the present. Studying old and new synagogues in the Egyptian capital, their locations, the items they stored, and the range of religious and nonreligious activities they hosted reveals the social heterogeneity and the diverse ways in which modern Jewish sociocultural identity was constructed within Cairo's Sephardi, Ashkenazi, and Karaite communities. Meital contends that studying the congregations and the social services provided in synagogues reveals the local Jewish community's customs, cultural preferences, socioeconomic gaps, and class divisions. Sacred Places Tell Tales narrates not only the past but also the unprecedented transformations that have occurred in recent years in Egypt. While only a handful of Jews live in Egypt, the preservation of Jewish heritage, first and foremost synagogues and cemeteries, enjoy a growing interest in public discourse and popular culture. This new desire to preserve Jewish heritage is inseparable from the ongoing public debate about Egyptian society, its characteristics, and its identity, past and present. By contextualizing Jewish heritage preservation in a longer Egyptian and Jewish history, Meital opens a window into one of the most significant political discussions dividing Egyptian society today. If you'd like to see the Ben Ezra Synagogue, you can on YouTube.  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/jewish-studies

Cairo's synagogues shed new light on the transformation Egyptian society and its Jewish community underwent from 1875 to the present. Sacred Places Tell Tales: Jewish Life and Heritage in Modern Cairo (U Pennsylvania Press, 2024) is the previously untold history of Egyptian Jewry and the ways in which Cairo's synagogues historically functioned as active institutions in the social lives of these Jews. Historian Yoram Meital interprets Cairo's synagogues as exquisite storytellers. The synagogues still stand in Cairo, and they shed new light on the social, cultural, and political processes that Egyptian society and the Jews underwent from 1875 to the present. Studying old and new synagogues in the Egyptian capital, their locations, the items they stored, and the range of religious and nonreligious activities they hosted reveals the social heterogeneity and the diverse ways in which modern Jewish sociocultural identity was constructed within Cairo's Sephardi, Ashkenazi, and Karaite communities. Meital contends that studying the congregations and the social services provided in synagogues reveals the local Jewish community's customs, cultural preferences, socioeconomic gaps, and class divisions. Sacred Places Tell Tales narrates not only the past but also the unprecedented transformations that have occurred in recent years in Egypt. While only a handful of Jews live in Egypt, the preservation of Jewish heritage, first and foremost synagogues and cemeteries, enjoy a growing interest in public discourse and popular culture. This new desire to preserve Jewish heritage is inseparable from the ongoing public debate about Egyptian society, its characteristics, and its identity, past and present. By contextualizing Jewish heritage preservation in a longer Egyptian and Jewish history, Meital opens a window into one of the most significant political discussions dividing Egyptian society today. If you'd like to see the Ben Ezra Synagogue, you can on YouTube.  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/middle-eastern-studies

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Today's Talmud pages, Bava Metzia 95 and 96, stress the important of building strong, cohesive communities. Jason Guberman, Executive Director of the American Sephardi Federation, joins us to speak about a true coming-together of community a star-studded Sephardi film festival. Are these films here to change the way we look at how Jews are represented on screen? Listen and find out.

Hadar Cohen is an Arab Jewish scholar, mystic and artist. She teaches spirituality and Jewish mysticism at Malchut, a mystical school teaching direct experience of God, creates art focused on shifting societal narratives, such as Prostrations and The Selichot Project, and writes about Judaism through the lens of intersectional feminism, as seen in her Feminism All Night project. She joins Lex Rofeberg for a conversation conversation about her upcoming UnYeshiva class, which delves into the cultures, traditions, and stories that make Sephardi and Mizrahi communities unique.There are some amazing mini-course offerings beginning at the end of April in the UnYeshiva. Check out these classes at www.judaismunbound.com/classes!Access full shownotes for this episode via this link. If you're enjoying Judaism Unbound, please help us keep things going with a one-time or monthly tax-deductible donation -- support Judaism Unbound by clicking here!