Les Juifs de Rhodes rattrapés par la Shoah

Les Juifs de Rhodes rattrapés par la Shoah

 

Joël Kotek

Pour comprendre la destruction des Juifs de Rhodes un détour par l'Italie s'impose. Rhodes dans l'entre-deux -guerres n'est pas encore grecque. Les traités de la Première Guerre mondiale l'ont rattachée, avec ses consoeurs du Dodécanèse, au royaume d'Italie : rattachement de bonne augure pour les Juifs de l'île quand on sait le peu d'intérêt que l'Italie porte ou portera, sous les fascistes, à la question juive. A lire l'historien Meir Michaelis, l'antisémitisme y fut toujours perçu comme une fausse note culturelle. A cela plusieurs raisons : les Juifs étaient relativement peu nombreux et assimilés, surtout, Mussolini ne partageait en rien les phobies antisémites du caporal autrichien. 

De là, à prétendre que tout fut rose pour les Juifs sous le fascisme, il n'y a qu'un pas que l'on se fardera de franchir. Pour preuve, précisément, le cas de Rhodes. La nomination, en décembre 1936, de l'ultra fasciste Mario de Vecchi di Val Cismon au poste de Gouverneur des îles du Dodécanèse fut une véritable catastrophe pour les Juifs de l'île aux roses. Non content de fermer leur collège rabbinique, de les obliger à travailler le samedi et jours de fêtes, de Vecchi alla jusqu'à utiliser des stèles du cimetière pour la construction de sa villa. Tandis que ses prédécesseurs avaient pour habitude de rendre hommage aux juifs en visitant leurs synagogues le jour de Rosh Hashanah, de Vecchi les obligea à lui rendre visite ce jour saint. La situation empira avec l'adoption, en septembre 1938, des premières lois antisémites italiennes. Quoique promulguées sans grande conviction, ces lois n'en furent 
pas moins adoptées sans réelle ingérence allemande, sinon dans le cadre d'un rapprochement avec le Reich. Les Juifs étaient séparés du reste de la population italienne. On se doute qu'antisémite convaincu de Vecchi veilla à l'application stricte de la nouvelle législation : il interdit l'abattage rituel, ferma l'école publique aux juifs ; plaça les établissements sous contrôle gouvernemental. Plus grave encore, il ordonna l'expulsion des "nouveaux" Juifs de Rhodes, c'est-à-dire ceux des juifs qui s'étaient installés dans l'île après janvier 1919, date de l'incorporation du Dodécanèse dans la couronne italienne. Il fallut 
l'intervention de l'Alliance Israélite Universelle pour sortir de l'impasse. Intervenant directement auprès de Mussolini, elle réussit à démontrer en quoi ces Juifs jouissaient également de la citoyenneté italienne, du fait du traité de Lausanne. Sauvés mais traumatisés., nombreux furent ceux qui choisir le chemin de l'exil pour le Congo, Tanger, Naples ou, via l'alya beth, la 
Palestine, etc. La Shoah n'allaient pas tarder à happer leurs coreligionnaires restés sur place. 

Jusqu'à la déclaration de guerre rien ne semblait vraiment menacer les juifs d'Italie. La situation était difficile mais, comme souvent chez les fascistes, une grande dose d'incompétence réduisit sérieusement l'efficacité des directives antisémites. Voire, a contrario, elle poussa les Italiens, épuisés et de plus en plus méfiants vis à vis des Allemands, à faire obstruction à la politique de 
persécution et de déportation dans les régions qu'ils occupaient, de la France à la Croatie en passant par la Grèce. En ce qui concerne le cas de Rhodes, le sort des Juifs s'améliora, paradoxalement, en avril 1942, suite au départ de Vecchi. Tandis qu'à l'Est, la solution finale battait son plein, le nouveau Gouverneur, l'Amiral Campione, revit non seulement la politique antisémite de prédécesseur mais n'hésita pas à manifester sa sympathie à l'égard des juifs. La plupart des mesures antisémites furent rapportées. A l'écart des grandes routes de la shoah, dont ils ignoraient l'existence par ailleurs, les juifs de Rhodes se croyaient à  l'abri : les quatorze victimes juives d'un bombardement allié n'y changèrent rien. 

Il va sans dire que du point de vue allemand, l'attitude d'un Campione (comme du gouvernement fasciste, plus généralement) était inacceptable, sinon incompréhensible. Dans l'Europe entière, on arrêtait, on déportait les Juifs sauf dans les territoires contrôlés  par leurs… alliés italiens. Le 13 janvier 1943, l'ambassadeur l'Allemagne à Rome fut prié par Ribbentrop de rappeler au Ministre italien des Affaires étrangères qu'aux yeux de l'Allemagne les juifs italiens n'enrestaient pas moins des juifs. En mai 1943, des officiels allemands se plaignaient toujours de ce que le gouvernement italien ne "s'intéressait pas" à la question juive". Les 
Italiens qui ne voulaient pas entendre parler d'extermination, tirent bon. Le Statut des Juifs resta pratiquement tabou dans les  négociations germano-italienne tant que dura l'axe Rome-Berlin. 

La chute du Duce, le 25 juillet 1943, allait remettre les pendules (nazies) à l'heure. Les Allemands, réagissant à la vitesse de l'éclair, occupèrent aussitôt l'Italie. Rien n'allait plus arrêter les Allemands. Le destin des Juifs de Rhodes était désormais scellé. 
Eux qui se croyaient tirés d'affaire étaient prisonniers d'une incroyable souricière. Dès septembre 1943, les allemands  débarquaient à Rhodes où étaient stationnées des forces italiennes supérieures en nombre. 
Les juifs constituaient une cible idéale : totalement isolés du reste du monde (privé qu'ils étaient depuis 1941 de leurs postes de  radio), ils ignoraient tout de l'anéantissement de leurs frères continentaux. Les Allemands firent tout pour ne pas éveiller les 
soupçons. Ce ne fut qu'en juin 1944 que débarquèrent à Rhodes les deux officiers SS chargés de "liquider" la communauté juive  de Rhodes : le 13 juin, l'île était désignée comme point de rassemblement pour l'ensemble des juifs du Dodécanèses. Le 19 juillet, 
l'ordre fut donné aux hommes juifs de plus de 16 ans de se présenter, dès le lendemain matin, à la Gestapo aux fins de  recensement. Non seulement les nazis ne leur rendirent pas leurs papiers mais ils furent informés qu'ils allaient être tous être  déportés, avec femmes et enfants, dans une île voisine. Sous peine d'exécution immédiate, ils s'entendirent priés de revenir dès le 
lendemain, accompagnés de leur famille et munis de leurs.. objets de valeur. N'étaient-ils pas supposé vivre désormais de leurs  économies ? Inconscients du danger, la presque totalité des Juifs de Rhodes - soit 1.700 hommes, femmes et enfants - accepta de  se rendre dans un camp provisoire dans l'attente du départ. Le 23 juillet, tandis que les responsables locaux, italiens et allemands,  se disputaient le butin qu'ils laissaient derrière eux, les Juifs furent effectivement embarqués dans de petits bateaux. D'une autre  île, il n'était point question. Arrivés au Priée le 31 juillet 1944, ils furent d'abord acheminés vers le camp de concentration de  Haydar prés d'Athènes. De là, exactement le 3 août 1944, ils furent entassés dans des wagons à bestiaux pour Auschwitz. C'est à  la mi-août, dans un état d'épuisement terrible, qu'il arrivèrent au centre d'extermination, distant de près de 1.600 kilomètres de leur  île natale. Sur les 1.700 déportés, 32 périrent durant le voyage, 1 145 furent exterminés dès leur arrivé, 437 succombèrent dans 
les camps de travail. En mai 1945 à la libération de l'île par les troupes britanniques, il ne restait plus qu'une poignée de Juifs. Sur  les 1700 déportés de Rhodes, il n'y eut que 151 survivants. 

A l'instar de centaines d'autres, la communauté juive de Rhodes fut emportée à jamais dans la tourmente nazie. Si physiquement  cette communauté n'est plus, une Rhodes immatérielle subsiste toujours intacte dans la mémoire dispersée de ses survivants et de  leurs descendants. Un grand nombre d'entre eux sont établis aujourd'hui en Belgique. 

THE SEFARDIC JEWS TO AMERICA, 17TH CENTURY

LEGHORN: CENTER OF IMMIGRATION OF THE SEFARDIC JEWS TO AMERICA, 17TH CENTURY

Mordechai Arbell

When we follow the history of the first Jewish settlement in the Americas, noticeable is the important role played by Jews from Leghorn (Livorno, Liorna) in those settlements as well as the central place this port had in Jewish emigration to the new continent. Deep in the jungle of Surinam, in the oldest Jewish cemetery there (17th century) — Cassipoera — on a hill where Jews had settled before moving to a better place in the nearby area called until today "The Jewish Savanna," we find the tombstone of Abraham Mendes Vaiz:

Sepultura de bem aventurado e 
virtuozo de Abraham Mendez Vaiz, 
nacido en Liorneno, Anno de 5458, 
que corresponde a Anno 1697 e 
apreparon em su vida da ydade de 64 Annos.

In the poems by the famous Sefardi poet Daniel (Miguel) Levi de Barrios, we find the autobiographical description of his voyage, in 1659, with a group of Jews from Leghorn to the island of Tobago in the Caribbean where his wife Debora died. We also find that in Amsterdam, a representative of the Leghorn Jews, Paulo Jacomo Pinto, started negotiating in 1658 and 1659 with directors of the company founded by the three Walchern cities of Flushing, Middelburg, and Vere in the Netherlands for the settlement of Leghorn Jews in the New Dutch colony "Nova Zeelandia" on the Pomeroon river in the region of Essequibo, today the Republic of Guiana, and with the Dutch West India Company (Amsterdam) for settlement of Jews from Leghorn in the Dutch colony on the island of Cayenne, today French Guyana. Finally, in the archives Archivo General de Indias, in Seville, we can find documents of a Jewish settlement on the Venezuelan coast, Tucacas, settled by Jews from Leghorn in 1693. It is interesting to see why Leghorn was such a center of immigration to the Americas, how this was carried out, and what happened to those settlers in the new continents. Leghorn, ruled by the Medici family, was distinctly exceptional in its attitude to Jewish settlement there. In 1548 Cosimo I issued an invitation to foreigners to settle in Leghorn, in which conversos from Spain and Portugal could be included. This move was made by the Medicis when it was decided to make Leghorn an important international port, especially after the port of Piza became sand blocked. A more explicit invitation was issued by Ferdinand I on 10 June 1593 in which he guaranteed full religious liberty, the right to obtain Tuscan citizenship, civil and partly criminal jurisdiction among Jews, the right to own property, and the understanding that conversos could return to Judaism unmolested. In 1675 Leghorn, with the status of a free port, grew in importance. This attracted Jews of Spanish origin from North Africa and the Ottoman Empire, and also conversos from Portugal. There were 114 Jews in Leghorn in 1601 and approximately 3,000 in 1689. Portuguese and Spanish became the languages of Jews in Leghorn. The interchange between Leghorn and North Africa was one of the most important elements of the Leghorn trade. Jews from North Africa formed centers in Leghorn and Jews from Leghorn formed a special community of their own in Tunis in 1685. They were called "Gorni." The exodus of Jews from Oran, Algeria, started upon the Spanish occupation in 1509 and led to an increase in the Jewish population of Leghorn. The Spaniards, found Jews in Oran who had taken refuge there after the 1391 anti-Jewish massacres in Spain. In order not to move again, many of them had to convert to Christianity and the Inquisition followed those conversos until the Marquis de los Velez, governor of Oran, called in 1667 for the Inquisition to expel all Jews from Oran, including the conversos who had gradually returned to Judaic practices. Most of them settled in Leghorn where they joined the Oran Jews already there. On arrival in Leghorn, those immigrants from Oran who had been living as conversos returned to Judaism. This journey from Oran is described by the poet Miguel de Barrios, an officer in the Spanish army, and stationed in the fortress Mers el Kebir near Oran, who after reconversion was called Daniel Levi de Barrios: Murio en Argel mi querida Madre Sara, 
y mi Padre — en mi patria rigurosa [Spain] 
Mis hermanos Francisco, Antonio y Clara: 
Yazen debajo de Argelista Loja.... 
[In Leghorn] a mi tia Raquel Coen de Sosa 
devo la primer luz de la Ley pura 
y anadie de Israel la misteriosa 
lumbre que sigo en los pasos de Escritura 
la vision de Ezequel maravillosa... Those new arrivals from Oran had difficulties in adapting themselves to their new situation and welcomed the opportunity to find possibilities for livelihood in the American continent. The provinces of Nederlands, anxious to find colonists for their new colonies in America, saw the Jews in Leghorn as a very good colonizing human element. This is very well described by Charles Longland, the English agent in Leghorn in his report to the English secretary of state, John Thurloe (1657): It seems that the States of Holland are making a plantation between Surinam and Cartagena in the West Indies, wherein they go very wisely and politikly to work, aiming chiefly at a trade there with the Spanyard: for which purpose they have sent hether to invyte many families of Jews and granted them many privileges and immunities. Spanish is become now the Jews mother tongue, not only in these parts, but throughout the Turkish dominions. In which respect they will be very useful to the Dutch in their plantation; and many opportunities may present them to converse with the Spanyard...for which purpose they were sending thither twenty five families of Jews. It is difficult to establish which colony was meant by Longland — "between Surinam and Cartagena" — but the Dutch planned and settled two colonies in the same year in which they counted on Jewish settlers. One on the island of Cayenne, part of which is today French Guyana, and the other beside the Pomeroon river — in a settlement called New Middleburg beside the fortress of Nova Zeelandia in the colony of Essequibo — today the Republic of Guiana. The two settlements were to be settled by Jewish evacuees from Dutch Brazil who had to abandon it after the Portuguese occupation — 1654. Those settlers had experience in sugar cultivation, refining and marketing, and also in growing and producing vanilla, indigo, and other tropical products. They also had experience with the tropical environment and had become used to it. They were to be reinforced by Jews from Leghorn. The representative of the Leghorn Jews in Amsterdam, Paulo Jacomo Pinto, negotiated the transportation and conditions for those new Leghorn settlers. According to the conclusions reached, the first group had to first pass through Zeeland, Netherlands, and from there proceed to Pomeroon; the same was true for the second group, compromising 120 souls. For some enigmatic reasons, maybe vested interests of the Dutch companies, they were landed on the island of Tobago and left there, "reduced to poverty and misfortune." The situation in Tobago was disastrous. The first successful Tobago settlement was founded in 1652 by 80 Latvian Courlander families in what is known today as the "Great Courland Bay" named Jekabspills. In 1654 a shipload of 50 Dutch Zeelanders established themselves on the opposite side of the island and named the island "New Walchern." Curiously enough the two settlements remained unaware of each other's existence for quite some time. Carib Indians living between the two settlements raided them and drove them to the exhaustion of their manpower and resources, despite occasional reinforcements. The Dutch and the Courlanders fought each other for complete control of the island. It was into that situation that the Leghorn settlers arrived in Tobago. Notwithstanding, on 20 July 1660, an additional 152 Leghorn Jews left Leghorn destined for Cayenne and were landed in Tobago. One of the passengers was Daniel (Miguel) Levi de Barrios, mentioned previously. He wrote: El 20 de Julio de 1660, que fue el ayuno de 9 de Av, Miguel y su esposa se embaracaron en Liorna en la nave — Monte del Cisne —con 152 correligionarios. Pensaban probar fortunas en el Nuevo Mundo. Apenas llegaron de Tobago, colonia hollandesa en aquel entonces. Se le murio la esposa. En esta isla recibio sepultura. The Leghorn Jews of Tobago finally found their way off the island. Some went back to Amsterdam, the others reached their original destinations — Cayenne and Pomeroon during 1660–1661. The Dutch States General formed a Dutch colony on the island of Cayenne — today French Guyana. This colony was passed over to the control of the Dutch West India Company. One of its most specific objectives was to attract Jewish settlers experienced in dealing with tropical products. One of the refugees from Dutch Brazil negotiated with the company a grant of liberties and exemptions (12 Sept. 1659) for a Jewish Colony on the island of Cayenne. Paragraph 1 states that David Nassy and his partners are to be Patroon and Patroons of a colony...provided they do not extend so far as to interfere with other settlers. We understand from this section that the company's intention was to have an exclusively Jewish settlement. The Jews situated themselves on the western side of the island in a place called Remire or Irmire. The place is described by J. Bellin, geographer of that period, as "the most smiling and the most fertile region of the island." The Jews planted sugar cane, erected a sugar mill, produced colors from indigo and roucou, and tried to experiment with various tropical products. Protected by a fort, the settlement had an orderly community life with its own rules and regulations. The success of Remire was due to gradually improving relations with the local Indians, the successful sugar plant, and "a successful commerce carried on with those of their nation and others." The historian Ternaux-Compans describes Remire by saying: "David Nasi and his compatriots were joined by persons of the same religion who had quit Leghorn and devoted themselves to the cultivation of the earth. On 26 February 1664, a French fleet of five vessels and 1,200 colonists arrived in Cayenne. The Dutch in Cayenne gave up without a fight on condition that the Jews would have free exercise of their religion, a step the granting of which was quite exceptional for the French. Still more than two-thirds of Remire Jews, estimated at some 300, trekked to Surinam, then still English, and settled in what is known until today as the Jewish Savanna. This explains why near there, in the old cemetery in Casipoera we can find tombstones of people born in Leghorn. The remaining third of Remire Jews was taken by a British force that occupied the place in 1667 and destroyed it completely to either Surinam or Barbados, where the Jews were needed in the English sugar industry,. As for Pomeroon, here there was no intention of establishing an exclusively Jewish settlement. Yet, a large part of the population of New Middelburg, 50–60 families, was Jewish. Very attractive financial conditions and purchases on credit were given to the new settlers. The Jewish settlers were given special rights — unprecedented in other regions of the world — in the document: "Privileges granted to the people of the Hebrew Nation that are to go to the Wild Coast — August 20, 1660, " the Wild Coast being in those times the term for the region between the Amazon River and the Orinoco River. Among the articles we find: "Liberty of conscience is granted with the exercise of laws and ceremonies according to the doctrines of their ancients, and 
to have synagogues, schools, and burial ground according to their fashion." (Article 1) 
"Sabbath and Holydays will be observed and they [the Jews] shall not be obliged to appear in court nor have guard duty 
except if God forbid it should be of urgent necessity." (Article 2) 
"The Hebrews shall be admitted as Burgezes of Zeeland." (Article 3)

The settlement grew in importance at a brisk pace. Its very fine sugar production hit the Netherlands market and a great demand developed for it. The English commander of Surinam, Gen. Byam, wrote in his journal: "...but the greatest of all the Dutch ever had in America was Bawroom [Pauroma, Pomeroon] — a most flourishing colony 16 leagues leeward of Essequibo." The success of the Pomeroon Colony was of short duration. The British holding Surinam were anxious to eliminate the neighboring Dutch colonies and started to attack them with force. General Byam described it: "9 Dec. 1665 Major John Scott commissioned by his Excellency Francis Lord Willoughby of Parham, with a small fleet and upward of 300 men took the Dutch Fort and Colony of Bawrooma [Pomeroon]." Scott destroyed the forts and plundered and burned the houses of the inhabitants. Most of the Jewish settlers sailed for the island of Curaçao. Curaçao, called the "mother of the Jewish communities in the Caribbean," was the center of Jewish life in the area, and the majority of its population of 4,000 consisted of Spanish-Portuguese Jews. The arrival of the Pomeroon Jews came during a period of crisis in Curaçao. One of the highest ranking Dutch administrators, Balthazar Beck, had a irreconcilable hatred of the Jews, who called him "The Second Haman." He tried his best to make Jewish life in Curaçao miserable. This situation, aggravated by a cholera epidemic, made life very difficult for the newcomers. The cantor of the Jewish community of Curaçao in the second half of the 19th century found the following in the synagogue archives: In the year 1693 a party of Hebrews about ninety, left Curaçao and set sail for America. These families established themselves in Newport....In the same year another number of Israelites left Curaçao for Venezuela. The majority of these, however, were Italians...emigrated from Leghorn...[who] came to Curaçao from where they went to Tucacas [Venezuela], where they established and formed themselves into a congregation. This finding was met with skepticism by many historians, as it was quite improbable that Jews could settle in territories governed by Spain and there was almost no other mention of this congregation's archives. A more thorough investigation in the Spanish colonial archives enabled us to complete the story of these Leghorn Jews. In 1714, José Francisco de Canas, Spanish governor of Caracas, reported to the king: In the first years of the eighteenth century the Dutch established themselves on the key of Tucacas. This place became a major center of smuggling to the people in the valley of Barquisimiento, Barinas, Turiamo, Coro, and even including Santa Fe [Bogotà, Colombia], and Quito [Ecuador]." The Jews participated actively in the settlement, where they have built houses, raised cattle, constructed a fortress and even a synagogue ...At the same time they inform [Dutch] Curaçao about the activities of the Spanish authorities. This fortified enclave of Tucacas was a center for the purchase and export of agricultural produce, mainly cacao, and the import of good from Europe. This competed with the Spanish colonial government which, owing to the lack of shipping, had difficulty in dealing with import and export.Different attempts by the Spanish authorities in 1710 and in 1712 to capture the settlement failed, as a result of an insufficient number of soldiers and the enmity of the local population who were interested in the commerce with the Tucacas Jews. The president of the Jewish community, which was called "Santas Irmandad," Samuel Hebreo (Samuel Gradis Gabay), also held the title of "señor de las Tucacas." At the end of 1717 the province of Venezuela became part of the viceroyalty of Nueva Granada. In November 1720 a special judge, Pedro José de Olavarriaga, was named commissioner against the contraband trade. He had a special army force and forty ships to attack Tucacas. In his report to the king, the viceroy Jorge de Villalonga wrote, "The synagogue which the Jews had erected on the mainland was destroyed, together with the other houses, and the intruders retreated to the key of Paiclos. Olavarriaga himself was imprisoned in 1721. At his trial most of the witnesses had a different story which coincided with the account given by one of them, Juan José de Varrios: "The inhabitants burned their own houses in Tucacas and left for Curaçao," and the witness Juan Salgado confirmed that "the inhabitants burned their houses and twelve to fourteen ships left for Curaçao." The descendants of the Jews from Leghorn settled in Curaçao and are today part of the Jewish community there. The Leghorn Jews of Cayenne are today part of the community of Surinam. In both places, Surinam and Curaçao, they have lost their identity as Italianos, and identify with the community at large. * 1 Fred Oudschans Dentz, "Wat er overbleef vom het kerkhof en de Synagogue van de Joden-Savanne in Suriname," WIG, vol. 29 (1948), p. 218. 
2 Mordechai Arbell, "The Failure of the Jewish Settlement in the Island of Tobago," in Judaica Latinoamericana, III (1997), 9–16, and Kenneth Scholberg, 
La poesia religiosa de Miguel de Barrios, Columbus, Ohio (1962), p. 10. 
3 P. M. Netsher, Geschiedenis van de Kolonien Essequibo, Demerary en Berbice, The Hague (1888), p. 73, and Mordechai Arbell, "The Jewish Settlement in 
Pomeroon/Pauroma (Guyana) 1657–1666," Revue des etudes Juive, vol. 154 (July–Dec. 1995), pp. 343–361. 
4 David Nassi and friends, Historical Essay on the Colony of Surinam, Paramaribo, Surinam (1788), p. 183. 
5 Mordechai Arbell, "Rediscovering Tucacas," in American Jewish Archives, vol. 48 (1996), pp. 35–43. 
6 Encyclopaedia Judaica, vol. 10, page 1571. 
7 Ibid., 1572. 
8 Encyclopedia Judaica Castellana, (1950), vol. 8, P. 201. 
9 Daniel Levi de Barrios, in Triumphal carro de la mayor perfecion, Amsterdam: 1682, pp. 632–633. 
10 Adam Anderson, Origins of Commerce, London: 1790, vol. 2, p. a585; David MacPherson, Annals of Commerce, London: 1805, v. 2, p. 472. 
11 Proceedings of the committee for the three Walchern cities Middleburg, Flushing, and Vere, the colony of "Nova Zeelandia" 1658–1663, in the 
Reijkarchief—West Indian Papers—24 February 1659. 
12 Samuel Oppenheim, "An Early Jewish Colony in Western Guiana 1658–1666 and Its Relations to the Jews in Surinam, Cayenne and Tobago," in 
Publications of the American Jewish Historical Society, no. 16 (1908), pp. 57, 67. 
13 Scholberg, "La poesia religiosa," p. 10. 
14 Jan Jacob Hartsink, Beschryving van Guiana, Amsterdam: 1770, p. 940. 
15 J. Bellin, "Description geographique de la Guayane, contenant les possession, les establissement de Francois, Les Espagnoles, Les Portugais, les Hollandais 
dans ces vastes pays," Paris: 1763, p. 16. 
16 Jean Baptist Labat, Voyage de Chevalier de Marchais en Guinée et Cayenne, Amsterdam: 1725, p. 99. 
17 H. Ternaux-Compans, "Notice Historique sur le Guyane francaise," Paris: 1843, p. 66. 
18 Jean Baptiste du Tertre, Histoire generale des Antilles habitées par les Francais, Paris: 1667, v. 3, 0p. 34. 
19 Hague Rijksarchief, West India Papers published by Samuel Oppenheim in Appendix I of "Early Jewish Colony...," Publications of the American Jewish 
Historical Society, vol. 16 (1909), p. 168. 
20 Lieut. Gen. Byam's Journal of Guyana from 1665 to 1667: An exact narrative of the State of Guyana as it stood Anno 1665, British Museum, Sloane MS 
No. 3.662 fol. 27. 
21 Ibid. 
22 Joseph Corcos, A Synopsis of the History of the Jews of Curaçao, Curaçao: 1897, pp. 16–18. 
23 Archivo General de Indias, Seville (Santo Domingo), December 9, 1714, document 715. 
24 Archivo General de Indias, Seville (Santo Domingo), document 759 of September, October, November 1720. 
25 Celestino Andres Arausz Monfante, El ContrabandoHollandes en el Caribe durante la primera mitad del siglo XVIII, Caracas: 1984, p. 199. 
26 Jorge de Villalonga to the King, Cartagena de Indias, March 7, 1721, Archivo General de Indias (Santo Domingo) document 761. 
27 Archivo General de Indias (Santo Domingo), October 8, 1727, document 759, pp. 656–668. 
*

CRONICAS BOREALES

Ricardo Mateo Durand

Entre los dias 9 y 16 de mayo ppdos. -de domingo a domingo- en Tartu (Estonia), se llevo a cabo "El Festival de Musica Antigua", que congrego a conjuntos nacionales estonios y similares venidos de Alemania, Dinamarca, Espanya, Finlandia, Marruecos, Rusia, Suecia y Suiza. 

La parte marroqui estuvo representada por el duo Al Tarob, integrado por Abdalazis Samsaqui y por Otman Almerabet. Ellos, asentados en el sur de La Peninsula Iberica, interpretaron piezas instrumentalizadas y vocalizadas de su pais natal. Junto al mencionado duo Al Tarob, en la presentacion del viernes 14, las espanyolas Ana Isabel Arnaz y Amaya Oliver -constituyendo el "Proyecto Sepharad"- dentro de su repertorio incluyeron un par de canciones sefardies: "La Rosa Enflorece" y "El Rey Nimrod", que fueron acogidas y festejadas con calida simpatia y prolongado aplauso del publico. Asi, el "Proyecto Sepharad" se concreto en esas dos canciones del acervo musical sefardi. 

Aprovechando las circunstancias, en el marco del mismo evento y en el Aula del Museo de Historia de la Universidad de Tartu - que ocupa el edificio mas antiguo de Tartu y se halla en la Colina de Toome, lugar legendario por excelencia de la ciudad- el dia 15 se congrego un auditorio de unas 40 personas (numero nada despreciable tratandose de sabado y de primavera) para oir la charla titulada "Los judios espanyoles y los sefardies: historia y cultura", que refirio quien estas lineas escribe. La disertacion concluyo con la lectura de composiciones de Margalit Matitiahu. 

Como nota curiosa complementaria diremos que esa misma noche recibimos la llamada de un miembro de la comunidad ashkenazi a fin de coordinar un futuro conversatorio para su asociacion, lo que naturalmente fue aceptado con satisfaccion por nosotros. 

En el ambito de lo contingente -habida cuenta que contamos solo con nuestro entusiasmo- hemos concebido con el doctor Salvador Santa Puche, de Yecla (Murcia-Espanya), quien seria el profesor visitante, la realizacion de un curso de sefardismo de un par de meses de duracion en la Universidad de Tartu, previsto fundamentalmente para universitarios y egresados de la especialidad de filologia espanyola. Las clases se llevarian a cabo en el anyo lectivo venidero de 1999-2000. 

Reports of 'death' exaggerated

Reports of 'death' exaggerated

Posted by Rabbi Michael Marmur

I have been absent from this column for months, working hard to deal with the challenges facing my institution, which is struggling along with just about every other institution in the world in the current economic atmosphere. What might have sparked me back into life in the blogosphere were the reported comments of Rabbi Norman Lamm, predicting the imminent demise of the Reform and Conservative streams of Judaism.

I have no idea, incidentally, if the very venerable Rabbi Lamm really said the things attributed to him in the Jerusalem Post article. Whoever did concoct the notion that non-Orthodox Judaism is on its last legs is guilty of an extreme case of wishful thinking. The truth is that there is ample and powerful evidence that a Judaism of meaning aimed at those for whom Orthodoxy is untenable, unpalatable or impossible is more urgently in demand today than ever before. What are suffering are many of the national institutions, the infrastructures of the movements and the seminaries. The prognosis offered in the name of Lamm is similar to concluding that since people no longer buy vinyl records, music is going out of fashion. The challenge for my institution, the Hebrew Union College, and for others like it, is to embrace a sustainable model of excellence in teaching and learning. Reform Judaism isn't dying - it's changing. That's what we Jews do best.

In any case, I had decided that reports of my extinction were not enough to shake me out of my torpor. Instead, it was two events in Israel which have roused me from my unseasonal hibernation. The first was the landmark decision of the Supreme Court regarding the validity of Reform and Conservative conversions. The decision represents an historic acknowledgement that there is more than one way to convert to Judaism. One of the great ironies of Jewish life in Israel is that the most pure and pious examples of conversion have been found in non-Orthodox circles. Those who choose to come to us have done so with no assurance that process would yield any benefits, and yet they decide to enter into a serious intellectual, experiential and spiritual commitment. Some politicians will do all they can to ensure that this decision is not carried out in the field. In the week in which the Book of Ruth is read, I hope that the just decision of the Supreme Court will be upheld.

The second story which prompted me to re-enter cyberspace is extremely grave. A law is being prepared which will outlaw the marking of the Nakba on our Day of Independence. If you are caught doing this, so the promulgators of this law want to establish, you may be subject to up to three years of incarceration.

Now for the last 25 years I have celebrated Independence Day as a citizen,with the traditional blend of pride, concern and indigestion. Whoever thinks that the way to preserve the values of a Jewish and democratic state is to clap you in irons if you think differently is (in my humble opinion) seriously in need of help. This is a hallucinatory proposal with dire results. I am curious to see if it is intended to apply it to opponents of the Zionist State from within the Ultra-Orthodox Jewish community. It probably won't be, but even if a policy of equal opportunity intolerance were to be employed, I would oppose this law. It is wrong, dangerous, counter-productive and no good will come of it. It does not protect our State, but it sullies the independence we are meant to be celebrating.

Right - I got that off my chest. Now back to my College's serious challenges, pausing only to remind our "well-wishers" that, to paraphrase Mark Twain, reports of the death of Liberal Judaism are exaggerated. What matters far more than inter-denominational triumphalism is the moral state of our State. Banning political protest will only bring darkness. Instead, we have to try and build a society in which Jews and Arabs can find the space they need, the rights they deserve, and the justice they crave. When we get there, that will be an Independence Day worth celebrating all year.

 

TODOS OS MEUS DIAS SÃO LINDOS

TODOS OS MEUS DIAS SÃO LINDOS                                   

 

 

 

Daqui por muitos anos

só espero

que ao saudarem-me

me desejem

que tenha um lindo

passado.

Porque todos os meus dias

são lindos.

Como os de quem morre depois da guerra.

A vida foi a melhor forma

que a natureza encontrou

para unir

o meu nascimento

à minha morte.

É a distância

que serve para me juntar

a mim mesmo.

Que interressa o fim

se não é final de nada.

Por isso, quero que

todas as flores dos campos

sejam para o meu futuro.

O verde dos prados,

o chilrear dos pássaros.

Os campos, os prados e os pássaros

foram sempre do meu tempo,

e fizeram-me concluir

que o único órgão

do meu corpo

que não pára de crescer

é o coração.

Se a qualidade

e a verdade vêm sempre ao-de-cima

será o último suspiro

de um homem

afinal

o seu melhor suspiro?

A última visão

a melhor paisagem?

Um homem só se pertence

se for ele mesmo

quem se vence...

Eu sou o somatório

de derrotas e vitórias,

as minhas e as de quem amo.

Dizer isto é imenso.

Mesmo que o som

da Física

tenha sempre a mesma velocidade,

e nenhuma  das palavras

ditas ao mesmo tempo

chegue ao infinito

antes da outra.

Os pássaros não voam,

lutam,

só eu os vejo voar.

E isso fascina-me

porque não voo,

senão, nem isso me

fascinava.

Só a felicidade de ser feliz.

Até os sinos que nem crêem em ninguém,

como a alma mais piedosa,

quando tocam

chegam ao céu.

 

 

 

Manuel Barreiro—in  Poemas Barrosões

Chapter 4, Mishna 1(a)

Pirkei Avos

Rabino Dovid Rosenfeld
Chapter 4, Mishna 1(a)

Jewish Macho "Ben (the son of) Zoma said: Who is wise? He who learns from all people, as it is said: 'From all those who taught me I gained understanding' (Psalms 119:99). Who is strong? He who conquers his evil inclination, as it is said: 'Better is one slow to anger than a strong man, and one who rules over his spirit than a conqueror of a city' (Proverbs 16:32). Who is rich? He who is satisfied with his lot, as it is said: 'When you eat the toil of your hands you are fortunate and it is good for you' (Psalms 128:2). 'You are fortunate' -- in this world; 'and it is good for you' -- in the World to Come. Who is honored? He who honors others, as it is said: 'For those who honor Me will I honor, and those who scorn Me will be degraded' (I Samuel 2:30)."
This week's mishna contains such sound words of wisdom, profound in their simplicity, that it hardly needs Dovid Rosenfeld's embellishments. But I have to earn my weekly paycheck, so here goes... (Actually, I do this for free. :-) (But I try to be rich according to our Mishna's definition (sigh).)
The author of our mishna is Shimon ben Zoma. He is referred to by his father's name alone because he died at an early age or without having received rabbinical ordination (Rashi, see also Talmud Chagiga 14b).
"Who is wise? He who learns from all people:" At its simplest level, the message is that one who seeks wisdom wherever it may be found is the one most likely to acquire it. He or she is willing to ask anyone and everyone. He is not so conscious of his own reputation as to refuse to "lower" himself to seek knowledge from someone not as important or credentialed as he. The Talmud writes that the Torah student who humiliates himself before others in order to understand the Torah (by asking his rabbi "stupid" questions and the like) will eventually be elevated on account of his Torah knowledge (Brachos 63b).
(As an Internet teacher, I know how many people begin their e-mails with: "I'm sure this is a stupid question, but..." or "I'm sure I should know this already, but..." Those are the ones who will not so long be "stupid". It's the ones too ashamed to admit their ignorance who will be forced to wallow in it.)
The commentator Rabbeinu Yonah writes further that when a person inquires wisdom of everyone, it indicates that he or she has a love of knowledge. His thirst will take him to every person and every place; it will not be quenched until he has drunk his fill. Such a person may be considered wise even before he has studied, since his desire will soon lead him on the direct path towards scholarship.
There is a deeper insight into ben Zoma's words. Why is learning from *everyone* so crucial for accomplishment in Torah? Isn't it true that some people just don't know as much as others? Should we really be spending time trying to glean bits of information from the unlearned when we would make much better use of our time studying ourselves or from our teachers?
The answer lies in the true understanding of the Torah's definition of wisdom. When G-d commanded us to study His Torah, it was not just a matter of memorizing dry facts and information. That could be gained from texts and book knowledge alone. We would never need to bother interacting with anyone else (thereby interrupting our own study time). Rather, Torah study at its highest level is the understanding of the application of the Torah's principles to real people and real life situations -- how do the Torah's eternal truths apply to the human condition. G-d's wisdom is eternal, yet no two people are precisely alike and relate to the Torah in precisely the same manner. Every one of us has his own perspective, his own life story, and his own unique personality. Each of us will see a slightly different message in the Torah, and will have his or her own fresh insight into its beauty and relevance.
Therefore, the Torah scholar cannot really understand the Torah if he does not comprehend what it means to other human beings. By my very nature, I cannot understand the Torah in every sense it has to convey. I am bound by my own perspective, my own background, my own intellectual capacities, and my own way of thinking. And the Torah is far too profound and all-encompassing to be fully fathomed by any single individual, no matter how wise. I must therefore branch out, attempting to understand what the Torah means to my fellow -- what are the other equally-valid methods of relating to truth. I must grow out of my own shell. When I realize that truth is far more composite and multifaceted than it appears to me -- that black-and-white to me may be shades-of-gray to my fellow -- I am ready to truly become wise.
There is a Midrash which states that there is one letter in the Torah for every single Jew. Every one of us has his own unique understanding of the Torah and his own angle on truth. No one has the monopoly on the word of G-d. And only when the student of the Talmud is prepared to grow out of his own limited perspective and view the Big Picture has he truly embarked on the path of Wisdom.
"Who is strong? He who conquers his evil inclination:" Our mishna tells us that strength should not be measured in physical might and fighting ability, but in restraint and the controlling of one's passions. Rabbeinu Yonah observes that ben Zoma -- as seen from the verse he quotes -- does not even entertain that physical strength might be the determinant of a man's might. Human beings rate pretty low as far as that's concerned. Being one of the weakest, slowest (relative to our size), most delicate (in terms of what our stomachs can take, extreme temperature endurance, etc.), longest to mature of the animal kingdom, we have very little to brag about. G-d did not seem to invent us as His wondrous masterpieces of grace, strength or endurance. If we see ourselves as nothing more than physical specimens -- if our self-image is based on our macho -- we are trading in the far higher goals G-d has in mind for us for something which just does not fit the spec's.
The quoted verse does, however, contrast one who is slow to anger to a warrior. (R. Yonah understands the "strong man" of the quoted verse to mean a soldier.) Warriors at least exhibit some level of bravery and self-discipline. A soldier who can survive basic training and endure harsh battle conditions or a commander who can orchestrate a military campaign -- such individuals demonstrate true valor -- of character as well as of body.
(One cannot help but notice the high proportion of presidents and national leaders who preceded their political careers with successful military careers. My sense is that this is only in part due to the heroics associated with military distinction. The voting public may also have a sense that someone who has the necessary self-discipline and strength of character to run a battalion may just have the super-discipline required to run a country.)
To this ben Zoma states that nothing matches willpower. True strength is that of the spirit; that of the body is different in kind. "Passive" behavior -- not losing one's cool when the kids are infuriating, holding oneself back when insulted, resisting temptation -- may appear more as doing "nothing" than acting with strength. (What could be more "manly" than banging on the table, slamming the door, and yelling at the top of your lungs?) But as our Sages correctly observe, it often takes far greater strength to do nothing than to react and to overreact. Strength is controlling the animal that lurks within. Rashness, violence, thinking with one's muscles -- all of these are forms of losing one's control and one's humanity, and in the final analysis, are signs of weakness.
One final interesting observation is the universality of this law. As we know, there are Seven Noachide Laws -- seven fundamental laws which G-d commanded upon all mankind. Possibly, six of them are ones we'd "expect" to see -- do not kill, steal, commit adultery, etc. One, however, is a little off the beaten track -- not to eat a limb severed from a living animal. Somehow, that does not strike us as one of the fundamental tenets of human morality. What is so crucial about it? Why did G-d deem it so far-reaching as to command its observance on the entire world?
I once heard R. Noach Orlowek of Jerusalem explain as follows. What is the theme of this commandment? In a word, self-restraint. Don't just take whatever you want whenever you want it. You want to eat meat? You want to eat *raw* meat? Immediately? At least wait until the animal is dead. This is not a matter of religious ritual or living ascetically. That was not commanded on all of mankind. But one thing was: don't be an animal. This is universal; it is a simple matter of and a fact of our humanity. A person cannot live, nor can society function, if people do nothing more than satisfy their desires -- whenever they want and wherever they want. The Seven Laws do not tell us we must be Jews, but they do tell us we must be humans. Really not so much to ask of us, but above all else this is what distinguishes us -- what crowns us -- as G-d's creations.

An Orthodox woman rabbi by any other name

An Orthodox woman rabbi by any other name

By Anthony Weiss, The Forward

 

Plans for a new school to train Orthodox women as clergy are pushing the issue of the role of women in Orthodox Judaism to a new and untested frontier.

Avi Weiss, a leading advocate for a more liberal Orthodoxy, and Sara Hurwitz, a protege of Weiss, are now taking inquiries and applications for Yeshivat Maharat, a four-year program set to open this fall to train women as "full members of the Rabbinic Clergy," according to an e-mail announcement. But they will not, as of yet, be called rabbis.

"We're training women to be rabbis," Hurwitz told the Forward. "What they will be called is something we?re working out." The move appears to place Weiss and Hurwitz at the precipice of what is possible under traditional Orthodox law without actually jumping off. In striking that balance, they are risking the possibility of alienating those to the left who want an equal rabbinical role for women and those to the right who argue that spiritual leadership is incompatible with the place of women in Orthodox society.

 

"My best guess is that we are seeing further evidence of a coming division in Orthodoxy between left and right," said Jonathan Sarna, a professor of American Jewish history at Brandeis University. But, he noted, "Rabbi Weiss has not only been able to push the envelope, but to do so successfully."

Though the Reform, Reconstructionist and Conservative movements all have ordained women as rabbis for decades, and have long viewed men and women as having all the same rights in religious matters, the Orthodox world has continued to maintain limits on the communal functions women can perform. According to Halacha, traditional Jewish law, a woman cannot sign a marriage or divorce certificate, preside over a conversion or be counted as a member of a minyan.

Indeed, Orthodox rabbis note that it is not merely the title of "rabbi" that is controversial so much as the actual roles women can and cannot play in the community.

A number of advocates for the rights of Orthodox women have been steadily pushing for several decades to expand the education and role of women in Orthodoxy. One major trend in recent years has been a greater emphasis on Jewish education for Orthodox women through such programs as the Drisha Institute for Jewish Education, which has offered intensive programs in Talmud study for women. Women have also taken on more high-profile instructional roles at Jewish day schools and some have taken official spiritual roles within synagogues. Though there have been only a few reported instances, some women have even been privately ordained as Orthodox rabbis.

Indeed, the new program has already spurred criticism that it will make women?s roles in Judaism a more charged issue.

"I don't see how this promotes the growth of women's learning,' said Rabbi Yosef Blau, spiritual advisor of Yeshiva University's rabbinical seminary. "It makes it more controversial and more difficult for women who are ready and who are committed to learning."

 
He added: "There are already programs of advanced study for women. If any women showed interest, or if shuls showed interest, in something like this, they would be doing it."

But Weiss has experience in successfully pushing the boundaries of Orthodox liberalism while still remaining a respected, if controversial, member of the Orthodox world. His recently established Yeshivat Chovevei Torah has become an important training ground for progressive and social activist Orthodox rabbis who, despite resistance from a number of prominent leaders, have found jobs and roles in mainstream Orthodox institutions.

Weiss told the Forward that unlike existing institutions, the new women's yeshiva would be focused on the development of practical pastoral skills, including textual study on common communal issues, pastoral psychology and training, and internships at schools and synagogues. The program will be modeled after the five-year course of study that Hurwitz recently completed under Weiss?s tutelage, after which he conferred on her the newly invented title of "Maharat."

Weiss stressed that the halachic limitations on women would be observed, and thus some functions still would need to be performed by men. But that did not mean that women were fulfilling any less of a leadership role, he said.

"The Orthodox model is not the Conservative and Reform model, where the roles of men and women in general and in leadership are identical," Weiss told the Forward. "In Orthodoxy, the roles significantly overlap, but there are very clear distinctions."

Blu Greenberg, a leading Orthodox feminist, praised the yeshiva initiative as a "path-breaking and revolutionary" extension of long-standing efforts to advance the role of women in Orthodox society. She said that the title of "rabbi" might have been preferable, but added, "There's nothing like facts on ground. The power of one model or 10 models is worth more than a thousand discussions or arguments on the subject."

 

The school has already received "close to 10" inquiries, according to Weiss, and it will likely open with a small handful of students this fall at the Hebrew Institute of Riverdale, Weiss's synagogue in the Bronx. But it is unclear exactly, for what the women will be training. Weiss said that graduates could serve as leaders at schools and on campuses. But women already hold leadership roles both at Orthodox day schools and at Hillel Jewish student centers on campuses around the country. Meanwhile, the number of Orthodox congregations prepared to accept a woman as a member of the clergy, in the way that the HIR has accepted Hurwitz, appears, at present, to be extremely limited.

That practical reality might limit not only on what graduates can do, but also who may apply to the school in the first place.

"The fact of the matter is, if you have a situation where you can only go so far and you can't go to the top, what you're going to lose is the people who want to go to the top," said Rabbi David Silber, the founder and dean of the Drisha Institute.

Ultimately, Silber said, the limitations on the role that women can play as spiritual leaders are inseparable from the limitations on women in Orthodoxy in general.

"I think it's a much bigger question, which is the entire status of the woman," Silber said. Referring to the separate seating for the sexes in Orthodox synagogues, he asked: "What if she should be a rabbi in a big synagogue and she sat in the balcony. What would she do, slide down a fireman?s pole to give the sermon?

 

 

Inside the Jewish Home of Ioannina : the Multicultural Mirror.

Annette B. Fromm, Ph.D.

I would like to offer this paper in loving memory of Mrs. Nina Battinou who passed away gracefully in February 1999. You will hear Mrs. Battinou's voice in some of the sections of the paper. 

Introduction.

Many aspects of the traditional culture of the Jewish community of Ioannina, Greece, reflect the  multicultural nature of Northwestern Greece. After all, the Ottoman Turks governed this provincial capital for over 400 years. Throughout their rule, the Ottomans tolerated minority groups in their midst and allowed them to retain autonomous status. 

The origin of the Jewish community of Ioannina is lost in history. Local legend, still preserved in such places as Manhattan, Jerusalem, and Boynton Beach, recalls origins in ancient Palestine. Written Church documents from the 14th century record a definite Jewish presence in the city at that time. Regardless of their origins, Jews have been a significant element of the population since Byzantine times, hence, the current scholarly label for this community - Romaniote, of Byzantium or Rum. 

Ioannina, a provincial capital and trading entrepot, nestled on a peninsula on Lake Pamvotis and under the 7,000 foot peak Mt. Mitsekelis, drew a diverse mosaic of residents and traders from the region. Christian Greeks, Muslim Ottomans, Albanians, Vlachs, Jews and others lived in the city or did their business there. The city developed initially on a small rounded peninsula or spit of land jutting into the western shores of the lake. The easternmost side of the peninsula is formed into a rise or small acropolis. Preceding the Ottoman rule, the Byzantines had walled this area, thus it's name, the kastro. Here that the 19th century Ottoman despot, Ali Pasha Tepelini, built his mosque, serrai and barracks. 

Historically, the Jewish community of Ioannina lived in several distinct neighbourhoods, one in the kastro close to the main synagogue, the others outside of the kastro but close to its walls. Jews were not the only residents of these neighbourhoods. Muslim Turks also lived in houses lining the winding streets of the fortress. Some Muslims and Christian Greeks lived interspersed among the Jewish families in the other areas. Thus it is only logical that some architectural features of the homes reflected regional styles, while others were specific to the ethnic origins of the family residing there. 

The house in brief.

One of the houses in the kastro in which a Jewish family still lived in 1984 exemplifies many of these features even though it had just been remodelled and modernised. The Pitsirilo house is a modest two-storied stone building flush with the cobblestone street. 
The asymmetrical facade opens to a hallway (diava) leading directly to the garden at the rear of the house. Because there are only two rooms downstairs - the saloni and the kitchen - the broad hallway had been set up as a small sitting room complete with television. 

The well in the entry hall was covered during the renovation. Many houses in Ioannina, Jewish and Christian, had wells for fresh 
water. More often, they were located either in the basement or in the garden rather than in the house itself (see Nahman 1978). In 
the summer they served as natural coolers for fruit and beverages. 

"In the summer, when the men came from work. They had, all the mothers hung baskets and a big metal pitcher with wine in their wells. Then they didn't have freezers with ice or electricity. We pulled out the pitchers and the water was iced. We pulled out the basket and inside was watermelon, cantaloupe, grapes, pears, whatever, seasonal. And it was a pretty sight to see. One would call the other, `Hor, come and eat a melon.' `Samuel, come I'll give you a cucumber which is very tender.' And the others said, `There's lots, let's eat together.' It was very pretty, very nice" (interview, S. Koen, 17 November 1983). 

The formal living or reception room (saloni) was reserved for visits characterised by their brevity and the ritual serving of a sweet and coffee, the symbol of hospitality offered and received. Deep-set windows in the new kitchen of the Pitsirilo home overlook the street. Nahman (1978) described this feature as "Turkish, sticking-out window, something like a closed, small balcony." The deep sill allowed the women, who were often confined, to the home with housework, to sit in the window and gossip with their neighbours or passers-by. Finally, there is a garden behind the house, which until the remodelling had been paved with traditionally used slate paving stones. The toilet and bathing facilities and the kitchen had been located there. 
Traditionally, the cooking facility (magheros) was a separate cooking room in the garden with a wood burning oven (see Nahman 1978). Mrs. Moshe Levy told Joseph Matsas that it was specifically a kitchen separate from the house (personal communication, J. Matsas, 25 April 1984). 

"My house had four rooms ... Outside there was one small room that we called bathroom. There wasn't a bath ... And my mother put charcoal in it to warm up the room. And then put the water above ... and you put a stool there and we washed ourselves there. 

"The kitchen, it wasn't inside the house. It was very pretty to see all the benches, all white ... and all around were containers with flowers. And all of that was very pretty, very pretty. Every Sabbath, every Friday morning [my mother ] put on the [wood- burning] oven. And my mother said to her neighbours, because they didn't have an oven, `I'm going to put on the oven. So do you want me to bake anything for you?' `Yes, we always have.' they told us. It could be a pita; you can bake a chicken pie in the oven 
in the hour you put on the oven because we're making chickpeas. `We're making pastel,' `We're making caltsones, pie, boubanatsa.' According to the season. In the winter we made boubanatsas with raisins and squash, pastella. In the summer we made eggplant with cheese, pilaf, meat" (interview, S. Koen, 17 November 1983). 

The older Mrs. Battinou spoke of the magheros in her recollections of the family house in Ioannina. Through all of these narratives by community members about their former homes we catch a glimpse of the retention of archaic language in specialised usage by the Jews of Ioannina such as architectural features. 

"We lived here in the alley ... opposite Makis' [store] ... that house had two big rooms and it had a big one upstairs. In the summer we stayed upstairs ... it had a paved hall and a kitchen and a basement. Inside, all was inside the house. And the basement, bimsa, we called it bimsa ... Like we call the kitchen, the Ioanniotes, `Were is he?' `In the maghero.' We don't say kouzina [Demotic Greek for kitchen], we say maghero. `Where is that thing, what room?' `There, in the maghero you'll find it.' 
They didn't say kitchen ... in Ioannina ... Like we say run, [Demotic Greek, trexi], it's kosha ... like we say the cup with water. We call it siklo. You know how you get water from the well? ... 
[We had] simple [furniture], simple things. First, we had chairs, yes, but there was in the same houses ...basha, basha we called them ... It was in a place. Summer they were white, nice white ..." (interview, N. Battinou, July 1982). 

The basement mentioned by Mrs. Battinou was another feature found in the old homes in Ioannina. In the descriptive narrative 
about her home, she refers to it as the bimsa instead of the more standard Greek word, ipogheio. "We called it 
bimsa." The basement served a significant role in food storage, especially in the winter. 

"Every week my mother made food and we had a basement and in the basement we had cupboards where we kept the cooking pans. That cupboard had a covering all around. Do you know what's a covering? It's a light plastic that neither ants nor mosquitoes went into. And the basement was cool. And the food there remained fresh. We put our food there. Of course, that was our refrigerator" 

"There were benches like that all around any my mother had in one container, ashes. When you burn charcoal you get ashes. 
These ashes we cleaned in sieves to get all of that out. And the ashes were put in a large pan and inside of that pan they put eggs. 
I asked Mom, `My dear, why do you put the eggs in ashes?' `They don't spoil, the eggs.' And in truth, the eggs in the ashes, in the basement didn't spoil. The eggs stayed even a month. They didn't spoil! Can you believe it? We had beans and lentils. We didn't have nice things to go and buy, small things at the grocer. One time a year, there was the bazaar in September, like a framers market. And you passed by [it]. They had the beans, the lentils, the almonds, the walnuts, the lefto kara [hazelnuts]. 
They sold [all]. The chickpeas. The brooms. We didn't take one. We took ten, ten brooms. The garlic, the onions. They were fixed up [in a string]. And those we hung from a nail ... pomegranates, melons. And we put them in the basement and we had them all winter" (interview, S. Koen, 17 November 1983). 

Features of the saloni.

Several other features characterise the more affluent homes. Many of them were retained in another Jewish home still remaining in the kastro. The houses located inside of the fortress tend to be older than those found in the neighbourhoods outside of its walls because they were not damaged by the fires, which periodically destroyed sections of the city. They are more likely to retain the older features although some homes outside are known for their traditionally. The features detailed below mark both the traditional and upper class character of the home. 

First is the fireplace (tzaki) usually found in the saloni and often in the family sitting room. In the Matathias house on Filanthropinon Street, the whitewashed plaster fireplace was decorated with ornate moulded leaf figures. The firegrate was covered in the remodelling because portable gas stoves heated the house. Decorative, souvenir-type objects from Ioannina and other parts of Greece had been placed in the non-functional hearth. 

The second traditional feature of the room are the basha (Turkish), "permanent wooden sofas, usually placed near the fire- places" (Loukakis 1981:20). Basha were deep benches, covered with a variety of textiles, often spreading from corner to corner completely filling a wall. It was the one household feature, which appeared without fail in each personal narrative recalling the home. The fireplace and the basha had gone out of style by the late nineteenth century in favour of coal or wood stoves and European furniture. Nevertheless, they were retained in the Jewish homes, as reflected in the following recollections. 

"In our dining room we had basha ... in the winter we had them with pillows, with cut fabric embroidered by machine. My sister embroidered beautifully. And with very pretty white lace, starched. Below was hand woven and above coverlets. We had beautiful pillows. On the wall we had a large photo of my mother's mother and father. We had a beautiful buffet, a very pretty piece" (interview, S. Koen 17 November 1983). 

Deep-set storage closets with carved doors were set into the walls over the basha and flanked the fireplace. These are the misanderathes [Turkish or Arabic, built in closets], room-sized closets which were usually built in rooms on the upper floors of the houses. When Mary Meier moved to Ioannina from her childhood home of Volos, her new husband took her to live in the family house in Vakoufika. The old house presented her with many new experiences because, according to her, the houses in Volos weren't more than forty years old. 

"When I came here, what did I think of the old houses? Listen, Annetta, I didn't know old houses, Turkish houses, I didn't know. We didn't have attics, with mousanderathes. And they called them strange things. The houses seemed strange to me. I began to learn them. With paving stones. You've seen how the paving stones are? Square. I saw strange things. The toilets, toilets, a hole, horrible things. I suffered many years to learn these things" (interview, M. Meier, 13 November 1983). 

Janet Tsito also spoke of the built-in closets and that they were a feature of the Jewish homes. 

"And the house had closets in the walls, closed ... in the wall. All of the old Jewish houses had that. There was also a clean room ... that was the saloni" (interview, J. Tsito, July 1982). 

The wooden ceilings, tavania, are the fourth feature of all traditional Ioannina houses no matter the ethnicity of the homeowner. 
Lower class homes usually had simple wooden ceilings, board and batten style. The tavania (pl.) in the more elite homes are more elaborate and figurative with roundels in the centre and corner ornamentation, all often painted in gold leaf. 

Jewish features of the traditional houses. The fall festival of Sukkot is celebrated in open air by Jews world-wide. A temporary structure symbolising the booths or huts built by the Hebrews after they left Egypt is constructed of four walls and a loosely covered roof. Here the meals were eaten and family members would sleep for the duration of the holiday. A permanent, metal framework around which the sukkah was constructed was found in many of the gardens of the traditional Jewish house of Ioannina (Nahman 1978). 

""My house was at Kondouriotou 38, I think. You know where Kondouriotou is? ... It was the street next to the Hatzicosta Hospital. You know where the hospital is? ... There was the house of Elda, of the doctor, as they called it, on the corner. And opposite was the Alkalai house, the big building that they took down and built a big apartment building. But our own house is still standing. I have photographs ... Nearly all of the houses had a garden ... where the sukkah was made ... We had a well in the garden. At lots of houses the wells were in the basements. In our house it was in the garden. As I remember, in the winter we filled the basement with water, we filled it, and we put the wine. And in the basement it was, the refrigerator ... " (interview, L. Kambeli, 21 January 1984). 

One specific house in Kondouriotou is of particular historical interest, especially because of the reputation of its original owner. 
The house of David-John Levy was destroyed during the war. David-John Effendi, as he was better known and always referred to, was one of the major figures of the Jewish community of Ioannina in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. His title, Effendi, was an honorary distinction awarded him by the Ottoman Sultan for services provided to the government (EE 2 May 1958). 

David-John Effendi's house is also of interest because of its sheer expanse. It was a two-storied stone building facing directly onto the street. Several gateways gave entry to the large walled garden located at the rear of the house. It was one of the few Jewish homes in Ioannina which had a mikvah (Hebrew, ritual bath) (see Levy, IJC 1975, #146; Nahman 1978). According to Dalven (1973:53), private homes did not have mikvahs until the twentieth century; "in olden times, the mikvah was in the synagogue courtyard." The women of Ioannina performed tevilah (Hebrew, ritual immersion) according to Jewish law just before marriage and every month thereafter. Because of their strict adherence to this and other Jewish laws, the Jewish community of Ioannina before the second World War was considered to be one of the most observant in Greece (Dalven 1973:53). 

"Ours, his, the two houses looked alike a lot ... It had a tevilah and a cistern. Ours didn't have that because my father was free, he went out on Shabbat and all. He wasn't religious. David-John Effendi had a tevilah, very nice. No one else had a tevilah. We put water to cool in it then, when there wasn't `frigidaire.' It had everything." (interview, E. Batish, 28 January 1984) 

Late twentieth century homes.

After the cataclysm of the Holocaust and Greek Civil War, the Jewish community of Ioannina was literally decimated. Homes, synagogues and businesses were damaged, destroyed or confiscated. Eventually in the intervening years, new lives and new homes were re-established. Several of the features of domestic architecture discussed above have been retained in a different form in the contemporary Jewish homes. 

The divani, or day bed, in the kitchen provides more comfortable seating for families with elderly members. It also allows more people to sit around the table to eat and visit. In form and function, the divani could be looked at as remnant of the basha found in the older homes. Balconies opening to the street from the kitchen and other rooms have taken the place of the traditional deep-set window. In the evening residents sit outside on their balconies talking with passers-by and neighbours. 

Four particular decorative features in the Jewish homes of the 1980s reveal that they are Jewish. Each home had a mezuzah (Hebrew, doorpost; see EJ 11) attached to the front doorframe and often on other doorways. During the autumn festival of Sukkot, small branches of myrtle were distributed at the end of the synagogue service. In many households, these were placed behind the mezuzah on the front door to bring good luck for the entire year. 

Each Jewish house traditionally had a doulapa ta livra (personal communication, J. Matsas, 27 March 1984), a cabinet of books. Only in this reference to religious books is the Spanish word used for books, livra, instead of the Greek, vivlia. One native of Ioannina who immigrated to Jerusalem in 1935 recalled this particular use of the Spanish word and the implications, which it carried. He was actually rambling about the present-day community and its leaders when he went off on a tangent on the origins and make-up of the community. His memories are interesting because they show the influence or lack of influence of Sephardic Jews in Ioannina from his point of view. The Jewish adherence to the Greek language is further supported in that in his recollection he uses the Greek article to rather than the Spanish El to modify the word, book. 

"Later a few [Jews] came [to Ioannina from Spain]. The difference is that 99% were Jews who were from [Ancient] Israel. 1% came from Spain or Sicily or from Spain straight away. Or others went East to Sicily. Because if you go to Ioannina, it doesn't have any relation, it's impossible [to realise that Sephardim settled there.] The Sephardim that came, went to the cities that were close to the sea, Thessaloniki, Volos, the islands, all over. So, in Ioannina they didn't come. Very few Sephardim 
arrived and we know that from their names - Koffina, Negrin. They however, forgot the Spanish and learned Greek. But some Spanish words stayed in the Jewish vocabulary ... to libro for the books they took to synagogue. Everyone knew to libro. They didn't call it in another language" (interview, I. Batish, 28 January 1984). 

The bookshelf in the Jewish homes of Ioannina in 1984 held both popular books and Judaica. Some books on Jewish subjects were distributed free by KIS, the Central Jewish Organisation. Others had been purchased or sent from Israel. 

The third distinguishing feature found in Jewish homes was gold-embroidered velvet cushion covers. Framed and hung in the formal saloni, these embroideries were a requisite part of a woman's dowry. In the past they were used in certain life cycle ceremonies, such as the brit millah. They continued to serve the ritual purpose of a dowry item, and were passed on to the daughter of the family or to the daughter-in-law in families with only sons (Nahman 1978). 

Decorative, souvenir items from special occasions and from Israel were the fourth item marking the Jewish home. Souvenirs of special events included family photos and favours from life cycle celebrations. At circumcisions, Bar Mitzvahs, and weddings, guests were given souvenir bonbonnières - a packet of sugarcoated almonds attached to a favour of some sort. At a recent Jewish wedding in Athens, attended by several families from Ioannina, the bonbonnières included a ballpoint pen inscribed with the names of the couple. This innovation caused quite a bit of talk across the mountains in Ioannina. Decorative items from Israel, which were either sent by family members living there or were souvenirs from a trip there, were another marker of identity found in the Jewish homes in Ioannina. 

Another type of object served both in this function and as a decorative souvenir. Upon their return, Jewish survivors of the Holocaust from Ioannina were given flatware and enamelled dishes by the Joint Distribution Committee to help set up a new home. Such plates were displayed in at least one kitchen. 

Conclusion.

As the smaller communities throughout Greece dwindle in size and significance, this article serves only as a document of the unique "Greek" expression of Judaism that characterised Ioannina. The Jewish community of Ioannina is one, which was integrated with neighbouring populations who lived in this off-some-beaten track commercial, governmental and military city.

 
The flavour of the community was uniquely Greek, as seen through the preservation of language to refer to certain features of architecture. It was also a melange as seen in the actual adaptation of specific elements of the house. Throughout, the community remained distinctly Jewish. 



1. This paper was presented at the 5th Annual Wester Jewish Studies Association, Seattle. Washington, U.S.A., March 1999. 

Research for this paper was undertaken during the 1983-84 academic year with funding from the Fulbright Commission in Greece and the Memorial Foundation for Jewish Culture. It is a portion of the doctoral dissertation, We Are Few: Folklore and Ethnic Identity of the Jewish Community of Ioannina, Greece, Bloomington: Indiana University, 1992. 

Annette B. Fromm is a folklorist and museum specialist. In over 20 years, she has worked in different capacities in museums including the Children's Museum in Indianapolis, the Cleveland Ethnographic Museum, a pioneering museum which emphasised the diversity of the city of Cleveland, Ohio; the Fenster Museum of Jewish Art in Tulsa, where she initiated the Oklahoma Jewish Archives Project; the Creek Council House Museum; and the Oklahoma Museum of Natural History where she developed new anthropology and archaeology exhibits. She taught anthropology and museum studies at the University of Tulsa for over seven years.