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In Turkey, a festival revives a jewel of the Sephardic world and aims to break stereotypes
IZMIR, Turkey (JTA) — Prague has the dubious honor of being chosen by Adolf Hitler to be a record of what he hoped would be the vanquished Jews of Europe. The Nazis left many of the city’s synagogues and Jewish sites relatively intact, intending to showcase them as the remnants of an extinct culture.
That has made Prague a popular tourist destination for both Jewish travelers and others interested in Jewish history since the fall of the Iron Curtain: the city provides an uncommon look into the pre-war infrastructure of Ashkenazi Europe.
Could Izmir, Turkey’s third largest city, become a Sephardic version, in terms of history and tourism? That’s the goal for Nesim Bencoya, director of the Izmir Jewish Heritage project.
The city, once known in Greek as Smyrna, has had a Jewish presence since antiquity, with early church documents mentioning Jews as far back as the second century AD. Like elsewhere in the Ottoman Empire, though, its community grew exponentially with the influx of Sephardic Jews who came after their expulsion from Spain.
At its peak, the city was home to around 30,000 Jews and was the hometown of Jewish artists, writers and rabbis — from the esteemed Pallache and Algazii rabbinical families, to the musician Dario Marino, to the famously false messiah, Shabbetai Zevi, whose childhood home still stands in Izmir today.
Today, fewer than 1,300 remain. The establishment of the state of Israel, coupled with a century of economic and political upheaval, led to the immigration of the majority of Turkish Jewry.
“From the 17th century, Izmir was a center for Sephardic Jewry,” Bencoya told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “We can’t recreate that, but we cannot forget that either.”
Izmir is located on Turkey’s Aegean coast. (David I. Klein)
Celebrating in the former Jewish quarter
Bencoya, who is in his late 60s, was born in Izmir but spent most of his adult life in Israel, where he led the Haifa Cinematheque, but he returned to Izmir 13 years ago to helm the heritage project, which has worked to highlight the the culture and history of Izmir’s Jewish community.
Over nine days in December that included the week of Hanukkah, thousands attended the annual Sephardic culture festival that he has organized since 2018. The festival included concerts of Jewish and Ladino music, traditional food tastings, lectures on Izmir’s Jewish community, and — since it coincided with Hanukkah and also a Shabbat — both a menorah lighting ceremony and havdalah ceremony were conducted with explanations from Izmir’s leading cantor, Nesim Beruchiel.
This year’s festival marked a turning point: it was the first in which organizers were able to show off several of the centuries-old synagogues that the project — with funding from the European Union and the local municipality — has been restoring.
The synagogues, most of which are clustered around a street still called Havra Sokak (havra being the Turkish spelling of the Hebrew word chevra, or congregation) represent a unique piece of cultural heritage.
Nesim Bencoya speaks from his office next to the restored Sinyora Synagogue in Izmir. (David I. Klein)
Once upon a time, the street was the heart of the Jewish quarter or “Juderia,” but today it is right in the middle of Izmir’s Kemeralti Bazaar, a bustling market district stretching over 150 acres where almost anything can be bought and sold. On Havra Sokak, the merchants hock fresh fruits, and hopefully fresher fish. One street to the south one can find all manner of leather goods; one to the north has markets for gold, silver and other precious metals; one to the west has coffee shops. In between them all are other shops selling everything from crafts to tchotchkes to kitchenware to lingerie.
Several mosques and a handful of churches dot the area, but the synagogues revive a unique character of the district that had been all but lost.
“The synagogues here were built under the light of Spain. But in Spain today, there are only two major historic synagogues, Toledo and Cordoba, and they are big ones. You don’t have smaller ones. Here we have six on one block, built with the memory of what was there by those who left Spain,” Bencoya said.
Those synagogues have been home to major events in Jewish history — such as when Shabbetei Zvi broke into Izmir’s Portuguese Synagogue one Sabbath morning, drove out his opponents and declared himself the messiah (he cultivated a large following but was later imprisoned and forced to convert to Islam). The synagogue, known in Turkish as Portekez, was among those restored by the project.
Today, only two of Izmir’s synagogues are in regular use by its Jewish community, but the others that were restored are now available as exhibition and event spaces.
Educating non-Jews
Hosting the festival within Izmir’s unique synagogues has an additional purpose, since the overwhelming majority of the attendees were not Jewish.
“Most of the people who come to the festival have never been to a synagogue, maybe a small percentage of them have met a Jew once in their lives,” Bencoya said.
That’s particularly important in a country where antisemitic beliefs are far from uncommon. In a 2015 study by the Anti-Defamation League, 71% of respondents from Turkey believe in some antisemitic stereotypes.
The festival included concerts of Jewish and Ladino music, traditional food tastings and lectures on Izmir’s Jewish community.(David I. Klein)
“This festival is not for Jewish people to know us, but for non-Jews,” Bencoya said. Now, “Hundreds of Turkish Muslim people have come to see us, to listen to our holidays and taste what we do.”
Kayra Ergen, a native of Izmir who attended a Ladino concert and menorah lighting event at the end of the festival, told JTA that until a year ago, he had no idea how Jewish Izmir once was.
“I know that Anatolia is a multicultural land, and also Turkey is, but this religion, by which I mean Jewish people, left this place a long time ago because of many bad events. But it’s good to remember these people, and their roots in Izmir,” Ergen said. “This is so sad and lame to say out loud, but I didn’t know about this — that only 70 years ago, 60% of this area here in Konak [the district around Kemeralti] was Jewish. Today I believe only 1,300 remain. This is not good. But we must do whatever we can and this festival is a good example of showing the love between cultures.”
“I think it’s good that we’re respecting each other in here,” said Zeynep Uslu, another native of Izmir. “A lot of different cultures and a lot of different people. It’s good that we’re together here celebrating something so special.”
Izmir’s history as a home for minorities has not been all rosy. At the end of the Ottoman period, the city was around half Greek, a tenth Jewish and a tenth Armenian, while the remainder were Turkish Muslims and an assortment of foreigners. In the Greco-Turkish war of 1919-1922 — remembered in Turkey as the Turkish War of Independence — the Greek and Armenian quarters of Izmir were burned to the ground after the Turkish army retook the city from the Greek forces, killing tens of thousands. A mass exodus of the survivors followed, but the Jewish and Muslim portions of the city were largely unharmed.
Izmir is not the only city in Turkey which has seen its synagogues restored in recent years. Notable projects are being completed in Edirne, a city on the Turkish western border near Bulgaria, and Kilis, on its southeastern border near Syria. Unlike Izmir, though, no Jews remain in either of those cities today, and many have accused the project of being a tool for President Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s government to assuage accusations of antisemitism, without actually dealing with living Jews.
Losing Ladino and a ‘quiet’ mindset
Bencoya lamented that he is among the last generation for whom Ladino — the Judeo-Spanish language traditionally spoken by Sephardic Jews, but only spoken by tens of thousands today — was at least a part of his childhood.
“When you lose language, it’s not only technical, it’s not only vocabulary, it’s a whole world and a way of thinking,” Bencoya said.
The project is challenging a local Jewish mentality as well. Minority groups in Izmir, especially Jews, “have for a long time preferred not to be seen, not to be felt,” according to Bencoya.
That mindset has been codified in the Turkish Jewish community’s collective psyche in the form of a Ladino word, “kayedes,” which means something along the lines of “shhh,” “be quiet,” or “keep your head down.”
“This is the exact opposite that I want to do with this festival — to be felt, to raise awareness of my being,” Bencoya said.
The Bikur Holim Synagogue is one of the few still functioning in Izmir. (David I. Klein)
One way of doing that, he added, was having the festival refer to the community’s identity “as Yahudi and not Musevi!” Both are Turkish words that refer to Jews: the former having the same root as the English word Jew — the Hebrew word Yehuda or Judea — while the latter means “follower of Moses.”
“Yahudi, Musevi, Ibrani [meaning Hebrew, in Turkish] — they all mean the same thing, but in Turkey, they say Musevi because it sounds nicer,” Bencoya said. “To Yahudi there are a lot of negative superlatives — dirty Yahudi, filthy Yahudi, and this and that. So I insist on saying that I am Yahudi, because people have a lot of pre-judgements about the name Yahudi. So if you have prejudgements about me, let’s open them and talk about them.”
“I am not so romantic that I can eliminate all antisemitism, but if I can eliminate some of the prejudgements, then I can live a little more at peace,” he added.
So far, he feels the festival is a successful first step.
“The non-Jewish community of Izmir is fascinated,” Bencoya said. “If you look on Facebook and Instagram, they are talking about it, they are fighting over tickets, which sell out almost immediately.”
Now, he is only wondering how next year he will be able to fit more people into the small and aged synagogues.
“For Turkey, [the festival] is very important because Turkey can be among the enlightened nations of the world, only by being aware of the differences between groups of people, such as Jews, Christians, others, and Muslims,” he said.
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Harvard Demands Dismissal of Latest Antisemitism Lawsuit
A Jewish student at Harvard University harassed by anti-Israel protesters. Photo: Screenshot
Harvard University on Monday asked a federal judge to dismiss an antisemitism lawsuit which alleges that administrative officials violated civil rights law when they declined to impose meaningful disciplinary sanctions on two students who allegedly assaulted a Jewish student during a protest held to rally anti-Israel activists just days after the Hamas-led Oct. 7, 2023, massacre across southern Israeli communities.
According to The Harvard Crimson, the university’s lawyers contended that the Jewish student, Yoav Segev, has not backed his claim with evidence and that his grievance is founded not in any legally recognizable harm but a disagreement regarding policy.
“Mr. Segev’s allegation, then, is not that Harvard failed to take action, but simply that he disagrees with the actions taken after the investigation,” the university’s lawyers wrote in a filing submitted on Monday, adding that the school believes Segev’s contention that Harvard “conspired” to deny him justice cannot be substantiated.
As previously reported by The Algemeiner, Segev endured a mobbing of pro-Hamas activists led by Ibrahim Bharmal and Elom Tettey-Tamaklo, who stalked him across Harvard Yard before encircling him and screaming “Shame! Shame! Shame!” as he struggled to break free from the mass of bodies which surrounded him. Video of the incident, widely viewed online at the time, showed the crush of people shoving keffiyehs — traditional headdresses worn by men in the Middle East that in some circles have come to symbolize Palestinian nationalism — in the face of the student, whom they had identified as Jewish.
Nearly two years after the assault, Bharmal and Tettey-Tamaklo have not only avoided hate crime charges but also even amassed new accolades and distinctions — according to multiple reports.
After being charged with assault and battery, the two men were ordered in April by Boston Municipal Court Judge Stephen McClenon to attend “pre-trial diversion” anger management courses and perform 80 hours of community service each, a decision which did not require their apologizing to Segev even though Assistant District Attorney Ursula Knight described what they did as “hands on assault and battery.”
Harvard neither disciplined Bharmal nor removed him from the presidency of the Harvard Law Review, a coveted post once held by former US President Barack Obama. As of last year, he was awarded a law clerkship with the Public Defender for the District of Columbia, a government-funded agency which provides free legal counsel to “individuals … who are charged with committing serious criminal acts.” Bharmal also reaped a $65,000 fellowship from Harvard Law School to work at the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR), an Islamic group whose leaders have defended the Palestinian terrorist group Hamas’s atrocities against Israelis on Oct. 7, 2023.
As for Tettey-Tamaklo, he walked away from Harvard Divinity School with honors, according to The Free Press, as the 2024 Class Committee for Harvard voted him class marshal, a role in which he led the graduation procession through Harvard Yard alongside the institution’s most accomplished scholars and faculty. Harvard did, however, terminate his serving as a proctor for freshmen students.
The US campus antisemitism crisis has kept Harvard University in the headlines.
Earlier this month it disclosed a $113 million budget deficit caused by the Trump administration’s confiscation of much of its federal contracts and grants as punishment for, among other alleged misdeeds, its admitted failure to combat antisemitism on its campus.
According to Harvard’s “Financial Report: Fiscal Year 2025,” the university’s spending exceeded the $6.7 billion it amassed from donations, taxpayer support, tuition, and other income sources, such as endowment funds earmarked for operational expenses. Harvard also suffered a steep deficit in non-restricted donor funds, $212 million, a possible indication that philanthropists now hesitate to write America’s oldest university a blank check due to its inveterate generating of negative publicity — prompted by such episodes as the institution’s botching the appointment of its first Black president by conferring the honor to a plagiarist and its failing repeatedly to quell antisemitic discrimination and harassment.
“Even by the standards of our centuries-long history, fiscal year 2025 was extraordinarily challenging, with political and economic disruption affecting many sectors, including higher education,” Harvard president Alan Garber said in a statement. “We continue to adapt to uncertainty and threats to sources of revenue that have sustained our work for many years. We have intensified our efforts to expand our sources of funding.”
Follow Dion J. Pierre @DionJPierre.
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Mamdani’s BDS Support Under Spotlight as New Report Shows Israeli Firms Boosted NYC Economy by $12.4B Last Year
Candidate Zohran Mamdani speaks during a Democratic New York City mayoral primary debate, June 4, 2025, in New York, US. Photo: Yuki Iwamura/Pool via REUTERS
One week out from New York City’s mayoral election, frontrunner Zohran Mamdani’s ardent support for boycotting Israel will likely face renewed focus from New Yorkers concerned about their wallets, with a new report revealing that Israeli firms pour billions of dollars and tens of thousands of jobs into the local economy.
A new study from the United States-Israel Business Alliance revealed that, based on 2024 data, 590 Israeli-founded companies directly created 27,471 jobs in New York City last year and indirectly created over 50,000 jobs when accounting for related factors, such as buying and shipping local products.
These firms generated $8.1 billion in total earnings, adding an estimated $12.4 billion in value to the city’s economy and $17.9 billion in total gross economic output.
As for the State of New York overall, the report, titled the “2025 New York – Israel Economic Impact Report,” found that 648 Israeli-founded companies generated $8.6 billion in total earnings and $19.5 billion in gross economic output, contributing a striking $13.3 billion in added value to the economy. These businesses also directly created 28,524 jobs and a total of 57,145 when accounting for related factors.
From financial tech leaders like Fireblocks to cybersecurity powerhouse Wiz, Israeli entrepreneurs have become indispensable to the city’s innovation ecosystem. The number of Israeli-founded “unicorns,” privately-held companies with a valuation of at least $1 billion,” operating in New York City has quadrupled since 2019, increasing from five to 20.
“When Israeli tech entrepreneurs think about entering the US market or positioning their companies for global growth, New York City is at the top of the list,” US-Israeli Business Alliance President Aaron Kaplowitz said in a statement. “Ultimately, this cosmopolitan appeal translates into more local jobs and more money flowing through the city’s economy.”
The report came out days before next week’s New York City mayoral election, in which Mamdani, the Democratic nominee, remains the frontrunner. However, a new Suffolk University poll released on Monday showed a tightening race, with former New York Gov. and independent candidate Andrew Cuomo cutting Mamdani’s lead in half to just 10 points, 44 percent to 34 percent.
Mamdani, a far-left democratic socialist who has made anti-Israel activism a cornerstone of his political career, has repeatedly accused Israel of “apartheid” and refused to recognize its right to exist as a Jewish state.
He has also been an outspoken supporter of the boycott, divestment, and sanctions (BDS) movement, which seeks to isolate Israel on the international stage as a step toward its eventual elimination. It is unclear to what degree Mamdani would seek to implement his BDS activism if elected mayor.
Such positions have raised alarm bells among not only New York’s Jewish community but also Israeli business owners and investors, who fear a hostile climate under Mamdani’s leadership.
One Israeli tech CEO, speaking to the New York Post on condition of anonymity, said that his business could be another to flourish in New York but that a Mamdani administration would make him think twice about landing in the city.
“I need to see if his words have any meaningful impact on the ground,” the CEO told the Post. “If someone on our team is moving to New York, I want them to be in a pleasant area where they don’t feel fearful, or, from a business perspective, deal with people that are shying away because the company’s Israeli.”
During his short tenure in city politics, Mamdani has amassed a substantial anti-Israel track-record.
In 2021, Mamdani issued public support for the BDS movement. In May 2023, he advanced the “Not on our dime!: Ending New York Funding of Israeli Settler Violence Act,” legislation which would ban charities from using tax-deductible donations to aid organizations that work in Israeli communities in the West Bank. Mamdani argued that the legislation would help the state fight against so-called Israeli “war crimes” against Palestinians.
On Oct. 8, 2023, 24 hours following the deadliest day for Jews since the Holocaust when Hamas invaded Israel, Mamdani published a statement condemning Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin “Netanyahu’s declaration of war.” He also suggested that Israel would use the terrorist attacks to justify committing a second “nakba,” the Arabic term for “catastrophe” used by Palestinians and anti-Israel activists to refer to the establishment of the modern state of Israel in 1948.
Five days later, Mamdani further criticized Israel’s response to the Hamas-led massacre, saying that “we are on the brink of a genocide of Palestinians in Gaza right now.”
In January 2024, he called on New York City to cease sending funds to Israel, saying that “voters oppose their tax dollars funding a genocide.”
Mamdani is also a member of the controversial Democratic Socialist of America organization (DSA), which has formally endorsed the BDS movement.
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Rabbis Angela Buchdahl and Elliot Cosgrove show the split in the pulpit over political endorsements
(JTA) — Go figure: A non-Jewish, non-Zionist politician has sparked a national Jewish conversation about the role of the rabbi.
If elected next week, the 34-year-old progressive Zohran Mamdani would be the first mayor of New York City who came up through the trenches of pro-Palestinian activism, and the first to reject the idea that being mayor to a city with 1 million Jews means being a supporter of Israel.
The prospect has shaken a Jewish mainstream that has long taken that support for granted, considers Zionism a pillar of its Jewish identity and sees Mamdani as an enabler of the kind of strident anti-Israel protests that make them feel unsafe.
In turn, that has put pressure on rabbis throughout the five boroughs and beyond to take a stand — not just by defending Zionism and Jewish security but by denouncing Mamdani and endorsing his rivals. With the IRS in July having lifted the 60+-year-old ban that prevented houses of worship from endorsing or opposing candidates, rabbis who would prefer to stay above the fray have lost their cover.
Also gone are the days when the decision to use the bimah as a bully pulpit was between a rabbi and his or her congregation. Non-Orthodox synagogues regularly post their rabbis’ Shabbat sermons to YouTube. A petition signed by over 1,100 rabbis calling on voters to reject anti-Zionist candidates like Mamdani has become a very public roll call of rabbis who are willing to engage directly in electoral politics.
The inescapably public profile of being a rabbi amid a high-stakes election was seen in the contrasting positions taken by leaders of two influential and prosperous Manhattan congregations. In a sermon shared on YouTube and the synagogue’s web site, Rabbi Elliot Cosgrove of Park Avenue Synagogue made his position clear from his very first sentence: “I believe Zohran Mamdani poses a danger to the security of New York’s Jewish community.” He not only urged members of his Conservative shul to vote for Mamdani’s leading rival, former New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo, but laid out a specific strategy for convincing undecided and Mamdani-curious Jewish voters to do the same.
About 30 blocks south, Rabbi Angela Buchdahl of Central Synagogue, whose recent sermon on the Gaza war drew over 120,000 views on YouTube, wrote a letter to her Reform congregation about the mayoral race. Without naming Mamdani, she insisted that elected leaders “must reject the idea that Jewish self-determination is up for negotiation,” while reaffirming her synagogue’s policy “of not endorsing or publicly opposing political candidates.”
Some might find that coy — a rabbinic version of the New York Times’ controversial “non-endorsement” endorsement of Cuomo. But Buchdahl has become one of the country’s best-known rabbis in part on her ability to articulate Jewish concerns in a way that embraces and respects those who might disagree with her. Her Gaza sermon deftly conveyed Jewish dismay over the scale of the killings and hunger in Gaza while sympathizing with the fears and dilemmas of average Israelis.
The letter makes clear where she and her team stand on Zionism and fighting antisemitism: “We have spoken from the pulpit in multiple past sermons and will continue to take a clear, unambiguous position on antisemitism, on anti-Zionist rhetoric, and on sharing our deep support for Israel.” Mamdani was unmistakably the subject when she added, “I hope and expect anyone who becomes mayor of our amazing city — home to the largest Jewish population outside of Israel — will take very seriously the expressed concerns (made directly and publicly) of so many of us in the Jewish community.”
She also explains why the synagogue considers nonpartisanship a practical and spiritual value. “It remains our conviction that political endorsements of candidates are not in the best interest of our congregation, community, or country,” she writes, adding, “Our role is not to enter political campaigns or to endorse or speak out against candidates, but to provide moral and spiritual clarity on important public issues.”
Cosgrove doesn’t explicitly address the debate over whether a rabbi should endorse a political candidate, but writes that the stakes of the mayoral race are too high for him not to weigh in on the candidates.
“I wish it were otherwise,” he said. “I wish we had two candidates with equal interest, or better yet, equal disinterest in the Jewish community…. But this election cycle, that is simply not the case. We can only play the cards we are dealt. And in this hand, I choose to play the one that safeguards the Jewish people, protects our community, and ensures that our seat at the table remains secure.”
He also defends his public political stand in spiritual terms.
“Self-preservation and self-interest are not only legitimate, but essential to sustaining an ethical life,” he said, citing the Talmudic sage Hillel.
While both rabbis have ranged widely in their sermons and activism, their messages on the mayor’s race offer two different models for leadership. Cosgrove spoke in the voice of a political strategist and community organizer; Buchdahl’s letter was about protecting the integrity of her institution and the diverse individuals it serves.
By dint of their influential congregations, media savvy and charisma, Cosgrove and Buchdahl are rabbis with citywide and, especially in Buchdahl’s case, national stature. The rabbis’ petition quoted Cosgrove, although he did not sign it; Buchdahl recently promoted her memoir about growing up Korean-American, and her unasked for role as a hostage negotiator, on CBS Mornings. Their positions have weight in a debate that has dogged rabbis ever since the pulpit became a place not just for parsing fine points of Jewish law or offering homilies, but commenting on current events.
A frequently cited role model for activist rabbis is Joachim Prinz, the German refugee who led congregations in Newark, New Jersey and its suburbs in the last century. Even before leaving Germany he would rail against the Nazis. In America, he bucked the clear isolationist trend — and fear among many Jews of a backlash — by insisting that Europe’s fight was America’s fight.
Prinz rejected the traditional model of the drash, or homily, finding it “too solemn and lacking in concrete meaning. I was always out to find something relevant to the life of the people sitting in front of me.” He wondered how seriously people would take a faith tradition whose clergy couldn’t offer guidance on, say, waging war, addressing poverty or resisting authoritarianism.
Throw in Jewish security, and the stakes get higher yet.
Prinz’s jeremiads against Nazism and later in support of civil rights would assure his place in American-Jewish history. Whether it would assure him a place in a modern American pulpit is another story. Support for “social justice” — in the form of volunteerism and charitable giving — is fine. Also tolerated is a certain amount of activism on consensus issues, which have lately become elusive.
As for urging specific stands on candidates or pieces of legislation — rabbis quickly learn that neither smooths their path to contract renewal.
For many congregants, this is as it should be. They feel that the great knotty corpus of Jewish text shouldn’t be reduced to a policy prescription, or that they shouldn’t be forced to hear a political speech in a house of worship.
Cosgrove especially anticipated the kinds of objections — mostly tactical — he thought he might get from congregants: Opposing a popular candidate like Mamdani would invite an antisemitic backlash, or centering Zionism in the mayor’s race would confirm the slander of dual loyalty.
Buchdahl faced the opposite pressure: congregants insisting she endorse Cuomo. There have been some nasty Instagram posts calling her timid, with comments suggesting that some congregants may have resigned over the saga.
Buchdahl’s letter insists that declining to endorse does not mean she and the synagogue are abdicating their responsibility to Jewish safety. Rather, she wrote, the synagogue does its job by instilling the values that shape the political decisions of its congregants.
“Our role,” she wrote, “is not to enter political campaigns or to endorse or speak out against candidates, but to provide moral and spiritual clarity on important public issues.”
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