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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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The post In Turkey, a festival revives a jewel of the Sephardic world and aims to break stereotypes appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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I Came to Israel for Clarity and Left with More Questions (How Jewish)
The Western Wall and Temple Mount in Jerusalem. Photo: Wikimedia Commons.
I arrived in Israel as part of the Birthright Israel Onward Storytellers Program, with a dynamic group of creators from across the globe intent on gaining perspective on the region.
Many people in my group were short-form enthusiasts, but I repeatedly insisted on the power of long-form storytelling. So here are some long-form thoughts on my experience:
While Israelis wear their resilience on their sleeves, I was struck by the psychological weight they’ve gained since Oct 7.
When I learned that the word grief in Hebrew was “evel,” I asked if it was linked to the word “even,” which means rock. A native speaker was surprised by this question, but couldn’t refute the connection.
Coincidences in the Holy Land often feel like Divine signs. Maybe they are.
On our first day, while walking through the Old City in Jerusalem, I lost the Hamsa pendant I bought on my last visit; it slipped right off my neck.
My first sign!
That pendant was now burrowed in the pocket of cobblestone streets older than the prophets. What literal symbol would I replace it with?
After a tear-soaked visit to the Kotel, where I jammed a wish-filled note in the cracks of the ancient wall, we visited the Temple Mount, a jarring surprise to our group to even be allowed in.
At one of the holiest places in Jewish and Muslim culture, I was not moved by the archeological marvel, but by the human connection — in the thoughtful dialogue I began with our Palestinian tour guide, in an effort to understand his experience.
It was not lost on me that we were a living bridge of peace, in the most contentious location between our cultures. I doubt it was lost on him either.
We hugged goodbye later that day, and wished each other well, speaking to the individual but praying for our collectives.
The next day we visited the harrowing sites of the Oct. 7 massacres at the Nova festival and Kibbutz Nir Oz. I was surprised at how unsurprised I was, scarred by the gutting imagery that the attack had become sadly associated with.
We then went to the great expanse of the Negev Desert, with its Grand Canyon-like Godliness. We spoke to our creator in the darkness of the night, looking for more answers — but, again, I was left with more questions.
The signs were unclear and I was getting frustrated.
We then came to Tel Aviv, a city that always feels just right with its bustling multi-culturalism, charming architecture, undeniable food, and endless gorgeous faces.
I could live here, I thought. With the state of the world, maybe sooner rather than later.
I thrived on my own, with long walks away from the group, sipping delicious coffee and reaffirming why I love this country so much. The solitude energized my urge to make the world understand what Israel really is. How they would see if they only came here for themselves!
But we cannot make people see what they don’t want to see. We can only lead by example and hope that our changes inspire them, or at the very least, confront them.
Our meaningful journey, carefully curated by Yael Adventures, was coming to an end.
I left this chapter of my trip inspired by a group of young leaders expressing their values online to move hearts and minds through food, fashion, humor, and culture.
The odds are against us.
As I told them, my family is Israeli, so I have no choice but to be an outspoken advocate. The others have a harder choice, one that their peers reject violently and without nuance. And yet they choose to stand with Jewish pride in the land we are told we don’t deserve, but relentlessly reminded why we need.
I am grateful to this group for teaching me so much about their stories and about my own. Among them, I even made some true friends, a task that gets increasingly harder in a world saturated with false idols and inauthentic lives.
After the organized trip, I visited my family in the North, the only extended family I have. As we sat down for Shabbat dinner, I felt the feeling of home that people often describe when their tribe is together. When you live across the world from yours, a puzzle piece of your soul reattaches for even the shortest reconnection.
The next day, on a walk with my cousin, I ran into a childhood friend. I had met him on my family’s sabbatical in Israel when I was 12 years old. He no longer lived in the village, but happened to be visiting the same day as me, walking the same trail at the same time.
Another sign.
I had lived there at an age where life events are consequential to our personalities and trajectory. It reminded me of the confidence this place instilled in me, which has carried me throughout my life. If nothing else, I owe it to these people for the confidence they gave me — to remind them of how special they truly are, regardless of what the rest of the world thinks. To lighten the load of the “even” from the “evel.”
I visited my Father’s grave, a beautiful stone structure built for only the most epic of men. He rests exactly where he belongs, overlooking the land of his forefathers, beside his fellow countrymen.
His tombstone is labeled “Professor.” I questioned what identity I would want written on my own. I didn’t have an answer.
As a multi-hyphenate, I don’t do well with labels, or perhaps have yet to land on my own personal definition.
The trip ended with a cherished day of filming for my upcoming movie, continuing the long journey to tell a story I can’t wait to share with you all. It turns out that it doesn’t matter where I am in the world — if I’m making art on my own terms, I come alive.
This sign couldn’t be clearer.
It would be borderline blasphemous to not acknowledge the Divinity of using my God-given gifts in my ancestral homeland.
Perhaps I was right to be in this cohort after all. A true “hero’s journey,” I came back home changed, and armed with fresh perspective and new tools to do what I do best — tell stories. I guess I don’t need a new pendant for that.
No matter your background, I hope you’ll visit Israel and see it for yourself someday. It may not have all your answers, but, like me, it may leave you with new questions to explore.
And if you don’t, that’s OK too. I’ll be back again very soon, and eat enough Shawarma for the both of us.
Ari Frenkel is an actor, writer and filmmaker. He is known for his on-screen work in Amazon’s I’m A Virgo, HBO’s Silicon Valley, FX’s American Crime Story, and much more. He is the creator and star of the award-winning digital series Sorry, Ari. He is currently in production for his debut feature film, See You on the Other Side. Visit his Instagram, and website.
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Phase Two Begins: Will Hamas Uphold Its Ceasefire Commitments?
People walk past a billboard portraying the late Hamas leader Yahya Sinwar at the site of a rally held by protesters, mainly Houthi supporters, to show support to Lebanon’s Hezbollah and Palestinians in the Gaza Strip, in Sanaa, Yemen, Oct. 18, 2024. Photo: REUTERS/Khaled Abdullah
The United States has announced that the second phase of the ceasefire agreement between Israel and Hamas has now begun. While officials worry that not moving on to the second stage could encourage renewed fighting, the movement towards the second phase has also been met with trepidation from the Israeli perspective.
Notably, Hamas has yet to uphold its end of the agreement, consistently violating the ceasefire since its implementation by launching attacks on Israeli soldiers, crossing the yellow line into territory controlled by the IDF, and not returning all hostages within the first 72 hours of the agreement.
While all hostages, both living and deceased, were meant to return home 72 hours after the initial agreement was signed, Hamas has consistently delayed releases or indulged in misdirection and cover-ups. As phase two begins, the body of Ran Gvili, the final hostage being unlawfully held in Gaza, has yet to return home. It raises serious doubts about the extent to which the terrorist organization can be trusted to honor its commitments.
What Does Phase Two Entail?
The second phase of the ceasefire is meant to establish a transitional technocratic Palestinian administration in Gaza, known as the National Committee for the Administration of Gaza (NCAG). It will also begin the full demilitarization and reconstruction of Gaza, focusing specifically on the disarmament of all unauthorized personnel, such as Hamas and Islamic Jihad.
While Hamas is now supposedly signaling willingness to disarm, it has in the past made it explicitly clear that it is not interested in disarming until there is a clear process that will result in the establishment of a Palestinian state, least of all if Israel is still present in the Gaza Strip. Yet this requirement for disarmament must be met at this stage for Israel to continue its withdrawal.
Since the beginning of phase one, the IDF has been working tirelessly on the demilitarization of Gaza. Yet areas beyond the yellow line — the area of withdrawal controlled by the IDF — remain far from clear of terrorist infrastructure, as the IDF continues to uncover more tunnel systems.
All of these key components of the second phase need to work in synchronization. Hamas’ military grip on the Gaza Strip currently puts the terrorist organization in a position of de facto governance. If it relinquishes its military powers by disarming, it will create the possibility for the NCAG force to begin administering the civilians there.
The NCAG is meant to be an apolitical body overseeing daily life in Gaza. In this capacity, it could help support stabilization efforts, reduce the influence of terrorist organizations, and create space for long-term initiatives focused on education, reconstruction, and economic opportunity — key elements in fostering a more sustainable future. Additionally, the International Stabilization Force (ISF) will also be implemented at this stage to help establish and support a police force, allowing for further Israeli withdrawal.
The successful implementation of the second phase lays the groundwork for a stable and functional civilian administration in Gaza. Thus, this phase is not only about immediate security and withdrawal, but rather about building the institutional foundations necessary to ensure a stable future in post-war Gaza.
A Reminder From Oslo
This is not the first time Israel has entered into agreements with the Palestinians, only to face challenges stemming from a lack of enforcement, limited accountability, and differing interests.
In 1993, Israelis and Palestinians were similarly excited about the process of moving towards a future free of terrorism, incitement, and hatred.
The Oslo Accords called for the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) to formally recognize the right of the State of Israel to exist. In contrast, Israel recognized the PLO as the representative of the Palestinian people. Over the course of five years, the two parties were meant to reach a formal and comprehensive agreement. However, no such agreement was ever reached between the parties, and the breakdown of the process was followed by the launch of the Second Intifada, during which weapons originally intended for Palestinian security forces were turned against Israel.
Perhaps one of the most important requirements from the Palestinian side of the Oslo Accords was a commitment to education reform, intended to promote tolerance within the Palestinian education system. A lack of enforcement meant that this crucial factor was never implemented.
As a result, the Palestinian education system has — to this day — been one that indoctrinates Palestinian children with a vehement hatred of the State of Israel and the Jewish people, and calls on children to become martyrs by committing terrorist attacks. This means that the terrorists who committed the atrocities of October 7, 2023, grew up using textbooks that glorified terrorism after the fallout from Oslo.
While the world and the media may be ready to move on to phase two, it is crucial that Israel ensures the other side are held to their obligations. The aftermath of the Oslo Accords illustrates the consequences of failing to uphold commitments. The repeated disregard of terrorist organizations’ negotiated commitments ultimately undermined long-term stability. The current phase in Gaza presents a similar crossroads. Without careful oversight and accountability, a history of broken commitments and renewed violence could repeat itself.
The author is a contributor to HonestReporting, a Jerusalem-based media watchdog with a focus on antisemitism and anti-Israel bias — where a version of this article first appeared.
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What Happens Next for the US and Iran?
Iran’s Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei speaks during a meeting in Tehran, Iran, January 17, 2026. Office of the Iranian Supreme Leader/WANA (West Asia News Agency)/Handout via REUTERS
Having warned Iran’s regime, repeatedly and explicitly, not to brutalize its own people, President Trump now must figure out how to uphold his red line, avoid losing credibility, and impose serious costs on the regime — all without triggering a wider conflict.
Revolutionary regimes like the Islamic Republic try to delegitimize and deflect popular discontent by pinning it on external enemies. Although Trump has spoken out about the protests, Tehran ignored the Biden team’s glaring silence and still blamed America for the “Woman, Life, Freedom” movement just a few years ago.
It is therefore no surprise that the speaker of Iran’s parliament has said the country is already in a new round of conflict with America and Israel. Iranian officials also have threatened to attack US regional bases, including preemptively.
Even if the country’s recent nationwide protests have subsided for now, Iran’s regime is fundamentally both unable and unwilling to address the deep-rooted grievances underlying such widespread and steadily worsening internal discontent.
It is strictly a question of when — not if — major unrest returns, and with it, the regime’s enduring instinct and temptation to project its problems outward onto the “Big” and “Little” Satans of America and Israel. Brinkmanship also offers the regime hope of deterring military action during the moments of domestic crisis when its future is most in doubt.
There are plenty of salutary sanctions, cyberwarfare tools, and covert and kinetic options to support protestors, inhibit further crackdowns, and encourage the regime’s ultimate collapse.
By themselves, however, these options are unable to keep Iran from threatening or unleashing massive retaliation against US targets in the process.
A key element of President Trump’s response, and one that fulfills his promise of “hitting them very, very hard where it hurts,” should be to target the regime’s best retaliatory capabilities.
This means its short-range ballistic and cruise missiles, drones, missile boat swarms, anti-ship missiles, and mobile coastal batteries looming over the Gulf, Iraq, and American forces there. By combining mass with precision, the weapons are Iran’s readiest option to counter US threats against its internal security apparatus.
These capabilities were left untouched during the June war, when the United States and Israel focused on nuclear sites and longer-range ballistic missiles. They do not require the time-consuming loading and fueling of those longer-range missiles, and their flight times are shorter.
These short-range projectiles can be launched in large “bolt from the blue” attacks with little early warning, and in great quantities, that strain US-led defenses in the region. Unlike some of its other arsenals, Iran has dangerous incentives to strike first, fast, and hard with these weapons.
Moreover, this Iran weapons program would have an attractive array of high-value targets. American forces cluster in a small handful of bases and warships in the Gulf, adjacent to major energy terminals and the world’s most important energy shipping point in the narrow Strait of Hormuz. These sites do not have anything remotely like Israel’s air and missile shield, a concern reflected in recent comments from senior US military officials about needing time to prepare regional defenses.
Iran’s past attacks with these weapons reliably hit their aimpoints. Most memorably, Iran launched a surprise cruise missile and drone swarm against Saudi energy facilities in 2019, and a ballistic missile barrage against US forces in Iraq several months later.
Even though it chose to telegraph its missile strike on Al-Udeid airbase in Qatar last year, American troops had to evacuate in advance, given their lack of adequate defenses. Both during and since the June conflict, Iran has prepared attacks and conducted military exercises to target US forces and energy shipping around Hormuz.
Iran also knows from past practice that threatening such attacks can generate pressure on America from its Gulf partners, all of whom want to deescalate tensions that could otherwise shoot oil prices upward and jeopardize their ambitious, but vulnerable, economic development projects.
Iran’s regime should know its short-range weapons are central to the strike options being readied for President Trump’s consideration. America’s commander-in-chief should make painfully and explicitly clear that Tehran cannot escalate its way out of its predicament — at home or abroad.
Jonathan Ruhe is the Fellow for American Strategy at the Jewish Institute for National Security of America.