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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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My Path to Being More Observant: Building a Jewish Life on Love, Not Fear
Reading from a Torah scroll in accordance with Sephardi tradition. Photo: Sagie Maoz via Wikimedia Commons.
I love connecting Jews to Judaism. There’s a big part of the Jewish world where people don’t know what they’re missing out on. If people have only ever been exposed to one stream of Judaism from a young age, their worldview will be shaped by that experience. We have access to knowledge, spirituality, and meaningful ways to connect to G-d, and we should be sharing this with all Jews.
I try to show them love by inviting them to Shabbat dinners and powerful experiences. These are all very important things to me. But I wasn’t always this way.
I grew up in Sharon, Massachusetts, surrounded by a rich tapestry of Jewish life. I attended Temple Israel, a Conservative synagogue, spent summers at Camp YJ in Amherst, New Hampshire, and was involved in BBYO throughout high school. Between Hebrew school three days a week and my parents hosting many Jewish holidays, Judaism was woven into the fabric of my daily life.
Yet despite this strong foundation, my journey to Aish’s yeshiva program wasn’t something anyone might have predicted. I was always connected with Judaism growing up, and I had many Modern Orthodox friends in college, but yeshiva wasn’t initially on my radar. That changed when I got to the University of Michigan.
At Michigan, I connected with Michigan Hillel and became deeply involved in Israel activism and Jewish student leadership. I also developed a meaningful relationship with Rabbi Fully Eisenberger, at the Jewish Resource Center, who taught me for four years. The Jewish Resource Center at Michigan became instrumental in my growth, supported my learning journey, and gave me confidence in my decisions.
The Jewish Resource Center was tremendous to me. I really felt supported in my journey and my learning, and that allowed me to feel confident in my decisions to go to Aish.
I had visited Israel four times before that point, starting with a five-week trip through Camp YJ in 2019. After I graduated from Michigan, I had a consulting job lined up in Manhattan starting in February, which gave me a perfect window of time in between. I decided Israel was my best option to increase my Jewish knowledge and set up my Jewish future for success. Ultimately, that meant yeshiva.
Having arrived at Aish in September 2025, I dived headfirst into intensive Jewish learning. While my studies have been overwhelmingly positive, the transition hasn’t been without its challenges. I’ll admit that my biggest hurdle is wanting to run before I know how to walk.
I wish I could read Gemara all day, but translations are hard for me. Sometimes you just have to take your time and say the words correctly and with intention. Time is my challenge. That’s my hurdle.
Despite these mild frustrations, I have found incredible support among my rabbis. Rabbi Daniel Schloss has been particularly influential in helping me understand halakha, Jewish law. The way he gets me to think through the principles of Shabbat is very powerful, because it shows I have the ability to interpret halakha and use it correctly. He’s an incredible teacher.
Rabbi Ethan Katz has also been instrumental in my growth, as he’s helped me learn to study at a pace that I desired, and I’m grateful for that. He has such positive energy, and I really appreciate that.
Throughout my journey, my family has been remarkably supportive. My parents have embraced this increasingly observant path I have been traveling, catering to my needs and ensuring I can build the Jewish future I envision. While they haven’t necessarily followed the same trajectory themselves, their gift to me was the foundation that made everything else possible.
Even as I learn, I’m always looking for ways to give back. Before arriving here, I led a Birthright Israel trip, and will be leading another one. I look forward to the day when I can host people regularly and get involved with outreach organizations back in New York.
People often ask me if I’m wary of being in New York, but I refuse to let others define my Jewish identity. Our Judaism is made up of things we love. We love being Jewish, celebrating the holidays, and connecting with the community. I’m looking to find positive ways to build my Judaism.
Thanks to my upbringing and studies, I feel confident and proud of my Judaism. I want to bring that confidence and passion with me, ready to share what I’ve learned and continue growing in my connection to the most fulfilling Jewish life.
The author holds a Bachelor’s degree in Economics and a minor in Entrepreneurship and Judaic Studies from the University of Michigan, and recently attended Yeshiva in Israel at Aish.
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Holocaust Survivor, 96, Celebrates Aliyah to Israel With Five Generations of Descendants
Charlotte Roth’s aliyah ceremony, attended by five generations of her descendants. Photo: Nefesh B’Nefesh
Holocaust survivor Charlotte Roth formally immigrated to Israel on Wednesday and celebrated with an aliyah ceremony attended by her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren who live in the Jewish state.
“It is a truly wonderful moment in my life to be able to call myself Israeli, a citizen of our Jewish state,” said Roth, 96. “Walking these streets with five generations of my family fills my heart with deep joy and strength, especially when I see Israeli soldiers and feel safety and pride where there was once fear.”
Aliyah refers to the process of Jews immigrating to Israel.
Roth made the move to Israel with help from Nefesh B’Nefesh — a nonprofit organization that promotes and facilitates aliyah from the US and Canada — and the Israeli government’s Population and Immigration Authority, in cooperation with the Ministry of Aliyah and Integration and three nonprofits: The Jewish Agency for Israel, Keren Kayemeth LeIsrael, and Jewish National Fund–USA.
The Holocaust survivor was born in Czechoslovakia. In 1944 during Passover, at the age of 14, Roth’s family was forced into a Jewish ghetto. Weeks later the family was deported to the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp in a cattle car and faced horrific conditions during their transportation. Upon arrival at the Nazi death camp, which was the second day of the Jewish holiday of Shavuot, Roth was separated from her mother and siblings, and never saw them again.
Roth did forced labor in Auschwitz. She survived the Nazi concentration camp, a death march, and imprisonment in another camp before she was liberated at the end of World War II. Her mother and siblings did not survive the Holocaust and before she had a chance to reunite with her father, he committed suicide, thinking that his whole family had died. Roth met her future husband in a Displaced Persons camp, where they married and had their first child before immigrating to the United States. They had four children together and today Roth is the matriarch of nine grandchildren, 26 great-grandchildren, and 11 great-great-grandchildren.
Rabbi Yehoshua Fass, co-founder and executive director of Nefesh B’Nefesh, said Roth’s life journey “is a testament to the extraordinary resilience of the Jewish spirit.”
“From unimaginable darkness emerged a light that has shone for over five generations,” he added. “Her aliyah, surrounded by her family in the Jewish homeland, is profoundly moving and represents courage, renewal, and the enduring triumph of our nation. We are deeply privileged to share in this remarkable moment.”
Roth continues to wear one possession that she still has from before the Holocaust, which is a ring engraved with the initials “IS,” for Ilanka Shvartz, the name she was given at birth.
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DePaul University Denounces Antisemitic Harassment, Targeting of Jewish Students
Students walk into the student center on the campus of DePaul University in Chicago, Illinois, US, Oct. 2, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Jim Vondruska
DePaul University in Chicago has denounced an antisemitic incident which took place near its grounds last Wednesday, with President Robert Manuel saying he is “outraged.”
According to the university, a group of its students, as well as others from Loyola College and Roosevelt University, were harassed at the local Olive & Oak Café during a regular outing hosted by Hillel and the Jewish United Fund. During a verbal onslaught, the perpetrators demanded that the students leave for being Jewish while a JUF staff member was subject to battery, according to a description of the incident told by the Chicago Police Department.
“While this incident occurred off campus, I am outraged that our students were targeted and harassed because of their Jewish identity,” Manuel said in a statement on Monday. “These actions are inexcusable. DePaul University condemns antisemitism in all its forms and will continue to stand firm in doing so, in line with our Catholic, Vincentian values.”
He continued, “We are working to determine whether any of the offenders are affiliated with DePaul community, and we will take swift, consistent action if any violations of university policy are identified … Acts of hate and violence has no place at DePaul — or anywhere. Our commitment to foster a campus environment rooted in dignity, care, and respect for all remains unwavering.”
Last Wednesday’s incident is not the first time Jewish DePaul students have been subject to alleged battery and discrimination.
In November 2024, two Jewish students participating in a pro-Israel demonstration at DePaul University were “brutally” assaulted by two ruffians who concealed their identities with masks. At least one of the men, Adam Erkan, involved in the assault has since pleaded guilty to misdemeanor battery. According to court documents, he approached the victims, Max Long and Michael Kaminsky, in a ski mask while shouting antisemitic epithets and statements. He then attacked both students, fracturing Kaminsky’s wrist and inflicting a brain injury on Long, whom he pummeled into an unconscious state.
Law enforcement identified Erkan, who absconded to another location in a car, after his father came forward to confirm that it was his visage which surveillance cameras captured near the scene of the crime. According to multiple reports, the assailant avoided severer criminal penalties by agreeing to plead guilty to lesser offenses than the felony hate crime counts with which he was originally charged.
His accomplice, described as a man in his age group, remained at large as of late last year.
“One attacker has now admitted guilt for brutally assaulting two Jewish students at DePaul University. That is a step toward justice, but it is nowhere near enough,” The Lawfare Project, a Jewish civil rights advocacy group which represented the Jewish students throughout the criminal proceedings, said in a statement responding to the plea deal. “The second attacker remains at large, and Max and Michael continue to experience ongoing threats. We demand — and fully expect — his swift arrest and prosecution to ensure justice for these students and for the Jewish community harmed by this antisemitic hate crime.”
Antisemitic incidents on US college campuses have exploded nationwide since Hamas’s Oct. 7, 2023, massacre across southern Israel.
The 2025-2026 academic year has seen a continuation of that pattern.
Earlier this month, a non-student graffitied Nazi insignia on the campus of Northwestern University. The Schutzstaffel (SS) symbol representing the notorious paramilitary group under Adolf Hitler and the Nazi Party in Germany was spray-painted on Northwestern’s campus in Evanston, Illinois. The SS played a central role in the Nazis’ systematic killing of 6 million Jews during the Holocaust.
In January, a right-wing influencer and University of Miami student upbraided her Jewish peers in a tirade in which she denounced them as “disgusting” while accusing rabbis of eating infants.
“Christianity, which says love everyone, meanwhile your Bible says eating someone who is a non-Jew is like eating with an animal. That’s what the Talmud says,” the social media influencer, Kaylee Mahony, yelled at members of Students Supporting Israel (SSI) who had a table at a campus fair held at the University of Miami. “That’s what these people follow.”
She continued, “They think that if you are not a Jew you are an animal. That’s the Talmud. That’s the Talmud.”
The Talmud, a key source of Jewish law, tradition, and theology, is often misrepresented by antisemitic agitators in an effort to malign the Jewish people and their religion.
Mahony can also be heard in video of the incident responding to one of the SSI members, saying, “Because you’re disgusting. It’s disgusting.”
Follow Dion J. Pierre @DionJPierre.