REYKJAVIK, Iceland - Nearly half an hour after Rosh Hashanah services were set to begin, the congregation in this chilly city still was one man short of a minyan. But as the small group of Jewish expats and their Icelandic spouses mingled and waited, no one complained.
After all, what's 30 minutes to a community that's been waiting more than 60 years?
A kosher visit to one of the most beautiful places on earth
The Rosh Hashanah services held in downtown Reykjavik last week -- organized by a 23-year-old Chabad rabbi who is six months into a quest to revive the Icelandic Jewish community -- were the first formal ones with a rabbi and a Torah scroll held in the city since the end of World War II, according to community members.
Most of Iceland's Jews -- there are about 40 in total -- live in Reykjavik, the world's northernmost capital and a compact, vibrant city of about 120,000. In all, some 315,000 people live in Iceland.
There is no synagogue here, no Jewish community center, no organized structure. Judaism is not even one of Iceland's state-recognized religions.
Until Rabbi Berel Pewzner decided to reach out to Iceland’s Jews in
March, there had been no rabbinic presence in Iceland for years. The
last rabbis to come here were those occasionally imported to lead
services for Jewish soldiers at the NATO base located about 40 minutes
away in Keflavik; the base closed in 2006. Chabad tried an outreach
effort here in the 1990s, but it was not successful and was
Pewzner, who led two Reykjavik seders in April and is back in the city
now for the High Holidays, said the success of the seders compelled him
to press on.
"What happened at the seder was that people were sitting across from
each other and saying, 'Wait, you're Jewish and you live in Iceland?' "
he said. "It was just an incredible scene to see people connect. There
was a consensus that we had to do more."
For the last few decades, the community has experienced highs and lows.
About 15 years ago there was enough interest to sustain Saturday morning
services. But in recent years it's been a struggle just to organize
meet-ups for Passover, Chanukah and the High Holidays apple-and-honey
There have been sporadic get-togethers, including seders, menorah
lightings and a belated Tu b'Shvat tree planting in the summer after the
ground had thawed. Some symbolic bar mitzvahs used a paper Torah
scroll. This time, the Chabad rabbi brought with him a genuine, albeit
compact, Torah scroll.
Mike Levin, a Chicago native who's been in Iceland for 25 years, said Chabad couldn't have come at a better time.
"They came at the lowest point that I've seen our community since I came
here," he said. "We're at a point where we just can't do it anymore.
It's actually a blessing that the rabbis are here because there have
been Rosh Hashanahs and Yom Kippurs where we haven't got together."
The services last week, which drew a minyan both days, were scaled-down,
two-hour affairs aimed at a community of Jews who are mostly secular
and unfamiliar with holiday rituals.
In his sermon Pewzner -- who blew the shofar and led the service along
with his friend Rabbi Berel Grunblatt, an Argentinian Jew and cantor --
sprinkled in references to Icelandic phenomena like the Northern Lights
and reminded the participants of the historical significance of their
"I think we're heading in the right direction. Together we'll make
things happen," he said at the service. "We have the opportunity to make
this year a historic year not just for ourselves and our personal
lives, but for the Jewish community in Iceland."
Pewzner said he hopes the High Holidays services -- combined with an
outreach effort that he and Grunblatt will undertake this week to meet
with every known Jew in the country -- will be the start of a process
that could culminate in a permanent Chabad presence in Iceland.
"The goal is that every Jew should have what he needs here --
physically, materially, spiritually -- to be proud of his heritage and
educate his children," he said.
In the future, that could also entail the Jewish community filing an
application to become a state-recognized faith, which would direct some
tax funds toward Jewish institutions. But that might require an
exception from the Icelandic government, which generally requires
state-recognized religions to have at least 50 members.
One problem is that the application must be sponsored by an Icelandic
citizen over the age of 30 -- a set of circumstances that none of the
community’s active members fit.
"Somebody has to be the president, and I don't know if people are really
willing to do this, to put it down on paper that they're Jewish here,"
Levin said. "It'd be one thing if I did it, but I don't want to be the
only one to do it. I want it to be a lot of people to do it, kind of
like a grass-roots thing."
Some grass-roots Jewish community activity already is taking place.
Daniel Harpaz, an Israeli, and his Icelandic wife, Sigurlin Edda
Andresdottir, are working to document the kosher food available in
Icelandic supermarkets in an effort to develop a comprehensive Jewish
travel website for the country. They’re also trying to work with
Reykjavik-area hotels to make them more amenable to the needs of
religious Jewish tourists.
Last week's services attracted a handful of tourists, including Holly
Diener, a New York native who now lives in Paris and was in Iceland for
four days with her brother. Realizing she'd be in Reykjavik for the
holidays, Diener began scouring the Internet to find some way of
celebrating Rosh Hashanah.
"When I saw there were no synagogues, I didn't realize there were
countries with no synagogues, so that makes the fact that we were able
to gather here together even more special," she said. "It's something
that links us, no matter what country, no matter what set of
Whether the Rosh Hashanah services marked the start of something new for
the Icelandic Jewish community or just another moment in its decades of
ups and downs remains to be seen. But for the 40 or so Jews who
gathered for Rosh Hashanah, schmoozed and snacked on apples and honey,
challah, smoked salmon and honey cake, it felt like something good
already was happening.
Sigal Har-Meshi, an Israeli who married an Icelander and has lived in
the country for the past seven years, was one of the locals attending
her first Rosh Hashanah service in decades. As one of the community’s
leaders, it often falls on her to coordinate holiday plans and ensure
that Reykjavik's Jews don't become too fragmented and lonely.
"It's difficult -- I always have to call people and beg them to come,
but they like it," said Har-Meshi of the holiday gatherings. "I always
say it's the last time, it's the last time, and then the holiday comes
and I do it again. But it's lot of work -- it's always last minute."
Despite the challenges, Har-Meshi said there is something special about being part of such a small Jewish community.
“When we meet Jewish people, we feel close to each other so quickly,"
she said. "At first I thought it was just Israelis, but then I met other
nationalities, and it's like family. To meet other Jews, it's