Searching for the last Jews of Tunis

The small Jewish community in the country famous for the birth of the Arab Spring focuses on tradition but is proud to be Tunisian.

By EVA TAPIERO
A KOSHER butchery on the Avenue de la Liberté (Freedom Street) in front of the Great Synagogue. (photo credit: EVA TAPIERO)
A KOSHER butchery on the Avenue de la Liberté (Freedom Street) in front of the Great Synagogue.
(photo credit: EVA TAPIERO)
The synagogue in La Goulette, the port of Tunis, is not the easiest place to find. When it’s closed, nothing gives it away. But locals in this suburban area of the city readily help tourists spot one of the last active synagogues in Tunisia.
Children weave in and out of the street playing games, shouting in Arabic, “Jew, Jew!” But they’re non-threatening, and even take to some good natured flirting with foreigners. There is an active police presence around Jewish monuments, such as the Great Synagogue of Tunis on the city’s Avenue de la Liberté (Freedom Street) and the La Goulette retirement home. The government is trying hard to show that the country is safe and that the Jewish community, especially, is protected. Tunisia was a French colony from 1881 until its independence in 1956.
Before then, around 100,000 Jews lived in the country. But by 1967, the vast majority had left for France or Israel. In December 2010, Tunisia underwent a massive revolution, nicknamed the “Jasmine Revolution,” and led to the ousting of president Zine el-Abidine Ben Ali and his oppressive regime. In December 2011, Moncef Marzouki was elected as an interim president by the assembly and in December 2013 Mehdi Jomaa was appointed prime minister.
Today, around 1,500 Jews live in Tunisia, the majority of them in Djerba. The rest of the community, for the most part, is concentrated in Tunis with a small number spread out around the country.
From May 13-18, on the opposite side of the country, the annual and highly anticipated El Ghriba pilgrimage to the island of Djerba – during which nearly 1,000 Jews visited the synagogue believed to house a stone that was taken during the destruction of the First Temple in 586 BCE – concluded without any reported incidents. Tunisian Tourism Minister Amel Karboul said she was pleased that the pilgrimage was a way for visitors to renew their Tunisian identity, telling tourists, “Our country is your country.”
Yet in March, controversy erupted when a group of Israelis traveling on a Norwegian Cruise Line ship were barred entry to the Muslim country. In April, Jomaa announced approval of allowing Israeli tourists to enter Tunisia. The move incited the opposition, with critics saying the government was normalizing relations with Israel, a country with which Tunisia shares no diplomatic ties. Yet the decision stands.
So what is it really like to be a Jew in an Arab land? Though some may find it hard to imagine that a handful of Jews could live peacefully in a Muslim country, a visit with some of the last Jews in Tunis reveals a community that neither hides nor lives in fear. Home sweet home Jacob Lellouche is a well-known Tunisian Jew and is familiar with receiving journalists. In 2011, as a restaurateur-turned-politician, he was the only Jew to run in the country’s first democratic elections after the Arab Spring. He was not elected to parliament but was happy to be a Tunisian participating in the democratic process, saying in previous interviews he wanted to show people that a non-Muslim could run.
He still operates his restaurant, Mamie Lily – the only kosher restaurant in Tunis – welcoming regular customers and friends. Among the crowd are Jews, Muslims and a patron who happens to be both.
Despite Lellouche’s enthusiasm over the phone to be interviewed, he seems bitter when meeting, even a touch arrogant.
According to him, the Western world has too many prejudices about how Jews can live in an Arab country, and he doesn’t like it.
Yet he eventually softens and begins to tell his story. Lellouche, a large man with a full, silver mustache, spent a good portion of his life in France, before returning to Tunisia in 1996 because, as he puts it, he wanted to come back home. He relates that when he explained his move to his adult children, he said: “It is better to have a faraway but happy father, than a close-by but unhappy one.”
Lellouche, who considers himself secular, opened his restaurant and made the decision to keep it kosher to respect the Jewish Tunisian tradition. “Once I close the door, I am a secular Jew and I do not live my life according to religion, but it is different for my restaurant,” he explains. It is important for him to respect the traditions of Tunisia’s Judaism, which is based on “festivities and sharing.”
In 2011 he started the organization Dar el-Dhekra (Memory’s House), which promotes Jewish heritage in Tunisia. Dar el-Dhekra has set up several projects; the most recent was a photo exhibit about the country’s synagogues. Lellouche explains that it would be difficult to imagine setting up anything like his organization under former president Ben Ali’s regime.
“They would make us understand that we [Jews] were welcomed in the country but that we should keep quiet and do our own things,” he says. “The consequence was kind of self-censorship.”
While the organization is connected to the Jewish community, for Lellouche it is much more than that: It is Tunisia’s history – Jews just happen to be part of it. He feels that the entire population should know and understand this history.
“We need to remind the Tunisians that they have a Jewish background.”
He touches lightly on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. In his view, it is a problem that does not belong to the Jews of Tunisia, and there is absolutely no reason to transpose it onto them. He does not have to have an opinion about it, he says, and “being Jewish does not change this.”
Lellouche reiterates that he is not Israeli and has a hard time understanding why a faraway issue should create complicated situations at home.
“There is no reason to oppose the different communities of one country,” he says. “Bottom line is, we are all Tunisians. I am not for the defense of minorities, I am for the defense of ‘Tunisianity.’” He is also not the only Tunisian Jew to mistrust journalists.
Lost in the middle of the salons de thé (“tea houses”), halal butchers and clothes stores, Amram stands in the entrance to his kosher butcher shop in front of the Great Synagogue.
Amram is closed off at first, believing, like Lellouche, that too many people have preconceived ideas and relate the wrong stories. He is happy in Tunisia; he wears his kippa freely on the streets of Tunis and works with Muslims in his small butcher shop.
His children go to the Jewish school, located on the Rue de Palestine. “How ironic,” he posits, but does not venture further.
He doesn’t talk politics and has no intention of disrupting, what seems to be, a sincere harmony with his Muslim compatriots.
He admits that while the situation is good today, no one knows what tomorrow will bring.
“Being Jewish in an Arab country can be uncertain,” he says. “The regime could change, with no guarantee that our rights as a minority will continue to be protected.”
But for him, this is true everywhere, and what matters is that today he loves his life in Tunis.
“In Tunisia, like everywhere else, Jews’ future cannot be predicted, so there is no need to try and look for solutions when the problem does not exist yet,” he says.
This is why, when asked about the possibility of moving to France or Israel, he simply replies, “Tunisia is my country.”
Still, those in the community concede that they do not trumpet their Jewishness. They do not hide it, but they do not overly expose themselves.
Brigitte Hayoun, a social worker for the Jewish community – or Communauté Juive de Tunis – says she feels entirely Tunisian and lives as a Jew without fear. She adds that talking about Jews or “saying that we are Jewish is never dangerous, but yes, it can create an awkward situation.”
She explains that the awkwardness most likely comes from the situation between Israel and the Palestinians, because “some people make the distinction between Jews and Israelis, but some don’t.”
Some Jews even decide to move to Tunisia from abroad.
Jean-Philippe, a Frenchman with a Moroccan background, found himself spending several months a year in Djerba, and one day he and his family decided to make the move permanent. When they first moved to Djerba, the children attended an Arabic school. The family then moved to Tunis, where his children switched to a French school with pupils from all over the world. He says the atmosphere is very peaceful, and he is amused by some of his friends’ reactions to his decision to move.
“They have so many prejudices against Tunisia, but they are wrong,” he says. “Our life here is great.”
A united but disappearing community Nonetheless, the future of the small Tunisian community is uncertain.
“We have here the exact same problems people have everywhere.
Parents want the best for their kids, but here it is becoming complicated,” Hayoun says, able to reflect on her own experiences. Her own children do not live in Tunisia anymore; they left because of high unemployment and a lack of opportunity and upward mobility in the country – an issue nearly every Tunisian faces. When the answer to the question “Do I have a future in Tunisia?” is “no,” people tend to leave to study or find a job.
Most Tunisians, regardless of religion, share this fear for the fate of their country – though they also hope the situation will improve and that there will be a future for their children in their ancestors’ land. They have nothing against France or Israel, but home is Tunisia.
Hayoun was a photographer and never thought she would become the community’s social worker. However, with the Jewish community getting smaller, everyone’s skills and strengths are welcome. She now takes care of the elderly, for the most part, going to the retirement home in La Goulette, but also visiting those who live on their own because they refuse to leave their homes.
Asked about the possibility of these individuals making aliya, Hayoun cannot hold back a smile in response to what she deems a naïve question. “It is sometimes impossible to make them move from their houses to the shelter, and you think they would move to Israel?”