Semsem
04-26-2005, 08:42 AM
http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/568073.html
Very sad that Maimonides synagogue in Cairo is a ruin. As a child my father would take me there to pray for miracles. Moslems and Coptic Christians would also go there.
The Holy Ark in the Maimonides synagogue. The Star of David atop the ark is hanging on by a thread. (Uri Lenz)
The end of the Exodus from Egypt
By Amiram Barkat
CAIRO - Outside it looks like a ruin, but after the guard opens the door to admit visitors, it turns out that there once was a synagogue here. Behind a small courtyard covered with building debris stands a Holy Ark. Its doors are broken, and from its top dangles a Star of David, hanging by a thread. The guard explains that the ceiling of the building collapsed in 1992, and the pile of debris was never cleared away.
It looks like just another Cairo synagogue that has come to a sad end. At least 20 such synagogues have been destroyed since the 1970s, and most of them were larger and more magnificent than the small Maimonides synagogue in Harat al-Yahud, the medieval Jewish quarter of Cairo. But this synagogue is not just any synagogue; it is one of the most important Jewish sites in Egypt and in the entire world.
Last year, special events were held all over the world to mark the 800th anniversary of the death of Rabbi Moses ben Maimon, the Rambam (Maimonides). He died in 1204 in Cairo, and according to the accepted tradition, his bones were transferred to Tiberias for burial. But the Jews of Egypt believe his bones never left the country. According to Egyptian tradition, the body of Maimonides was first brought to the small beit midrash (study hall) where he taught, and afterward was buried at an unknown Egyptian location; one of the traditions has it that he is buried today in the small niche in the wall of the ruined synagogue's study hall.
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No evidence has been found for any of these traditions, but even historians say that the synagogue and the yeshiva named for Maimonides is one of the oldest synagogues in the world, almost 800 years old. That is why the Jewish community in Cairo allows only rare visits to the place. After many pleas, they agreed to open its gates to a journalist and a photographer, on the eve of Pesach.
Although not much more remains of the synagogue itself than its four walls, the other parts of the building are still standing. For hundreds of years, the Jews of Egypt used to come on pilgrimages to this place, which is located in the heart of the neighborhood's maze of ancient alleyways. People with incurable diseases believed that they would be cured if they remained to sleep near Maimonides' grave. Today the chances are that not only would they not be cured, they would catch another disease, judging by the stench from the toilets.
Above the entrance to the study hall, in splendid isolation, hangs the portrait of Maimonides, who, according to a popular saying, was the greatest Jew since Moses. In a small hall behind the entrance, benches and other furniture float in what looks like a sewer. The place is flooded with water, almost to the height of the ceiling. One can view the niche of Maimonides' "grave" today only by diving. "What's there, in a word, is a cesspool," says Prof. Michael Lasker of Bar-Ilan University, an expert on Egyptian Jewry. He says that he tried in vain to help the president of the Cairo Jewish community, Carmen Weinstein, find a donor to restore the place. "The large Jewish organizations said it's not in their area of responsibility, and Jews of Egyptian origin have never been very cooperative," he says.
General emptiness
The great synagogue of the Karaites in Cairo, in the Abbassieh neighborhood, also is usually closed to visitors. The guard there agrees to let us in on condition that we don't take pictures. The reason becomes clear immediately: The overall appearance of the synagogue resembles a haunted castle in an (Egyptian) horror film. The building is reminiscent of a huge altar standing entirely deserted, only the sound of the wind banging on the remaining unbroken window panes interrupts the silence. The only visitors are the flock of pigeons that has come to live in the space, so that on the way to the prayer hall, visitors' shoes sink into a thick layer of guano. Two Art Deco chandeliers made of bronze and crystal are the last vestiges of the days of glory. Other chains remain dangling, testimony to additional chandeliers that once hung here.
Up until just a few years ago, this synagogue, named after Moshe Deri, was full of valuable Judaica that was brought to it in part from other Karaite synagogues, before they were destroyed. In his book about Jewish sites in Cairo, written in the mid-1990s, Dr. Yoram Meital of Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, an expert on the Middle East, mentions that on the floor of the synagogue were rugs and mats on which the Karaites prayed, that the synagogue building contained about 2,000 books, and that in the Holy Ark there were still valuable Torah scrolls, made of parchment. No trace of any of these exists today. All that remains is one bookcase, a pile of crates sunk in dust and several empty cabinets for Torah scrolls.
Meital believes local Jews were involved in the looting. Already in the early 1990s, when he visited the place to gather material for writing a book, he noticed that around him were "people who were very displeased about the fact that I was documenting the items. At one stage they forbade me to continue." Yosef Dvir, a spokesman for the Karaites in Israel, says they are well-aware of the fact that "the property in Cairo was not properly maintained," but they are unable to help. "We barely have enough money to maintain the community in Israel," he says.
Testimony and stories of Israelis who have visited other sites belonging to the Cairo community paint a similar picture of neglect. In the city's only Ashkenazi synagogue, in the center of the city, old books and documents are strewn on the floor in a layer of dust and filth. The huge Jewish cemetery in the Bassatine neighborhood serves as an improvised quarry for removing marble, stone and metals from the graves, and hardly a single headstone remains undamaged.
In Alexandria, the situation is better. In the compound of the Jewish community on Nebi Daniel Street stands the Synagogue of Elijah the Prophet, the community office building where the rabbinical court sits, and another building that served as the Jewish school and today is leased to a Muslim educational institution. The beautiful historic buildings are surrounding by manicured gardens and are well maintained.
The synagogue, which is considered the largest in the Middle East, is an impressive building; a broad white marble staircase leads to the entrance, which is surrounded by a decorative stone fence. The huge space inside, which until the mid-20th century held 1,000 worshipers, is illuminated by the light of dozens of seven-branched candelabra, with the addition of sunlight that streams through the stained-glass windows. The stone arches and pinkish Italian Carrara marble columns, with white Greek capitals, lend the place the appearance of a cathedral. The backs of the seats still bear pewter disks with the names of the owners. But the overall feeling is one of emptiness, of a bustling place that has become a museum.
The community building in Alexandria contains a huge archive that preserves the past of the community: birth and death certificates, addresses, and a melange of old books and documents. In one of the locked cupboards are the cups won by the Maccabi Alexandria basketball team, the Egyptian champion in the 1930s. Life is gradually disappearing from here as well. On an abandoned reception desk in the corridor the sign "civilian documents" is still posted in Hebrew and in French, opposite is the deserted hall of the rabbinical court.
"Like lonely shadows, a few short elderly men and women wander in the empty Jewish complex surrounding the synagogue," wrote Israeli author Haim Be'er 16 years ago, in an article about Alexandria, and nothing seems to have changed except for the number of the elderly, which has decreased. The president of the Alexandria community, dentist Dr. Max Salame, recently celebrated his 90th birthday. Lina Mattatia, the synagogue's legendary tour guide, is over 80. The head of the community, Victor Balassiano, who claims the title of "the youngest Jew in Egypt," is 65 years old.
The central synagogue of the Cairo community is Sha'ar Shamayim in the city center, on Adli Street. The magnificent building, which was completed in 1905, is decorated with symbols of the Pharaonic lotus and the palm tree, the symbol of the Jewish community in the city. In the 1980s, the synagogue was renovated with funds provided by millionaire Nissim Gaon, and became revitalized for several years. Dr. Meital still remembers hundreds of Israeli tourists who used to attend the synagogue on festivals. Currently, no regular prayers are held there. The facade of the building that faces the main street is guarded by a unit of Egyptian soldiers, armed with rifles, who stand behind protected shelters. On the other side of the road, permanent signs condemn Israel. For years, Israel has been trying to persuade the Egyptian government to remove the signs. The subject even came up during the most recent talks held by Israeli Foreign Minister Silvan Shalom last week in Cairo.
The synagogue itself is dark and deserted, with a depressing atmosphere. In the entrance, next to a large charity box, sits an elderly Jewish woman who has trouble being pleasant to visitors. She doesn't allow visits to the women's section, and she agreed to allow us to photograph the synagogue from inside only after we pleaded with her, "but only one picture."
Very sad that Maimonides synagogue in Cairo is a ruin. As a child my father would take me there to pray for miracles. Moslems and Coptic Christians would also go there.
The Holy Ark in the Maimonides synagogue. The Star of David atop the ark is hanging on by a thread. (Uri Lenz)
The end of the Exodus from Egypt
By Amiram Barkat
CAIRO - Outside it looks like a ruin, but after the guard opens the door to admit visitors, it turns out that there once was a synagogue here. Behind a small courtyard covered with building debris stands a Holy Ark. Its doors are broken, and from its top dangles a Star of David, hanging by a thread. The guard explains that the ceiling of the building collapsed in 1992, and the pile of debris was never cleared away.
It looks like just another Cairo synagogue that has come to a sad end. At least 20 such synagogues have been destroyed since the 1970s, and most of them were larger and more magnificent than the small Maimonides synagogue in Harat al-Yahud, the medieval Jewish quarter of Cairo. But this synagogue is not just any synagogue; it is one of the most important Jewish sites in Egypt and in the entire world.
Last year, special events were held all over the world to mark the 800th anniversary of the death of Rabbi Moses ben Maimon, the Rambam (Maimonides). He died in 1204 in Cairo, and according to the accepted tradition, his bones were transferred to Tiberias for burial. But the Jews of Egypt believe his bones never left the country. According to Egyptian tradition, the body of Maimonides was first brought to the small beit midrash (study hall) where he taught, and afterward was buried at an unknown Egyptian location; one of the traditions has it that he is buried today in the small niche in the wall of the ruined synagogue's study hall.
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No evidence has been found for any of these traditions, but even historians say that the synagogue and the yeshiva named for Maimonides is one of the oldest synagogues in the world, almost 800 years old. That is why the Jewish community in Cairo allows only rare visits to the place. After many pleas, they agreed to open its gates to a journalist and a photographer, on the eve of Pesach.
Although not much more remains of the synagogue itself than its four walls, the other parts of the building are still standing. For hundreds of years, the Jews of Egypt used to come on pilgrimages to this place, which is located in the heart of the neighborhood's maze of ancient alleyways. People with incurable diseases believed that they would be cured if they remained to sleep near Maimonides' grave. Today the chances are that not only would they not be cured, they would catch another disease, judging by the stench from the toilets.
Above the entrance to the study hall, in splendid isolation, hangs the portrait of Maimonides, who, according to a popular saying, was the greatest Jew since Moses. In a small hall behind the entrance, benches and other furniture float in what looks like a sewer. The place is flooded with water, almost to the height of the ceiling. One can view the niche of Maimonides' "grave" today only by diving. "What's there, in a word, is a cesspool," says Prof. Michael Lasker of Bar-Ilan University, an expert on Egyptian Jewry. He says that he tried in vain to help the president of the Cairo Jewish community, Carmen Weinstein, find a donor to restore the place. "The large Jewish organizations said it's not in their area of responsibility, and Jews of Egyptian origin have never been very cooperative," he says.
General emptiness
The great synagogue of the Karaites in Cairo, in the Abbassieh neighborhood, also is usually closed to visitors. The guard there agrees to let us in on condition that we don't take pictures. The reason becomes clear immediately: The overall appearance of the synagogue resembles a haunted castle in an (Egyptian) horror film. The building is reminiscent of a huge altar standing entirely deserted, only the sound of the wind banging on the remaining unbroken window panes interrupts the silence. The only visitors are the flock of pigeons that has come to live in the space, so that on the way to the prayer hall, visitors' shoes sink into a thick layer of guano. Two Art Deco chandeliers made of bronze and crystal are the last vestiges of the days of glory. Other chains remain dangling, testimony to additional chandeliers that once hung here.
Up until just a few years ago, this synagogue, named after Moshe Deri, was full of valuable Judaica that was brought to it in part from other Karaite synagogues, before they were destroyed. In his book about Jewish sites in Cairo, written in the mid-1990s, Dr. Yoram Meital of Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, an expert on the Middle East, mentions that on the floor of the synagogue were rugs and mats on which the Karaites prayed, that the synagogue building contained about 2,000 books, and that in the Holy Ark there were still valuable Torah scrolls, made of parchment. No trace of any of these exists today. All that remains is one bookcase, a pile of crates sunk in dust and several empty cabinets for Torah scrolls.
Meital believes local Jews were involved in the looting. Already in the early 1990s, when he visited the place to gather material for writing a book, he noticed that around him were "people who were very displeased about the fact that I was documenting the items. At one stage they forbade me to continue." Yosef Dvir, a spokesman for the Karaites in Israel, says they are well-aware of the fact that "the property in Cairo was not properly maintained," but they are unable to help. "We barely have enough money to maintain the community in Israel," he says.
Testimony and stories of Israelis who have visited other sites belonging to the Cairo community paint a similar picture of neglect. In the city's only Ashkenazi synagogue, in the center of the city, old books and documents are strewn on the floor in a layer of dust and filth. The huge Jewish cemetery in the Bassatine neighborhood serves as an improvised quarry for removing marble, stone and metals from the graves, and hardly a single headstone remains undamaged.
In Alexandria, the situation is better. In the compound of the Jewish community on Nebi Daniel Street stands the Synagogue of Elijah the Prophet, the community office building where the rabbinical court sits, and another building that served as the Jewish school and today is leased to a Muslim educational institution. The beautiful historic buildings are surrounding by manicured gardens and are well maintained.
The synagogue, which is considered the largest in the Middle East, is an impressive building; a broad white marble staircase leads to the entrance, which is surrounded by a decorative stone fence. The huge space inside, which until the mid-20th century held 1,000 worshipers, is illuminated by the light of dozens of seven-branched candelabra, with the addition of sunlight that streams through the stained-glass windows. The stone arches and pinkish Italian Carrara marble columns, with white Greek capitals, lend the place the appearance of a cathedral. The backs of the seats still bear pewter disks with the names of the owners. But the overall feeling is one of emptiness, of a bustling place that has become a museum.
The community building in Alexandria contains a huge archive that preserves the past of the community: birth and death certificates, addresses, and a melange of old books and documents. In one of the locked cupboards are the cups won by the Maccabi Alexandria basketball team, the Egyptian champion in the 1930s. Life is gradually disappearing from here as well. On an abandoned reception desk in the corridor the sign "civilian documents" is still posted in Hebrew and in French, opposite is the deserted hall of the rabbinical court.
"Like lonely shadows, a few short elderly men and women wander in the empty Jewish complex surrounding the synagogue," wrote Israeli author Haim Be'er 16 years ago, in an article about Alexandria, and nothing seems to have changed except for the number of the elderly, which has decreased. The president of the Alexandria community, dentist Dr. Max Salame, recently celebrated his 90th birthday. Lina Mattatia, the synagogue's legendary tour guide, is over 80. The head of the community, Victor Balassiano, who claims the title of "the youngest Jew in Egypt," is 65 years old.
The central synagogue of the Cairo community is Sha'ar Shamayim in the city center, on Adli Street. The magnificent building, which was completed in 1905, is decorated with symbols of the Pharaonic lotus and the palm tree, the symbol of the Jewish community in the city. In the 1980s, the synagogue was renovated with funds provided by millionaire Nissim Gaon, and became revitalized for several years. Dr. Meital still remembers hundreds of Israeli tourists who used to attend the synagogue on festivals. Currently, no regular prayers are held there. The facade of the building that faces the main street is guarded by a unit of Egyptian soldiers, armed with rifles, who stand behind protected shelters. On the other side of the road, permanent signs condemn Israel. For years, Israel has been trying to persuade the Egyptian government to remove the signs. The subject even came up during the most recent talks held by Israeli Foreign Minister Silvan Shalom last week in Cairo.
The synagogue itself is dark and deserted, with a depressing atmosphere. In the entrance, next to a large charity box, sits an elderly Jewish woman who has trouble being pleasant to visitors. She doesn't allow visits to the women's section, and she agreed to allow us to photograph the synagogue from inside only after we pleaded with her, "but only one picture."