The keychain Inbar Haiman made as a gift for her college roommate, Naomi Goldstein, contained standard elements, like a part-metal/part-thread chain. At the chain’s end lay a lime-green plastic knob that Haiman likely had pressed hundreds of times to make art. It was a nozzle from a spray-paint canister, the preferred tool of her trade. Haiman used spray paint to decorate items she found, like parts of discarded toys, then recycled them into art she sold as picture frames or earrings or keychains.
A keychain Inbar made for her roommate Naomi Goldstein (photo by Naomi Goldstein)
Haiman utilized spray-paint cans more conventionally, too, if such an adverb could apply to graffiti art. The genre appealed to Haiman because, as she told relatives and friends, it was accessible to everyone outdoors in the public domain, not only those paying to enter a museum.
Haiman also was “excited about the risk” of creating graffiti on public property, Goldstein said. “She liked that with graffiti, you could be appreciated and anonymous at the same time.”
Inbar Haiman, doing what she loved. Photo courtesy of the Haiman family
Haiman dubbed herself “Pink Question,” for her favorite color and her curiosity — a moniker she shortened to “Pink.” That’s how she remains known. Haiman, 27, was one of at least 364 people whom Hamas murdered in its October 7, 2023, rampage at the Nova music festival at Kibbutz Reim, part of the Gaza Strip-based terrorist group’s day-long massacre of 1,200 people in Israel’s northwest Negev. The terrorists kidnapped her body and still hold it captive.
A sign made by Haiman’s friends near Petah Tikva (photo by Naomi Goldstein)
Haiman’s loved ones continue lobbying in Israel and overseas for her repatriation. Their efforts include spreading the message in a manner she’d likely have appreciated. It’s there — Free Pink, the graffiti reads in English — on boulders alongside Israel Railways tracks in the country’s north. On a highway wall, in English and Hebrew lettering, on Rte. 471 not far from Haiman’s parents’ home in Petah Tikva. Between shop entrances on Haifa’s busy HaAtzmaut Street, is a message apparently painted by her classmates at the WIZO Haifa Academy of Design and Education: RIP Pink: Rest in Paint. And plenty more places.
Art, in part, is what sent Haiman to the fateful festival. She brought at least three of her paintings to try to sell there. Goldstein and Haiman’s mother, Ifat, don’t know whether she succeeded or even if the works survived the massacre. Haiman also was drawn to Nova by the music and the dancing — and the chance to lend a hand. She was hired to work there as a “helper”: someone assisting those who weren’t feeling well, including those attendees who’d drunk, smoked or inhaled too much.
“She loved people without judgment. She touched so many people. She helped people,” said Ifat. Haiman once calmed a suicidal peer. While studying at WIZO, she volunteered at a Haifa high school, leading workshops in graffiti art and creative writing. While in the army, Haiman organized an open-microphone poetry night in Jerusalem for teenagers; it’s where she and Goldstein met.
“Inbar lived art every day,” Goldstein said.
WIZO lecturer Yael Barnea Givoni was impressed by Haiman’s final project in her second year. The assignment called for telling a five-part story in three dimensions. Haiman fashioned a five-member family out of spray-paint cans, buttons and other materials, using bright colors for their bodies and creative cuts of the metal for teeth to fashion distinct characteristics in a clan of what Barnea Givoni called “nice monsters.”
Inbar Haiman’s class project with teacher Yael Barnea Givoni
The project elicited Haiman’s “imagination and wildness,” she said. “She wasn’t tame. She was daring.”
Ifat remembers that her daughter began doing graffiti art with friends at about age 15. A few years later, she painted a pink question mark on a wall near home. Even in Haifa, she’d do graffiti late at night — alone or bringing someone along as a lookout. “It was a form of rebellion, of course,” Ifat said.
Inbar Haiman painting graffiti. Photo courtesy of the Haiman family
Haiman was preparing for a career in artistic branding, such as for a hi-tech company, Ifat said. Haiman and her boyfriend and WIZO classmate, Noam Allon, spoke of opening an art studio. The couple discussed marriage. Following Haiman’s murder, Allon dropped out of college and is travelling abroad.
Ifat misses her deep conversations with Haiman. They’d go for coffee, put down their phones and would “sit and talk and open our hearts,” Ifat said. “She wasn’t only my daughter. She was my friend. She told me her secrets. I’d sometimes reveal, too. That wasn’t to be taken for granted. We’d discuss everything.”
But Ifat didn’t know much about her daughter’s art until after Haiman’s death, when WIZO classmates brought her paintings and creations from Haifa. Some of it has since been displayed throughout Israel and even at the United Nations. Several students at WIZO — and at Ariel University and the Bezalel Academy of Art and Design — dedicated their graduate projects in Haiman’s memory.
“It brings attention to her, and brings back her light,” said Ifat. “It strengthens me.”
90 Years Late: A Decorated Jewish General’s Book Arrives at the Library!
After a "slight" delay, the National Library of Israel has finally received a book of war correspondence written by the most famous and senior Jewish officer to serve in WWI. Who was Sir John Monash? And what happened to this particular book since it was dedicated to the NLI back in 1935? We set out to find answers…
On an April day in 2024, a suspicious package arrived at the security department of the Australian branch of a well-known international investment firm. The messenger was a dubious individual, known to the security officer as someone who often harassed the company’s CEO. Company policy in such cases was usually to destroy the package, but the security officer noticed that in this case the package was simply a book – so he opened it.
After a quick glance at the book, the security officer contacted the National Library of Israel directly. In correspondence with me, he explained that he understood from the dedication in the beginning of the book that it was supposed to have been sent to us many years ago. Following some more back and forth and technical matters of shipping and handling, the book was received by the Library this past September.
The book in question is War Letters of General Monash, a collection of published letters written by Sir John Monash, an Australian general who served in the First World War. Monash was the most senior Jewish commander of the war in any of the belligerent nations.
The copy of War Letters of John Monash, which just recently reached the National Library of Israel
Monash wrote the book’s letters mostly to his wife and daughter, detailing the important historical events in which he took part from December 1914 to December 1918. The book starts with his departure from Australia and his voyage to Egypt, where he led the 4th Brigade. He goes on to tell of how after a few months in Egypt, the brigade left to take part in the Gallipoli campaign. Following a defensive mission along the Suez Canal, the brigade sailed to France to fight on European soil. From there, Monash sailed to England, taking command of the Australian 3rd Division. He spent most of 1917 and 1918 in France, commanding forces in some of the most decisive battles of the war. In May 1918, he was promoted in rank and made commander of all Australian forces on the Western Front.
Australian soldiers in the area of the northern Belgian city of Ypres, 1917
Meet John Monash: Engineer and Decorated General
John Monash was born in 1865 to Jewish parents who immigrated from Germany. He studied engineering at the University of Melbourne and joined the university’s military unit. Following his studies, he went on to have a civilian career in engineering, while also moving up the ranks in the army. He specialized in working with concrete and building bridges and rail lines. In the military, he commanded an artillery battery and later moved on to serve in an intelligence role. A year before the outbreak of WWI, he received command of an infantry brigade.
During the war, Monash demonstrated his command skills, standing out for his creative thinking and his ability to plan matters down to the smallest details. Many are familiar with the difficult descriptions of what this war was like – rows of soldiers emerging from trenches and charging towards the enemy, only to be cut down by machine gun fire. In the face of this grim reality, Monash placed an emphasis on the importance of combining different kinds of weaponry – tanks, planes, mortars – to help the infantry soldiers achieve their objectives safely, rather than sending them to their deaths in pointless and ineffective missions. He truly cared for his soldiers.
General Sir John Monash, 1918
Monash was greatly respected for his military skills, and some believe that if the war had lasted longer, he would have ended up in command of the entire British Army in Europe.
Monash died in 1931 from a heart attack at the age of 66. Following a funeral attended by throngs of people, he was buried in the Jewish lot of the Melbourne cemetery. His wife had died 11 years before, and only his daughter, Bertha Bennett, survived him.
General Monash and the National Library of Israel
Today, we know that it was Bertha who donated that copy of War Letters of General Monash to the National Library in 1935, the same book which somehow ended up at the Australian offices of an international investment company. Bertha wrote a dedication at the beginning of the book, which reads: “to the Jewish National and University Library in memory of my later father, General Sir John Monash – a Jew, who commanded the Australian Army Corps in the Great War.”
But for some reason, the book never left Australia – until now.
Bertha Bennett’s dedication of her father’s book to the National Library, June 1935
Even before Bertha’s donation, which was ultimately delayed for almost a century, other donations made by Monash himself reached the Library long before, even opening up a separate saga in and of themselves:
Here’s how it all unfolded.
We shall begin by briefly shedding some light on another interesting figure from the past:
Abraham Schwadron (Sharon) was born in Galicia in 1878. He was a thinker, writer, musician, and recipient of three doctorates from the University of Vienna. Schwadron made Aliyah to Mandatory Palestine in 1927, where he primarily worked on his collection of portraits and photographs. For decades, Schwadron requested and received letters, postcards, and other documents written or at least signed by important figures, especially from the Jewish world. He also collected pictures and portraits of famous people from across the globe. He donated it all to the National Library, where he worked for many years. In 1920, Schwadron published an item in the British newspaper The Jewish Chronicle, announcing that he was collecting portraits, letters and souvenirs of famous Jews around the world and that he was requesting the readers’ assistance in expanding his collection.
Schwadron’s request for help in expanding his collection, The Jewish Chronicle, November 1920
Monash saw the request in the paper, and in September 1921, he sent Schwadron a postcard with a self-portrait and his signature. In an attached letter, Monash added that “It will doubtless be known to you [Schwadron, D.L.] that I was in supreme command of the Australian Army in France in 1918. I am well acquainted with Sir Herbert Samuel, the High Commissioner in Palestine, and with his legal adviser Mr. Norman Bentwitch.” The letter and the postcard were entered into the Schwadron Collection at the National Library.
Letter and postcard sent by Monash to Schwadron in 1921
Eight years later, in May 1929, Monash sent his book, The Australian Victories in France in 1918, to the National Library. The book, which he wrote two years after the war, describes the battles of the Australian soldiers in the war’s final year. It includes photographs, maps, and an appendix including battle orders and logistical instructions on the battlefield. Monash attached a brief letter addressed “To the Jewish National and University Library” in which he described his donation as a humble contribution to its literature of the Great War, which he said “brought freedom to the Jewish People in Palestine.”
The book’s inner cover contains a label in memory of Rose and Barnett Altson. This family lived in Australia, but their connection to Monash is unclear. Monash seemingly got his hands on a copy owned by the family, which he decided to send to the National Library. My efforts to find a connection via our genealogical staff between the two families came up empty.
Monash’s dedication in the Altson family copy of his book (according to the label on the left)
Pleading for Help
A year later, Schwadron wrote a long letter to Monash in Australia. He thanked him for the postcard and the book and provided a detailed picture of the situation in the Land of Israel. He noted that he belonged to no political party, but that as a concerned Jew, he felt compelled to correct Monash’s mistaken words regarding the freedom of the Jews in Palestine.
According to him, the British Mandatory government had spent the past 11 years doing everything it could to make the Land of Israel a very unfree place for the Jewish People. Schwadron wrote that the Mandate authorities supported the local Arab residents, who were responsible for the pogroms launched against the Jews of the country. He argued that 95% of the British officials were anti-Zionists and were causing great dismay for the many Jews who had left their lives and families in Europe following the Balfour Declaration to build up the Land of Israel through hard work and toil, in hopes of a better future. Schwadron brought examples of the unfairness of the British government towards the Jewish population, including the relatively low taxes paid by Arabs compared to Jews.
Schwadron’s letter to Monash, March 1930
Schwadron may have hoped that Monash could use his influence and contacts to help his brethren in the Land of Israel.
Three months after Schwadron sent his letter, Monash responded with a letter of his own, noting that he was disappointed and surprised at Schwadron’s criticism of the British Mandatory government. Monash expressed no opinion regarding Schwadron’s accusations, explaining that he would study the situation from additional sources. He added that he was a very busy man and that although he was very interested in “communal matters,” he didn’t have time to deal with the subject. He thanked Schwadron for the information regarding the Mandate’s activity, information which had not even come to his attention.
Monash’s response to Schwadron, June 1930
But Schwadron did not give up, and he wrote another letter to Monash in August of that year. Schwadron explained that after studying the material, he was certain that Monash would help bring about a significant change of the situation in the country. Schwadron updated Monash on the deterioration of the situation since his previous letter, mentioning the Shaw Commission which investigated the 1929 Arab Riots, the limitation of Aliyah, the White Paper, the preference shown for hiring Arabs in government positions (Arabs made up 94% of the non-British civil service in the country), lack of aid to Jewish farmers and the antisemitic statements of the Mufti of Jerusalem.
Schwadron ended his letter with a question: “How will a national home arise when those charged with its establishment are openly or covertly violent?” If there was a response to this letter, it is not in our possession. Monash probably did not have the time to deal with Schwadron’s complaints.
General Monash was widely respected in Australia, and was commemorated in a variety of ways following his death in 1931. His name adorns a university, a medical center, a highway, and a municipality. In Israel, the agricultural community known as Kfar Monash in the Hefer Valley was named after him. Monash has been the subject of multiple biographies, which include discussion of his victories in World War I and his contribution to Australia’s development.
The copy of Monash’s collection of letters which his daughter dedicated to the National Library was not the first to reach us – we already had a few copies. But now we have a particularly special one, a copy dedicated by his daughter.
Bertha apparently never got around to actually sending the book to Jerusalem, and it appears to have wandered across Australia before reaching the offices of the investment firm – a truly strange story, the details of which we may never know. What ultimately matters is that the book finally reached its destination, and is now on the shelves of the National Library in Jerusalem.
Close-up of Monash’s book, dedicated by his daughter to the National Library of Israel
The Balilius Affair: What Was Jerusalem’s Main Synagogue?
In the late 1920s, a fierce debate erupted between the Ashkenazim and Sephardim in Jerusalem over which synagogue should be considered the main Jewish house of worship in the city. This controversy escalated to an international legal battle that lasted many years.
Presumed portrait of Sima Balilius by an unknown artist. Courtesy of Susan Hyam
Mrs. Sima Balilius died in Hong Kong in 1926 when she was nearly 90 years old. Sima was the daughter of David Joseph Ezra, the leader of the Baghdadi Jewish community in Calcutta, India. When she was around 20 years old, she married Emmanuel Balilius, who was also from one of the city’s aristocratic Jewish families. A few years later, Emmanuel moved to Hong Kong to work in the opium trade. There, he fell in love with a young Chinese woman, and married her. Sima found out but wasn’t willing to give up on her husband. She sailed to Hong Kong to find him. There, the couple reached an agreement that Emmanuel would stay married to both women, and they would all live together in the same house.
Emmanuel died in 1905, and Sima continued managing her husband’s business vigorously until her death, with the elders of Jerusalem gossiping that opium was the most respectable aspect of her dealings. Before his death, Emmanuel arranged in his will to bestow significant sums of money towards the field of education. Two schools were opened in his name: one in Calcutta, which has since closed, and one in Hong Kong, which still operates today. In contrast to her husband, Sima left the money in her will to the impoverished of Jerusalem. She donated 75,000 pounds sterling, the equivalent of several million Israeli shekels today.
Sima was likely influenced by an incident that had occurred a few years earlier, when Elias Kadouri, another wealthy Jew from Hong Kong, left behind money for the purpose of establishing an agricultural school in what was then still Mandatory Palestine. However, the British authorities claimed it wasn’t self-evident that Kadouri intended for it to be a Jewish school. Ultimately, two agricultural schools were established: one Jewish school near Kfar Tavor and one Arab school near Tulkarm. Wanting to avoid a similar situation, Balilius dedicated her bequest to Jerusalem’s poor, through a fund to be managed by the board of trustees of the main synagogue in Jerusalem. However, Sima didn’t explicitly clarify which synagogue she intended to donate the funds to. When news of Balilius’s will reached Israel, a fierce debate ensued between the Ashkenazi community, supported by the Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi Rav Kook, who argued that the main synagogue was Beit Yaakov, more commonly known as the Hurva Synagogue. The Sephardi community, supported by the Sephardi Chief Rabbi Yaakov Meir, claimed that the main synagogue was the one named after Rabbi Yohanan Ben Zakkai, known as the Ribaz. The Mea Shearim Yeshiva also joined in the dispute, claiming entitlement to the funds, but none of the other parties accepted their claims.
Rabbi Yaakov Meir’s visit to the Secretariat of the Sephardi Community in Jerusalem. The Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel
Moshe David Gaon, a scholar of Eastern Jewry whose archive is housed in the National Library in Jerusalem, was involved in the trial as the secretary of the Sephardi community and as an expert witness. He testified in court about the location and significance of the Ribaz Synagogue.
Each community presented its arguments, some stronger than others. For instance, the Ashkenazim claimed that the Hurva Synagogue was the largest in the city, while the Sephardim argued that the building of the Ribaz Synagogue was the oldest in Jerusalem. The Ashkenazim asserted that the British authorities recognized the Hurva, citing the fact that the High Commissioner Herbert Samuel participated in prayers there. For their part, the Sephardim had proof that the High Commissioner had taken part in prayers at the Ribaz Synagogue, including festive prayers held there to commemorate the King’s birthday and the conquest of Jerusalem during World War I.
Entrance ticket to attend prayers at the Ribaz Synagogue with the High Commissioner in attendance. From the Moshe David Gaon Archive, the National Library of Israel. This collection is in the process of being cataloged and will be made accessible at the National Library of Israel, thanks to the kind donation of the Samis Foundation, Seattle, Washington, dedicated to the memory of Samuel Israel.
The Sephardi community brought what they considered conclusive evidence: Mrs. Balilius was of Sephardi descent, and therefore it was clear she intended to leave her donation to her own community’s synagogue. In contrast, the Ashkenazim argued that the name Sima was an Ashkenazi name, and thus she must have been Ashkenazi. It is unclear whether the Ashkenazim made an innocent mistake or intentionally misspoke, but Mrs. Balilius’s first name was actually Simcha; Sima was just her nickname. Regardless, the Ashkenazi claim was dismissed after Sima Balilius’ sister testified that the family was of Sephardi origin.
The parties then moved on to discuss a broader question: What determines whether someone is Ashkenazi or Sephardi and which of these is the main Jewish community? Bernard (Dov) Joseph, the lawyer representing the Hurva Synagogue, and later a minister in the Israeli government, testified in an affidavit to the court that all Jews around the world are Ashkenazi unless born in Portugal, Spain, Greece, Morocco, or Persia. In response, Meir Hay Genio, the lawyer representing the Sephardi community, declared that all Jews are Sephardi, unless they are Ashkenazi.
The parties then debated which community could claim the larger percentage of Jews in Jerusalem. The Ashkenazim claimed they constituted 80% of the city’s Jews, while the Sephardim contended that only 55% of the city’s Jews were Ashkenazi. The Ashkenazim added that all public institutions in the city were Ashkenazi, and the Sephardim responded with a list of all the educational and charitable institutions belonging to their community.
Each community tried to downplay the other’s importance. The Ashkenazim argued that the Sephardi community seemingly represented only the descendants of Spanish exiles, while Jews from other Arab countries were organized into separate communities, and the Ribaz Synagogue didn’t represent them. In response, the Sephardim contended that the Ashkenazi community also wasn’t one unified entity, but rather divided into numerous groups. The Sephardim pointed out that the inscription on the entrance of the Hurva Synagogue read: “Synagogue for the Ashkenazi Perushim kollels in Jerusalem,” which proved that it didn’t represent the entire Jewish public in the city, but only certain Ashkenazi factions.
The Hurva Synagogue. Photo: Efraim Dagani. Source: Nadav Man, Bitmuna. From the Dagani Collection. The Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel
The main hall of the Yohanan Ben Zakkai Synagogue, Jerusalem. Source: Yad Yitzhak Ben Zvi (Israel Revealed), L’Avenir Illustre Newspaper Collection, Morocco. This item is part of the Archive Network Israel project and is made digitally accessible through the collaboration of Yad Yitzhak Ben Zvi, the Ministry of Jerusalem Affairs and Heritage, and the National Library of Israel.
The arguments continued back and forth, and journalist Nachum Melitz, who covered the case, wrote as follows: “The books Luchot Eretz Yisrael and the volumes entitled Jerusalem by Rabbi Luntz, Moses and Jerusalem by Sir Moses Montefiore, books by Rabbi Joseph Schwarz, German and English Baedekers [travel guidebooks], etc., seem to have been created not for their own sake, but rather to serve as Tanna Demesay’a [evidence] for the parties discussing the Balilius inheritance.”
The courts in Hong Kong weren’t sure how to resolve the conflict. The judges sought assistance from the British Mandate authorities, but those preferred not to intervene and offered only an ambiguous response noting that “there are two main synagogues in Jerusalem”. An envoy sent by the court to Jerusalem returned with the same answer. The trial continued, and both sides, the Sephardim and Ashkenazim, began to fear that the British government would end up exploiting the dispute and expropriating the funds for its own purposes.
Ultimately, through the mediation of British-Jewish lawyer Norman Bentwich, they reached a compromise to establish a joint committee of both Sephardim and Ashkenazim. The committee would include twelve members— nine Sephardim and three Ashkenazim—and would manage the estate’s funds, which would be distributed at a rate of 75% to the Sephardim and 25% to the Ashkenazim. Although the estate’s funds were depleted due to the lengthy legal proceedings and the stock market crash during the economic crisis of 1929, the estate council succeeded in purchasing several buildings throughout the city, dedicating their income to the poor, and seemingly everything was resolved peacefully.
However, about 25 years later, the case resurfaced due to claims from the Ashkenazim that the Sephardi committee was discriminating against them and transferring less funds than it was obligated to. The matter was brought back to the courts – this time rabbinical courts – and indirectly led to the resignation of two Sephardi Chief Rabbis, Rabbi Yitzhak Nissim and Rabbi Ovadia Yosef. Ultimately, the issue gradually faded away. Today, the only thing that remains of the entire affair is a modest street sign bearing the name Sima Balilius in downtown Jerusalem.
I would like to thank the author Simon Choa-Johnston for his assistance in preparing this article.
The Moshe David Gaon Archive is in the process of being cataloged and will be made accessible at the National Library of Israel, thanks to the kind donation of the Samis Foundation, Seattle, Washington, dedicated to the memory of Samuel Israel. Arik Kitsis is the archivist in charge of handling the Moshe David Gaon Archive.
Libyan Jewry: A Personal Perspective – How Rabbi Mordechai Ha-Cohen of Tripoli Documented His Community
In recent months, the archive of Rabbi Mordechai Ben Yehuda Ha-Cohen of Tripoli has been cataloged and made accessible at the National Library of Israel. He was a scholar, halakhic jurist, and significant chronicler of Libyan Jewry in the early 20th century. Professor Harvey E. Goldberg, a researcher of Libyan Jewry who edited Mordechai Ha-Cohen’s book, "Higgid Mordechai", shares the story of an exceptional rabbi and Renaissance man.
The rabbinical court in Benghazi. Mordechai Ha-Cohen is the second from the left. Photo: Rimoldi-Benghazi, from the Italian translation of "Higgid Mordechai" (Rome 1930).
Mordechai Ha-Cohen, who received his formal education at a Talmud Torah religious school in Tripoli, eventually became the most important historian and documentarian of Libyan Jewry in the early 20th century. He was born in Tripoli in 1856 to a family of Italian origin, and was still very young when his father passed away. His natural curiosity drove him to educate himself and acquire books associated with the Haskalah, the Jewish Enlightenment, to continuously expand his knowledge. He knew Italian from home.
As a young adult, Ha-Cohen began to teach in a Talmud Torah school. To supplement his income, he repaired watches and worked as an itinerant merchant in the city of Tripoli and the surrounding villages. After getting married, he diligently studied rabbinic rulings in Hebrew and Judeo-Arabic and eventually was accepted as a halakhic jurist.
In the early 20th century, Ha-Cohen began compiling Higgid Mordechai, his comprehensive book on the history of Libya and its Jews, including their institutions and customs. The book covers a wide range of topics and relied on diverse sources. Some of it draws on the unpublished manuscripts of Abraham Khalfon (1741-1819) in Judeo-Arabic, while other parts are influenced by the writings of Abraham Hayyim Adadi, who served as the presiding judge of the rabbinical court in Tripoli for nearly 30 years during the 19th century. Ha-Cohen’s insights about the first half of the century came from his interviews with elders of his time and from his own research and observations.
A special section of the book is dedicated to the Jews living near the small market towns scattered throughout the rural communities of Tripolitania, with whom Ha-Cohen interacted as a traveling merchant. Another section describes the Jewish community in Benghazi, where he served as a dayan (a judge in a rabbinical court) from 1919 until the end of his life. It also includes a description of the Italian occupation of Tripoli in the fall of 1911.
The Italian army’s invasion of Tripoli, 1911. Source: Garyounis University
In 1906, Ha-Cohen met Nahum Slouschz, a researcher of Eastern Jewish communities, who had been sent from Paris to Tripoli on behalf of the Alliance Israélite Universelle. During their meeting, Ha-Cohen presented the latter with a manuscript of his work, which he had not yet completed but had finished more than half of it. Slouschz was impressed by Ha-Cohen’s abilities and knowledge and invited him to join his travels outside Tripoli as a guide and translator, and to document them. Ha-Cohen accepted the offer, and together they embarked on two journeys: one eastward to Benghazi and the other deeper into the country, heading south and west.
Nahum Slouschz, photograph by Benno Rothernberg. The Benno Rothenberg Archive, the Meitar Collection at the National Library of Israel
In September 1906, Slouschz left Libya after spending about two months there. He and Ha-Cohen corresponded until February 1910. As agreed, Ha-Cohen sent Slouschz his travel journal and, at his request, shared excerpts from the manuscript of his book. Slouschz incorporated these into his publications over the next 30 years but downplayed Ha-Cohen’s contributions.
After Slouschz left Tripoli, Ha-Cohen resumed working on his book. By that time, he was sending articles to HaYehudi in London, and as tensions increased around Italian interests in Libya, he also began submitting articles to Ha-Herut. His correspondence included accounts of military developments during the Italian occupation, which began in September 1911. The situation in Tripoli stabilized relatively quickly, and Ha-Cohen decided to finalize his work with four sections (chapters) reporting on the occupation of Tripoli and Benghazi (the resistance against Italy in the countryside continued for many years).
Over time, Ha-Cohen’s book, Higgid Mordechai, was published. The Italian Colonial Office, which governed Libya, undertook to translate the section of the book focusing on institutions and customs. Martino Mario Moreno, an Italian linguist and scholar of Eastern studies, translated it in collaboration with Ha-Cohen.
Martino Mario Moreno
In 1915, Ha-Cohen signed a contract with Moreno to work on the translation, although they were likely in contact before this. The publication of this book in collaboration with Moreno seems to be the only time Mordechai had the opportunity to follow the publishing process, from when a manuscript was completed (and reviewed) till it was brought to the printing press. In 1924, the work was published in Benghazi and included notes by Ha-Cohen and by the translator-editor, Martino Mario Moreno.
During World War II, Ha-Cohen’s family got to know the historian Professor Ephraim Elimelech Urbach, who arrived in Libya while serving as a British Army chaplain. He attended to the needs of British soldiers, particularly Jewish ones, including those who volunteered from Mandatory Palestine – the Land of Israel.
The family entrusted the manuscript to Urbach, who then submitted it to the National Library in Jerusalem. A few members of the Ha-Cohen family came to Israel during the great Aliyah (immigration to Israel) including Libyan Jewry, bringing with them a collection of his personal documents. Later, these were also donated to the NLI, and approval for the manuscript to be held by the Library permanently was issued in 1967. The manuscript of Higgid Mordechai is written in Solitreo—a traditional Sephardi version of Hebrew cursive script.
Initially, the work attracted the attention of only a few scholars, among them Haim Zeev Hirschberg. It wasn’t until 1979 that the book was published as a volume by the Ben-Zvi Institute, edited by myself based on anthropological research among Jews from Libya.
During his time in Tripoli, Ha-Cohen witnessed rapid technological advancement—accessible water services and sewage systems, regular mail from abroad, and telegraph services. At the same time, he and the wider Jewish community were gradually exposed to both Jewish and broader culture from overseas. His book consciously reflects the literature and language of the Eastern European Hebrew Enlightenment, which is evident in the choice of topics it covers. He praised the values of the Enlightenment while simultaneously defending traditional Jewish positions. Ha-Cohen saw himself as a partner in the effort to revive the Hebrew language and even suggested turning to Arabic as a source for renewing words in a once-dormant language. This perspective also influenced his approach to research. His pan-Jewish outlook was expressed in letters written in Hebrew that he sent to newspapers abroad. There are more than 80 documented articles of his from 1897 to 1914, mostly for the newspapers Ha-Herut and Ha-Yehudi (published in London), in which he reported on what was happening in Libya as well as various other issues.
Report by Mordechai Ha-Cohen on the situation in Libya. Ha-Herut newspaper, November 1, 1909. The Historical Jewish Press Collection at the National Library of Israel
Ha-Cohen aspired to belong to an international circle of scholars and felt he was fulfilling this ambition through his connection with Nahum Slouschz. His passion for uncovering the treasures and history of his land was well known; visitors and tourists from various countries were referred to him, and he provided them with information. However, within his own community, his commitment to science wasn’t always appreciated and some felt his writings expressed criticism of Jewish life. In response, he expressed faith in those who valued the unbiased search for knowledge, whoever they were and wherever they could be found. He strove for accuracy in his historical writing—concerning dates, for example—and in describing the Jewish communities of his time, he sought the most up-to-date demographic information possible. He didn’t hesitate to indicate whenever there was any uncertainty involved. When matters were unclear to him, he presented only the facts he knew without drawing conclusions.
An example of this can be seen in a photograph of a page from his correspondence notebook, in which Rabbi Mordechai recorded the number of Jews by communities: א(A) = Jewish communities in Libya; ב(B) = Jewish communities in the world: some categorized by country (for example, “Persia”), and some by city (for example, “Aleppo”); ג(C) = Jewish communities in the Land of Israel.
The archive consists of three components: copies of letters, legal materials, and writings including excerpts from unfinished essays.
The letters—most of which Ha-Cohen sent rather than received—are written in Hebrew, with some in Judeo-Arabic, and they don’t represent all of his correspondence. The documents in the collection are mostly written in Solitreo, with some written in what is known as Rashi script. At the center of the collection of letters is a notebook with 60 pages, mainly consisting of copies of letters; some weren’t created by Ha-Cohen but preserved by him. There are also a few documents beyond the notebook.
Ha-Cohen had extensive correspondence with five individuals. One was Rabbi Hezekiah Shabtai, who served as the Hakham Bashi, or Ottoman Chief Rabbi, in Tripoli from 1904 to 1908. Shabtai drafted a letter of approval for Mordechai’s book, and after Shabtai moved to Aleppo in Syria, the two exchanged information about their respective cities and communities.
Rabbi Hezekiah Shabtai
The second most frequent correspondent was Nahum Slouschz, and the third was Martino Mario Moreno, who translated Ha-Cohen’s book into Italian. Ha-Cohen also corresponded with two Italian rabbis: Shmuel Tzvi Margaliot, who visited Tripoli in the early years following the Italian occupation, and Eliyahu Shmuel Hartom, who served as the Chief Rabbi in Tripoli from 1920 to 1923. With the latter, Ha-Cohen discussed halakhic issues in his capacity as a judge in the rabbinical court in Benghazi.
Other letters from Ha-Cohen were addressed to a wide range of recipients, reflecting his broad perspective. His active interest is evident in the variety of topics he covered and in his writings preserved in the archive. Two of these are manuscripts written in small notebooks: Netzach Yisrael and Rabbeinu Gershom Meor HaGolah. They were both composed in Benghazi around 1925 but differ in purpose.
The first, which is 22 pages long, addresses “the political and religious progression of the ancient Israelite people since it became a nation.” It is written in Hebrew, using Rashi script, and Ha-Cohen appears to have written it to contribute to education in general, perhaps hoping it would reach readers outside Libya.
The target audience of the second manuscript was the local Jewish community. The background is incomplete, but in 1922, a judge in the Jewish rabbinical court in the city organized the Chevra Kadisha (community volunteers who prepare bodies for Jewish burial) under the name “Rabbeinu Gershom Society.” An annual feast was held in honor of Rabbeinu Gershom, marking the Chevra Kadisha’s contribution to the community. Ha-Cohen took it upon himself to educate the Jews of Benghazi about the historical significance of Rabbeinu Gershom. This work is written in Rashi script, but the language is Judeo-Arabic.
Rabbi Mordechai Ha-Cohen passed away in 1929. He was a man of many talents, but aside from the publication of Higgid Mordechai, many of his initiatives didn’t come to fruition.
The opening page of Netzach Yisrael, in Hebrew. The Mordechai Ha-Cohen Archive, the National Library of Israel. This collection has been cataloged and made accessible thanks to the kind donation of the Samis Foundation, Seattle, Washington.
Introduction to Rabbeinu Gershom Meor HaGolah, in Judeo-Arabic. The Mordechai Ha-Cohen Archive, the National Library of Israel. This collection has been cataloged and made accessible thanks to the kind donation of the Samis Foundation, Seattle, Washington.
The archive of Rabbi Mordechai Ben Yehuda Ha-Cohen of Tripoli has been cataloged and made accessible at the National Library of Israel, thanks to the kind donation of the Samis Foundation, Seattle, Washington, dedicated to the memory of Samuel Israel. Special thanks to Noa Reichmann for her assistance in registering the archive and making it accessible.
