Life Inside the World’s First Ever Ghetto

In 1516, the Venetian Republic changed the course of Jewish world history by opening the first ever Jewish ghetto. Amidst deep persecution, segregation and humiliation, the oppressed Venetian Jews were somehow able to create a thriving society in their enclave, and soon Jews were even attempting to get inside!

Images of the Jewish Ghetto, Venice, 2011, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

If you ever visit Venice, take the train to St. Lucia Railway Station, and cross the scenic bridge in front of you. Turn right onto the Fondamenta de la Misericordia and continue for a couple of minutes. Before long, you’ll start to smell the rich fusions of Jewish and Italian food wafting out of one of the Kosher restaurants. The smell of fried artichokes stuffed with meat and fragrant sardines mix with freshly baked challot and homemade humous, and if you continue to follow your nose into the Jewish quarter, you’ll notice that you’re in a part of Venice quite different from its surroundings. The second sign that you’re in the right place is that you will notice that you’re looking up a lot more – the buildings here are taller than almost any other area in Venice. You will also see how closely packed together they are, and on a rainy day you may even find yourself stranded as the small alleyways fill up with water.

Soon enough you’ll start to recognize various Jewish establishments: a glassblowing workshop carefully molding fragile shofars and chanukiahs, a sweet shop selling traditional Jewish Italian delicacies, a Jewish hotel, a Jewish cultural museum tracing the history of the Venetian Jewish people, and of course, sooner or later you will find at least one of the five remaining synagogues which still stand in the Jewish quarter.

Images of the Jewish Ghetto (1, 2, 3,) Venice, 2011, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

Looking at this busting, vibrant area, you may believe that Jewish life in Venice has always been successful, happy and thriving, and to an extent you would be right – but this prosperous history took place against a backdrop of deep antisemitism and segregation. The Venetian Republic at times did almost everything in its power to break down and wipe out the Jewish community of Venice, but it was in the face of this persecution that the Jews expressed the limits of human strength, as they found ways around the oppressive regime and built a society which was so fruitful that it actually grew, rather than diminished – not only were the Jews able to raise families in Venice, but new immigrants often applied to move in, seeking a better life! How this was possible from within the confines of a ghetto and deep antisemitic oppression is testimony to the resilience of these admirable Jews.

Jews have a long history in Italy, and in Venice in the early 16th century the community was thriving. Despite making up only 923 of the city’s 160,208-strong population (according to the 1555 census,) the Jews were overwhelmingly wealthy and controlled many businesses in the region. Most of them were merchants who made healthy profits, rousing their neighbors’ jealousy, and they of course practiced customs and rituals which many non-Jews could not understand, making them alien and strange in the eyes of their peers.

Hence, antisemitism continued to grow and the Jews were “othered” time and time again. Unsure of what to do with this strange segment of the population, the laws regarding Jews fluctuated regularly, alternatively banning their commerce, then realizing that the economy would struggle without said commerce and thus reinstating it; taking away their rights, then realizing that this made the Jews even more reclusive as a community until eventually the government just reinstated them; banning their religious practices, but then realizing that this simply drove their practices underground, making them harder to keep an eye on, so reverting this law too – it seems that no one knew what to do with the Jews!

Stone depictions of the struggles of Jews in the Venetian ghetto, 2011, Venice, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

No one, it seemed, aside from Doge Leonardo Loredan. Leonardo Loredan was born to a noble family in 1436 and became a talented statesman. In 1501 he was elected the 75th Doge of Venice, a position he held for 20 years. He was known for being fearsome and shrewd in matters of war, understanding the law in depth, partaking in an auspicious marriage, and fathering 9 children who also held important leadership roles. He was also the man who created the world’s first ever Jewish ghetto (it should be noted that there had been previous cases of Jews being confined to particular urban enclaves,  but the term “ghetto” was first associated with the Venice Jewish community).

On the 29th of March, 1516, Doge Leonardo Loredan sat down with his senators to discuss what to do about the Jews. This problem had been plaguing Venice for long enough and Leonardo Loredan was determined to be the one to solve it. After hours of intense conversation, they came up with a decree which was enacted immediately: the Jews would be totally and legally isolated from the rest of Venetian society.

With the backdrop of the Holocaust, we may be used to the idea of a ghetto, but in 1516 this was a completely new phenomenon which had never been attempted before. To start, one small area was designated for the Jews to live in. The idea was simple – the Republic of Venice would completely control the lives of the Jews in exchange for their right to practice their religion within the borders of this ghetto.

Images of the Jewish Ghetto (1, 2, 3,) Venice, 2011, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

The first task was to pick a site. Today we know it as the Ghetto Vecchio (the Old Ghetto,) but back in the 1500s this area was just a small and unassuming part of town, best known for its cannon-making foundry. Molten metal was poured into a mold and formed into cannonballs for use in war. This was a dangerous and monotonous task, so the Doge figured that it was the exact sort of job that should be done by the Jews. Hence, the small Jewish enclave was to be built near the factory. Eventually, when the Ghetto Vecchio was deemed too small to hold all of the city’s Jews, the Ghetto Nuovo (New Ghetto) was also added to the site.

Located in the Cannaregio Sestiere of Venice (one of Venice’s six districts,) this area wasn’t only chosen for its foundry, but also for its bridges. The ghetto only had two bridges with which people could use to enter or leave, meaning that if they were closed, the entire ghetto could be essentially trapped inside. From 6pm each evening until St. Mark’s Campanile Belfry rang its largest bell (the Marangona) at 12pm the next day, the ghetto was closed-off entirely. No one could come in or out. Christian guards circled the ghetto on boats after dark, making sure that no Jew attempted to brave the canals and escape during the night. Any Jew who was found by the surrounding neighborhood’s surveillance teams outside of curfew would face harsh penalties including imprisonment and financial losses.

The ghetto was also closed off with high walls, and the surrounding quays were bricked-in to make coming or going virtually impossible without permission. The Christians who had previously lived in the area were moved out into the far superior homes and villages which once belonged to the Jews, and the ghetto became known as a dark and imposing place which locals would avoid at all cost.

Plaque commemorating prominent Jews of the Venice ghetto, 2011, Venice, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

The word “ghetto” has a number of possible origins. The word geto means foundry, which was the main factory in the area, but it’s also linked to the words gatwo (street,) borghetto (little town,) and gettare (to throw away unwanted items). Oxford University claims that these etymological theories are speculative at best, but Marcella Ansaldi, the Director of the Jewish Museum in Venice, agrees with the theory that the word ghetto comes from gettare, symbolic of the “throwing out” of the Jews from the rest of the city.

By the end of the year 1516, 700 Jews already inhabited the ghetto. The Jews were promised military protection and the freedom to practice their religion within the ghetto confines, but aside from that, the laws were harsh. Jews had to wear identification markers to alert others of their religion, their tax and rent was much higher than that of non-Jews, the living conditions were poor and cramped, and only a few jobs were available to them. Most Jews worked as moneylenders, doctors, traders and salesmen, but some were also forced to work in the pawnshops of Venice at low rates set by the government. Because Jews struggled to enter and exit the ghetto, many simply couldn’t find meaningful employment.

Jewish books printed in the Venetian ghetto:                                                          Fugger’s First Venetian Miscellany on Kabbalah, 1548, Scribe: Yaakov ben Yosef & David ben Moshe,
Venetian Biblical Commentaries, 1552, Scribe: Meir Yishai ben Yehiel,
Machzor, 1642,
Slichot, 1735,
Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

As time progressed, it also became difficult for their trade industry to continue, as foreign Jews were restricted from staying in the ghetto for work and trade from the year 1541. Only if government officials explicitly allowed a Jewish trader into Venice would they be permitted to attempt to find accommodation in the already overcrowded ghetto, but the terms of their stay were still limited to a few days and they could not bring any family members with them. That, therefore, was essentially the end of Jewish prosperity in Venice, at least for a little while. Most Jews went to work in the cannon factory or took up selling secondhand items and clothes to make a modest living.

However, as time went on, the community of Jews in the ghetto grew steadily. 100 years later they had reached a population of over 5000! This was not a mistake – Jews really did start trying to move into the ghetto! For all the struggles that the Jews had to endure, they started to find ways to excel at life, despite their confines. Working with what they had, they began opening butchers, bakeries, and shops which were popular with all locals, and money started entering the little quarter. Soon it became a market hub for Venice locals and visitors, and as Jews would only spend their own money inside the ghetto, there was a strong inflow and little outflow.

The tall buildings which housed far too many people grew even higher, making room for all the new immigrants. Today these buildings are in desperate need of restoration lest they collapse, and a few different local groups have set out to preserve the most important of them already.

This newfound Jewish money was used to build new and better infrastructure. Some of the most important constructions were the synagogues: The German Jews built their Scuola Grane Tedesca, the native Italians had their Scuola Italiana, the Spanish and Portuguese Jews formed the Scuola Spagnola, the Levantine Sephardim built the Scuola Levantina and the Ashkenazim erected the Scuola Canton.

Scuola Levantina in Venice (1, 2, 3,) 2011, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

Scuola Italiana in Venice (1, 2,) 2011, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection,  the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel
Scuola Canton in Venice, 2011, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel
Scuola Grande Tedesca in Venice, 2011, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel
Scuola Grande Spagnola in Venice, 2011, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

The Scuola Grane Tedesca, or the Great German Synagogue, was the first synagogue to be built in the ghetto, in 1528. It still exists today and appears to be a fairly traditional Ashkenazi synagogue, but now it is used as a museum, not a house of prayer. The second synagogue constructed was the Scuola Canton, just four years later. The Ashkenazim were increasingly noticing a rift between the Germanic and French Venetian cultures, so the French decided to break away and form their own community and build a new synagogue, the Scoula Canton, for the Provençal Jews, which would include French architecture and additions to the prayer service. Today this synagogue is also part of the Jewish Museum of Venice.

Next, the Scuola Italiana, or the Italian Synagogue, was built in 1575, to service the local-born Jews. The native Jews were not in the area because of trade or business but because of ancestry, and were therefore the poorest of the groups. Thus, it is the smallest of the synagogues, housing only 25 worshippers. Despite a lovingly-decorated interior, no money was left to enhance the synagogue’s façade, so it remains unremarkable as a building, and blends into its surroundings.

Constructed only 5 years later, the Scuola Spagnola, the Spanish synagogue, was home to the Jews expelled from the Iberian Peninsula in the 1490s. Constructed so shortly after the Scuola Italiana, the Spanish Jews wanted to behave according to local customs, so followed the lead of the Italians and only decorated the inside of the Synagogue, leaving its exterior bare and unremarkable. This synagogue still functions as a house of worship between the start of Passover and the end of Sukkot each year.

In 1541, the Venetian government came to an arrangement with some Levantine merchants who had also originally fled Spain. The Venetian government allowed them to live and trade in the ghetto, and so it was that in 1689 they opened the Scuola Levantina – the first synagogue to be built from scratch and not in a pre-existing building. They wanted it to be larger than the Spanish synagogue and couldn’t find a building that would fit the bill, so they constructed their own!

Between all these communities, the ghetto Jews spoke Venetian, Italian (yes, it’s different to Venetian,) Judeo-Spanish, French, German, and Hebrew, which was the language used in traditional Jewish documents such as Kettubot.

As commerce grew, books, and especially religious books, began to emerge from the ghetto. Soon enough, printing presses were set up to print books in Hebrew, Ladino, and Yiddish, and many famous works were produced from within the ghetto, such as the 1609 Venice Haggadah which is one of the most famous Haggadot in the world. The first press-printed edition of the Talmud, the Bomberg Talmud, was also produced in Venice at this time, instantly becoming a best seller and taking the Jewish world by storm. The riveting story of this Talmud can be found here.

                       
Venice Haggadah of 1609 (1, 2, 3, 4,) Folios, Printer: Israel ha-Zifroni of Guastalla, CJA,  Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

Venice Haggadah of 1599, Fol. 2, Printers: Shlomo Hayyim and his son Avraham, CJA, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

So it was that the Jewish ghetto in Venice grew to become well-known around the world, and increasing pressure was put on the Venetian government to dissolve the harsh rules that governed the ghetto, but these pleas fell on deaf ears. Finally, in 1797 after more than 250 years, Napoleon and the French Army of Italy captured Venice and commanded the Venetian Republic to disband. Two months later, on the 11th of July, 1797, the ghetto finally opened its borders and shed its laws of discrimination.

Napoleon declared that Jews would be treated as equals, and Venice would no longer be allowed to operate under a system of segregation. The ghetto was renamed Contrada dell’unione (The Union District) to represent their reunion with the rest of Venice, but many Jews remained in the district, although under happier circumstances.

Today, the former ghetto still represents the Jewish Quarter of Venice, and it is a hub for religious life in the city. Around 450 Jews live in Venice today but only about 30 of these Jews (around 12 Jewish households), still live in the ghetto area, due to the fact that it’s a very expensive zone.

All 5 synagogues still remain standing, and the 3 central ones are bordered by a Jewish Museum which explains the history of Jewish Venice. Today’s religious Jews tend to worship at the Levantine Synagogue in the winter as it’s the only synagogue with central heating, but they use the Spanish Synagogue in summer as it has a nice breeze. All 5 synagogues host religious lessons, Talmud classes, children’s Jewish studies, courses in Hebrew, and other events. There is also a Jewish kindergarten, yeshiva, Judaica stores, and old age home in the area of the Old Ghetto.

Jewish items from the Venice ghetto:                                Torah Amulet, 1700s,
Torah Coronet, 1600s,
Torah Crown, 1755,
Book binding, 1550, Yishai ben Yehiel, Yaakov ben Yosef, Itzhak ben Elijahu Manosh,
Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

Each year thousands of visitors, both Jewish and not, come to see the ghetto, attend the International Conference on Hebrew Studies held there, or join one of the other Jewish conferences, exhibitions and seminars which also take place in Venice at different points during the year. The floating canal-boat sukkah and floating chanukiah also attract crowds of tourists at the appropriate Jewish festivals.

Unfortunately, rising water levels and lack of proper construction means that many of the buildings in the ghetto are falling to ruin, but renovations are beginning to occur, and as Jewish infrastructure once again offers good job opportunities, Jewish families are slowly beginning to move back into the area.

After 500 years, it is hard to know exactly what life must have been like for the Jews living in the world’s first ghetto, but of some things we can be certain: the Venetian government did all it could to take away the rights and freedoms of the Jews in Venice, subjecting them to harsh discrimination, unfair rules, financial hardships, and restricting their freedom of movement. Yet, even in the face of this, the Jews decided that they would not be trampled on and they continued to stand strong, making the best of a very bad situation. They not only got through the period with dignity and grace, but they also managed to do so with financial success, a growing community, new and exciting places of worship and infrastructure, and success on all terms. If there’s a lesson to learn here, it’s that even in the face of antisemitism and adversity, Jews can, and will, rise up time and time again.

“The Mother of Monasteries” vs. “The Tower of Babel” in World War II

The Abbey of Monte Cassino, often called the “Mother of Monasteries”, occupies a very strategic location dominating the road leading north-west to Rome. From January to May 1944, fierce battles took place there in which Allied soldiers from more than twenty different nations faced off against German, Austrian and Italian troops. The campaign ended with a German withdrawal after Allied troops breached the “Gustav Line”…

Polish soldiers inside the ruins of the Abbey of Monte Cassino. Photo: Melchior Wańkowicz

The Abbey of Monte Cassino, founded in the 6th century, is the oldest of Western Europe’s monasteries. Its founder was Benedict of Nursia, who was also the founder of the Benedictine Order. Benedict is buried at Monte Cassino alongside his sister, the nun Scholastica. The regulations established by Benedict served as a prototype for the monastic orders that followed, which led to Monte Cassino being dubbed the “Mother of Monasteries.”

Over its lifetime, the monastery accumulated many treasured artworks. During the Second World War, works of art from the museum in Naples were transferred there for safekeeping. As the Allies neared the monastery, the Germans organized the transfer of some of the pieces to the Vatican, as well as to other monasteries in Italy. The evacuation operation led to disputes among the German officers over where to take the works and who would escort them. This was mainly due to the intention to transfer some of the artworks to none other than Hermann Göring, after whom their military division was named. Göring was notorious for “adopting” looted works of art from occupied areas.

Among the Hebrew manuscripts found in the National Library of Israel’s catalog is a scan of an interesting manuscript currently kept at Monte Cassino. It is in fact a palimpsest, that is, a manuscript written over an earlier manuscript. In our case – a Latin book of Psalms written over an earlier Hebrew manuscript from the 13th century containing the religious Jewish laws of Rabbi Isaac Alfasi for the Talmudic tractate Eruvin.

In World War II, after a failed series of ground attacks to capture the abbey from the Germans who controlled the area, the Allies bombed the monastery from the air. Despite its importance to the Christian world and the Vatican’s attempts to prevent its destruction, the bombing of Monte Cassino was carried out due to public pressure following the heavy number of allied casualties from the ground offensives, primarily in the United States. To this day, researchers still debate whether the Germans did in fact have positions on the grounds of the monastery, although none dispute that the Germans had observation posts and machine guns positioned outside the monastery’s walls which benefited from their shelter.

After the war, the monastery was restored, and most of the art and cultural treasures were returned.

The Monte Cassino campaign exacted a terrible price: over 54,000 Allied deaths, and about 20,000 deaths for the Axis countries. Many studies have been published on the strategic and tactical considerations and military decisions of the warring parties. I would like to focus on the personal and human aspect of the campaign and its later cultural influence.

The Allied forces that took part in the battles at Monte Cassino were made up of people from many different countries and nationalities: Americans soldiers—including Japanese US citizens; British soldiers— including forces from England, Australia, New Zealand (among them Maoris); and India (among them Punjabis and Gurkhas). In the French Expeditionary Corps, alongside French European troops, there were also Moroccan, Algerian and Tunisian soldiers. They were joined by Polish and Italian volunteers, as well as troops from Czechoslovakia, the Soviet Union, the various Baltic countries, and soldiers from as far as Brazil. And of course, among these, were also Jewish soldiers, whether in the Polish Anders’ Army, in the British Army or in the US Armed Forces.

“The New Zealanders, these tall, raw-boned men who had come from halfway around the world, now contributed their distinctive accent to the polyglot medley of shouts and curses along the road. One of the officers described his introduction to the multinational world of the Fifth Army:

‘Running up Highway Six we were nearly put in the ditch by American Negro drivers. An Indian military policeman warned us to waste no time at the San Vittore corner, beyond which we overtook an Algerian battalion with French officers. We passed through an English field regiment’s area, several hundred American infantry working on the road, and reached Corps headquarters immediately behind two Brazilian generals. In the first room I was astounded and mystified to hear that the Japanese had taken the castle'”. (Monte Cassino, by David Hapgood and David Richardson, pp. 160-161).

The officer in question was most likely Major General Sir Howard Kippenberger, whose autobiographical book Infantry Brigadier gives a similar description. In it, he explains that the “Japanese” are American soldiers of Japanese origin.

In his memoirs, Jan Eibenschutz, a Jewish soldier who served in Anders’ Army, in the 3rd Carpathian Rifle Division, offers a glimpse into the lives of the soldiers and their feelings in wartime on the road to Rome:

“During the first months, I discovered that what characterizes our units is physical effort and fatigue, the fear of danger was only a secondary component. To think that I received this impression while serving in the modern British Eighth Army, of which our unit was a part and which had at its disposal enormous amounts of services and means of transportation. Despite this, at the frontline, we almost always had to reach our destination on foot, walking along difficult paths, while carrying heavy weaponry.”

(Translation of an excerpt from Eibenshcutz’s memoirs published in Hebrew:

יאן אייבנשוץ, “שביתי פלוגת צנחנים גרמנים”. בתוך: עדות, 13: 112, 1996)

And this is how Eibenschutz describes the arrival at Monte Cassino, from the chapter “Journey to Hell”:

“Here we are in the Monte Cassino theater facing a key position of the German defensive Gustav Line. Here, in November 1943, the Germans managed to stop the attack of the American Fifth Army and then one after another the attacks of the English, New Zealanders, Indians, the South African units, the French (which included Algerians, Moroccans and Italians) while causing heavy losses of life and equipment. All these were not helped by the heavy bombardment of hundreds of bombers, which turned the famous Benedictine monastery on the mountain into ruins.

Now it’s our turn to attack Monte Cassino.

The approach to the front line began on April 27, a beautiful spring day. We climbed a steep path on foot which even jeeps could pass up to a certain point. The path led to a hill situated between the monastery and the top of Monte Cairo, which was over 1,500 meters high, and from where the Germans controlled the whole area and all the access roads. Already, the trees growing there had become naked black skeletons, but the entire ground was covered with carpets of red poppies; it would be hard to describe a greater contrast” (p. 113).

Jan Eibenschutz and his friends remained at Monte Cassino until May 1944, when the monastery was conquered.

“On the night of May 17, everything was ready to strike at the Germans and finish them off…

Shortly before dawn we received the order to capture the monastery, which was on the other side of the valley. We had to take up new deployment positions… It wasn’t until around 10 o’clock in the morning that we noticed movement near the monastery ruins. A short time later we saw the red and white flag flying over it. We let out cries of relief and joy.

It happened on May 18, my 24th birthday.

…with a joint effort of the Fifth and Eighth Armies, the ‘Gustav Line’ was finally breached and the Germans found themselves in retreat.

Two weeks later on June 4, 1944, Allied forces entered Rome and liberated the city from the Germans” (ibid., pp. 114–115).

About 1000 Polish soldiers are buried in the Monte Cassino cemetery, and among the gravestones about 20 are decorated with the Star of David.

One exceptional Polish soldier stood out on the battlefield – he was awarded a medal of bravery and promoted from the rank of private to corporal. This soldier was a Syrian brown bear named Wojtek that had been bought as a unit mascot and was eventually officially recruited into the 22nd Polish Artillery Supply Company in Anders’ Army. Wojtek the bear, who had learned by imitating his fellow soldiers to walk upright, could, thanks to his great strength, single-handedly lift and carry an artillery munition crate that would normally require four soldiers to transport. In the Battle of Monte Cassino, Wojtek excelled in speedily carrying crate after crate of heavy ammunition while under fire, which earned him both a medal for bravery and a promotion. Wojtek was even commemorated on the unit’s official emblem, and in May 2019, a commemorative statue of him was installed in Monte Cassino’s town square.

 

Jewish Brigade soldier Yehuda Harari’s illustrations, which he published in a book in 1946, also reflect the difficulties experienced by the soldiers in the battles to break through to Rome.

The Hebrew sign reads: “Don’t move -The enemy sees you”. The captions reads “Too late!” in Yiddish.

 

“Don’t be an antisemite!” reads the Hebrew caption

The Battle of Monte Cassino also led to the writing of one of the canonical works of modern science fiction. Walter Michael Miller, Jr. served in World War II as a tail gunner in the US Air Force. He participated in the bombing of the Abbey of Monte Cassino, and said that this experience influenced his entire life’s work. His dystopian novel A Canticle for Leibowitz published in 1959, was awarded the Hugo Award for Best Novel by the World Science Fiction Convention in 1961. It is considered by many to be one of the seminal works of speculative post-apocalyptic literature. The only book he published in his lifetime (alongside short stories), it describes a world after a nuclear holocaust in which Catholic monks are the guardians of humanity’s cultural knowledge and values.

A Hebrew translation of the science-fiction classic A Canticle for Leibowitz, by Walter Michael Miller Jr – inspired by the Battle of Monte Cassino

The legacy of the Battle of Monte Cassino lives on to this day. For example, the Swedish metal band Sabaton, whose songs deal with military history from different periods, were so inspired by the combined efforts of the Allies at the Battle of Monte Cassino, involving so many disparate nationalities, that they wrote a song about it, which they titled “Union” (The song is featured on the album The Art of War. Original battle photographs and film clips appear in the official music video and related video segment analyzing the battle).

 

Mile after mile our march carries on
No army may stop our approach
Fight side by side
Many nations unite
At the shadow of Monte Cassino
We fight and die together
As we head for the valley of death
Destiny calls
We’ll not surrender or fail

To arms!
Under one banner
As a unit we stand and united we fall
As one! Fighting together
Bringing the end to the slaughter
Winds are changing
head on north

 

What resonates most in the recollections of those who took part in the campaign, and in later military analyses of the battle, is the cooperation that existed among soldiers from all over the world, among army units with different battle doctrines, languages and even diametrically opposed traditions of officer/soldier relations. But the common goal of subduing the Nazi enemy bridged the gaps and resulted in victory in the battle at Monte Cassino and the opening of the road to Rome.

 

Further Reading:

  • Monte Cassino, David Hapgood and David Richardson, New York: Berkley Books, 1986
  • Cassino to the Alps, Ernest F. Fisher, Washington: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1977
  • Bloody River: Prelude to the Battle of Cassino, Martin Bluminson, London: Allen & Unwin, 1970
  • A Canticle for Leibowitz, Walter M. Miller Jr., Toronto: Bantam Books, 1959
  • Infantry Brigadier, Major-General Sir Howard Kippenberger, London: Oxford University Press, 1949

• אייבנשוץ, יאן: “שביתי פלוגת צנחנים גרמנים”. בתוך: “עדות”, 13: 112-119, 1996
• בן אריה, כתריאל. מערכת קסינו. תל אביב: אוניברסיטת תל אביב – פקולטה למדעי הרוח – בית הספר להיסטוריה, 1978
• הררי, יהודה. סביב אירופה על חוד העפרון (מיומנו המצוייר של חייל ארצישראלי). בריסל: דפוס החיל, תש”ו
• מג’דלני, פרד. קאסינו : דיוקנה של מערכה. ישראל: מערכות, תשנ”א
• מג’דלני, פרד. הפטרול / המנזר. ישראל: מערכות, תשכ”ב

 

Translation: Sharon Assaf

The Many Lives of the Synagogue El Transito

When Samuel Ha-Levi illegally built a synagogue in the provincial Spanish town of Toledo, no one could have known that it would one day become a church, then a military barracks in the Napoleonic war, a national monument, and finally a museum… but that’s just the beginning!

The synagogue of Transit in Toledo, the Josef and Margit Hoffman Judaica Postcard Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the Folklore Research Center, the National Library of Israel

Toledo, the capital city of Old Castilla, is a beautiful town just south of Madrid. It is home to medieval buildings, fresh Spanish air rippling off the quaint river that runs through town, and breathtaking views of the surrounding countryside. The history of Toledo dates back all the way to the Romans, and the place is endowed with a deep feeling of being loaded with antiquity and significance. As you meander through the winding streets, you can’t help but understand that there is no way to grasp the vastness of Toledo’s history, no matter how much time you have to spend in the area. A whole world lurks beneath the intricate architecture and map-wielding tourists, and you wonder to yourself how so much could have happened in so small an area? Perhaps this is why the women of Toledo gathered to protect its history and defend the precious town during the Spanish Civil War of 1936, refusing to let its magnificent history be destroyed. Perhaps this is why the Spanish poet Garcilaso de la Vega used Toledo to inspire so much of his work, promising Toledo in dramatic prose that “the strength of your beauty would be sung.”

The synagogue of Transit in Toledo, the Josef and Margit Hoffman Judaica Postcard Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the Folklore Research Center, the National Library of Israel

And perhaps this is why the Synagogue El Transito, sitting right inside the historic town, is endowed with such a full and theatrical history.

We don’t know exactly how far back Jewish history in Toledo dates, but we can be sure that Jews have lived there since at least the 6th century, for in the year 589 CE the Council of Toledo created a decree prohibiting Jews from marrying Christians, holding public office or owning Christian servants. As you can imagine from the intonation of those decrees, the Jews suffered greatly under Christianity in Toledo, especially when the 8th Toledo Council created even more extreme antisemitic legislation in the year 652CE. They say that the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and this was never truer than when the rift between the Christians and the Jews led the Jewish community to aid in the Muslim conquest of Toledo in the year 715 CE. The Jews made fast friends with the new conquerors and even spoke Arabic in this period, as evidenced by the fact that Jewish documents from this time were written in Arabic (Asher b. Jehiel, Responsa, No. 56; Solomon ben Adret, Responsa, iii. 427.)

In 1252, King Alfonso the 10th (9 Alfonsos weren’t enough apparently) captured the city of Toledo and declared it Christian once again, yet this time he made sure that the Jews were treated as equals.

Photograph of Samuel Halevi Abulafia Private Synagogue (Nuestra Señora del Tránsito) in Toledo, 2016, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel
Photograph of Samuel Halevi Abulafia Private Synagogue (Nuestra Señora del Tránsito) in Toledo, 2016, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel
Photograph of Samuel Halevi Abulafia Private Synagogue (Nuestra Señora del Tránsito) in Toledo, 2016, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel
Photograph of Samuel Halevi Abulafia Private Synagogue (Nuestra Señora del Tránsito) in Toledo, 2016, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

By this point many Jews had migrated to Toledo, as Muslim persecution in other parts of Spain drove them to seek refuge. These Jews rose to prominence, holding important roles in politics and government. At one point the King of Toledo even graced the Jews with the biggest compliment of all by taking a Jewish mistress (Fermosa) and a Jewish royal physician (Hayyuj Alfata)!

In the mid-1200s, the Archbishop of Toledo grew concerned by the financial and political prominence of the Jewish community and decided to curb it by imposing a tax and housing tithe on every Jew over the age of 20 (Jacobs, “Sources,” No. 1265.) This seems not to have worked out so well, considering the fact that by 1290, nearly half of the town’s considerable wealth was still owned by Jews!

During this time period, the Nasi or leader of the Jewish community doubled up as the spiritual leader of the community, and in 1305 the Jews of Toledo chose the learned nobleman Asher Ben Jehiel Abulafia (d. 1328) to lead their congregation. It was under his political and religious guidance that our story begins.

Photograph of Samuel Halevi Abulafia Private Synagogue (Nuestra Señora del Tránsito) in Toledo, 2016, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel
Photograph of Samuel Halevi Abulafia Private Synagogue (Nuestra Señora del Tránsito) in Toledo, 2016, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel
Photograph of Samuel Halevi Abulafia Private Synagogue (Nuestra Señora del Tránsito) in Toledo, 2016, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel
Photograph of Samuel Halevi Abulafia Private Synagogue (Nuestra Señora del Tránsito) in Toledo, 2016, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

On a fine Spanish day in 1320, a boy named Samuel Ben Meir Ha-Levi Abulafia was born into the influential Abulafia family. The Abulafias, including the aforementioned Asher, had been leading the Jewish community in both Toledo and in fact all of Castilla for over 100 years. However, Samuel’s parents died of the plague while he was still a boy, and because Samuel was too young to take over their legacy, he was instead apprenticed to the Knight Juan Alfonso. Owing to a nice bit of nepotism, his political dynasty serving the kings of Castilla for several generations, Samuel rose quickly through the ranks of the court until he found his own meaningful employment in the court of King Pedro the 1st of Castilla, also known as King Pedro the Cruel (which we won’t go into – let bygones be bygones, and all that). Samuel was first crowned the Mayor of the town, then the Treasurer, and finally the High Judge of Toledo. It was during his stint as Treasurer that he decided to build a synagogue. It was by no means the first synagogue in the area – Toledo was already home to the largest synagogue in Spain as well as 9 others, but this one was Samuel’s own house of worship.

The synagogue of Transit in Toledo, the Josef and Margit Hoffman Judaica Postcard Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the Folklore Research Center, the National Library of Israel
Photograph of Samuel Halevi Abulafia Private Synagogue (Nuestra Señora del Tránsito) in Toledo, 2016, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

In 1357 the synagogue was opened. It was connected to Samuel Ha-Levi Abulafia’s house and he presided over the services. Generously paying it back to the community who had so exalted him, Samuel also opened the synagogue as a hub for Jewish education, and a Yeshiva house of study.

One of the many things that made this synagogue interesting was the fact that in the 14th century, Spain had actually decreed a ban on all construction of Jewish educational institutes and synagogues. However, Samuel’s close relationship with King Pedro (cruel or otherwise), meant that he was able to find some legal loopholes, and more importantly, get away with them. The ban on synagogues did not extend to private homes, and bribes were sometimes accepted for the construction of Yeshivot, which King Pedro turned a blind eye towards. Maybe this was a nod to their close friendship, or maybe it was a royal token of apology for the persecution that the Jews had just faced in Toledo during the Black Death of the 1340s. Either way, the synagogue was allowed to stand, and for that we can be grateful.

Samuel Ha-Levi quite deliberately disobeyed the regulations requiring synagogues to be plainly decorated, smaller, and lower than churches, and once again King Pedro looked the other way. The rectangular prayer hall has a 12-meter-high ceiling and is decorated lavishly in a mix of styles. Hebrew inscriptions can be seen even till this day which extol both King Pedro and Samuel Ha-Levi. Arabic inscriptions and Psalm passages are also apparent on the walls, next to the Ha-Levi coat of arms and lots of magnificent windows.

During services, a second-floor gallery was set aside for the women, which was pretty forward thinking for the time! Contrary to the highly decorated interior, the façade of the synagogue was constructed of brick and stone, and was relatively unadorned, in order to draw less attention to the illegal structure, despite the fact that its towering roof raised the whole synagogue somewhat above all the nearby structures.

Photograph of Samuel Halevi Abulafia Private Synagogue (Nuestra Señora del Tránsito) in Toledo, 2016, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel
Photograph of Samuel Halevi Abulafia Private Synagogue (Nuestra Señora del Tránsito) in Toledo, 2016, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

This house of prayer was a vibrant and animated place of worship for many years, but then tragedy struck. As the 14th and 15th centuries wore on, antisemitism had been back on the rise yet again. Samuel Ha-Levi obviously set out to protect Jewish rights and freedoms, but due to this, King Pedro was unable to keep defending him. Eventually the rift between the two men grew into an all-out war – Samuel was arrested on charges of corruption and eventually tortured to death. His house remained, as did the synagogue, and despite repeated and growing attacks on the Jewish community in Toledo as the 1300s came to an end, the synagogue was saved. This was not an act of good faith, but rather one of self-interest, for the synagogue was soon to be converted into a church.

In 1492, amidst a further uptake of antisemitism, the Jews were finally given an ultimatum: the Catholic monarchs of Spain, Ferdinand and Isabella, issued the Alhambra Decree, which gave Spanish Jews the choice to either convert to Catholicism, leave the country, or face expulsion. The decree was supposedly motivated by the belief that Jews had not fully assimilated into Spanish society and that their presence was a threat to the country’s religious and cultural identity, but no justification can be made for the horrors which befell the Jewish community during these terrible years of persecution. The Spanish expulsion marked the apparent end to centuries of Jewish presence in Spain, and led to the forced migration of thousands of Jews to other parts of Europe, North Africa, and the Ottoman Empire.

Photograph of Samuel Halevi Abulafia Private Synagogue (Nuestra Señora del Tránsito) in Toledo, 2016, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel
Photograph of Samuel Halevi Abulafia Private Synagogue (Nuestra Señora del Tránsito) in Toledo, 2016, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

As no practicing Jews remained in Toledo, the synagogue was turned into a church. As if they had not inflicted enough harm already, King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella donated the building to the Order of Calatrava who turned the structure into a church housing a Benedictine priory. The name “El Transito,” which honors the Virgin Mary’s Assumption, was given to the building during its stretch as a church, but ironically the synagogue has still kept this name until today, which is why it is known as the “Synagogue El Transito.” Juan Correa de Vivar painted a mural of Mary’s Virgin Transit over the original Jewish engravings on the walls, but thankfully the canvases he used were eventually removed and preserved without ruining the Jewish prayers so lovingly inscribed below.

Photograph of Samuel Halevi Abulafia Private Synagogue (Nuestra Señora del Tránsito) in Toledo, 2016, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

The Synagogue El Transito was to remain a church until the early 1800s, when, during the Spanish War of Independence against Napoleon in 1808, Toledo was forced to play a leading role. Toledo is very strategically located in the center of the peninsula of Spain and close to Madrid, so it became one of the central hostile points in the country. Despite heavy resistance, over 10,000 French troops along with their 400 horses took up residence in Toledo, under guidance from General Dupont. The Spanish fought back, and the ever-changing defensive lines of both armies often fell smack-bang in the middle of Toledo, causing much damage and unrest to the town. During that time, the Spanish revolutionaries and fighters needed barracks, and the vast space of the Church of El Transito provided just the right shelter.

We can be grateful for this strategic placing of the Spanish army barracks, as the synagogue would almost certainly have been destroyed if it wasn’t being used to house their troops. Many notable buildings and heritage sites were lost during these fierce battles, and during the Civil War, more of Toledo was destroyed than ever before. Despite the piles of horse manure and stray bullets, the synagogue persevered, and by the end of the war, the synagogue-turned-church-turned-military barracks had become a symbol of Spain’s success, and the independence that they had fought for.

Photograph of Samuel Halevi Abulafia Private Synagogue (Nuestra Señora del Tránsito) in Toledo, 2016, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

Having lost its status as a church, the Synagogue El Transito was turned briefly into a national monument. The decline of Christianity in the late 1800s combined with the building’s military prowess meant that it was easily turned into a heritage site, and it was only after gaining this national monument status that its history was slowly excavated, one layer at a time.

During the 19th century, Spanish Jewish communities began to rebuild themselves, slowly at first, as Jews tentatively returned to their homes and found a more welcoming society than the one their ancestors had fled from. Despite that, no Jews returned to settle in Toledo. But as historians and world heritage staff explored the grounds of the building, they recognized just how important it had once been for the Jewish community, and pledged to return it to their possession.

A restoration effort began. The first part of the restoration was to the Torah ark, often considered to be the holiest site in a synagogue. The original ark still stood, but needed a good deal of repair and cleaning. At least 14 lattices needed to be fixed and the Hebrew inscriptions had to be painstakingly restored, letter by letter.

Photograph of Samuel Halevi Abulafia Private Synagogue (Nuestra Señora del Tránsito) in Toledo, 2016, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

Arturo Mélida y Alinari became the head architect of this immense restoration project and he worked tirelessly, firstly on the roof and outside walls, and then as he grew to notice all the many safety hazards present in the structure, he turned his attention to reinforcing the ancient building. In 1911, the building was given to the Museum Fund of Spain, who pledged to gift it back to the Jewish community as a Museum of Sephardi Culture and History. They doubled down on the restoration efforts, and started on the interior walls and the women’s gallery. A debate soon raged over whether to also restore the church features, and eventually it was decided that it would only be fair to pay homage to the building’s years as a church, so the choir stage and a few other Christian features were also restored to their former glory. Finally, some new features were added to the building, including a large Jewish library and a new Center for Hebrew Studies.

Photograph of Samuel Halevi Abulafia Private Synagogue (Nuestra Señora del Tránsito) in Toledo, 2016, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel
Photograph of Samuel Halevi Abulafia Private Synagogue (Nuestra Señora del Tránsito) in Toledo, 2016, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel
Photograph of Samuel Halevi Abulafia Private Synagogue (Nuestra Señora del Tránsito) in Toledo, 2016, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

Of the five grandest medieval synagogues in Toledo, only two have survived: the Synagogue El Transito, now the Sephardic Museum, and Santa María la Blanca which also, as the name suggests, spent some time as a church. Toledo is sometimes known as the “Sephardic Jerusalem” due to its beautiful Jewish heritage buildings and synagogues, and its historic Jewish quarter which can still be visited today.

Photograph of Don Samuel Halevi Abulafia Private Synagogue (Nuestra Señora del Tránsito) in Toledo – Model 1/20, 2016, Photographer: Vladimir Levin, Center for Jewish Art Collection, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel

The Synagogue El Transito no longer hosts prayer services, and the only Jews in the town today are visitors, snapping pictures and tracing the vast Jewish history of the area, seeking to view some of Spain’s most precious medieval Jewish architecture. From a synagogue to a church, to a military barracks, then a national monument, and finally a museum and synagogue once again, the Synagogue El Transito tells the riveting and tragic story of Spanish Jewry all the way from the Middle Ages, until today.

The Kindergarten That Became the Mossad HQ in Morocco

In 1954, Yehudit Galili arrived in Morocco as part of a Jewish Agency mission. She set up a kindergarten, an "Ulpan" for teaching Hebrew, and a network of contacts within Casablanca’s Jewish community. One day she discovered a group of strangers in the building that housed her kindergarten and was surprised to hear them speaking Hebrew. This is the true story of how a kindergarten teacher became a spy for the Jewish underground in Morocco.

المربية اليهودية يحزقيلي غليلي (من اليسار) في احتفالات عيد الأنوار في الروضة العبرية الأولى، الدار البيضاء، المغرب.

Kindergarten teacher Yehudit Galili (left) overseeing Hanukkah celebrations in the first Hebrew kindergarten in Casablanca, Morocco

Imagine the following scenario: You are sent to a foreign country with the mission of opening a Hebrew kindergarten for the children of the local Jewish community. One bright morning, you suddenly discover that your kindergarten has become a training ground for the Mossad as well as a branch of the local Jewish underground. This is not the plot of a spy novel, but a true story, and the description you’ve just read is only the tip of the iceberg. In her book Shlihut Goralit (“Fateful Mission”) published in late 2022, Yehudit (Galili) Yehezkeli recounts the parts of her story that have been approved for publication, including many of her incredible experiences in Morocco.

In 1954, Yehudit Galili was sent to Morocco on behalf of the Culture and Education Department of the Jewish Agency. Her mission was simple: to start an Israeli-Hebrew kindergarten in Morocco and to teach Hebrew in an Ulpan (lit. “studio”, the common Israeli term for a Hebrew school). At the time, Yehudit was working as a teacher at the Hartuv transit camp for new immigrants (a ma’abara) which she had helped establish. One day, while waiting for the train home to Jerusalem, a friend told her that the Jewish Agency was looking for teachers for a mission to Morocco. Yehudit, who could not point out Casablanca on a map, didn’t think twice and applied for the job. After passing the interview and the rest of the admissions process, she found herself at only 24 years old, on her way to Morocco as an official representative of the Jewish Agency.

Yehudit Galili was born in Tiberias in 1930 and grew up in the small town of Nesher. During her childhood she was a member of Zionist youth movements, and as a young adult she trained as a squad commander in the Palmach (the Haganah’s elite fighting force). Yehudit took part in military operations and was even wounded in the battle for Haifa during the 1948 Arab-Israeli War. In May 1948 she joined the Harel Brigade where she escorted and trained convoys.

Yehudit Galili (later Yehezkeli) practicing with a firearm during a Palmach training course]

 

Palmach fighters train for a river-crossing. Yehudit Galili Yehezkeli is in the foreground, on the shoulders of a fellow-soldier

 

The Mission: Establish a Zionist Kindergarten in Morocco

Yehudit’s mission, at least in the beginning, was the essence of Zionist outreach activity at that time: to arouse interest in Israel among Moroccan Jews, particularly the middle and upper classes who had distanced themselves from the Zionist idea and the State of Israel. Moroccan Jewry was the largest of the Jewish communities in the Islamic countries. The educated and affluent Jews sent their children to French educational institutions rather than to Zionist schools such as Alliance and similar establishments. A large part of this population, which was concentrated in Casablanca (where Yehudit was sent), did not even consider the idea of immigrating to the State of Israel. At that time, Morocco was still a “protectorate” of the French colonial regime—which was about to come to an end. Despite a number of violent incidents (such as the pogroms in the cities of Oujda and Jerada after the declaration of Israel’s independence), the Jews of Morocco had a relatively comfortable life under the French regime. However, the State of Israel was aware that this situation might not last for long—and sent emissaries to bring Moroccan Jews closer to the Zionist cause, just in case.

In her first year there, Yehudit worked to set up a Hebrew kindergarten in Casablanca as well as an Ulpan for Hebrew language instruction. She conducted the kindergarten entirely in Hebrew, with the help of her assistant Zippora, a local Jewish girl who spoke Hebrew. The kindergarten followed the same format and curriculum as the Hebrew kindergartens in Israel. The children were provided with transportation to and from the kindergarten, and Zionist organizations in Israel and the Joint Distribution Committee donated the equipment. The kindergarten was housed in a fancy villa in the French quarter in Casablanca, and included an apartment for Yehudit. Besides running the kindergarten and Ulpan, Yehudit also forged connections with the parents of the children, which would prove very useful later on, when some of the parents were recruited into the Misgeret (“framework”)—the code-name for the Jewish underground in Morocco. As early as 1954, representatives of the Israeli security service were sent to Morocco, headed by Col. Shlomo Havilio, to assess the situation of the Jews in the country. Morocco was moving towards independence, and the Jews—whose status had improved during the French colonial period—had to prepare for the impending changes. This, in fact, had been one of the reasons behind Yehudit’s original mission, since encouraging immigration was one of the official ways Israel chose to deal with the situation.

Kindergarten class photograph for the Purim holiday (Yehudit Galili Yehezkeli is standing on the far right in the second row), Nesher

After working for a year, Yehudit took a few days off. When she returned, the situation in the country had significantly worsened. The State of Israel assessed that Morocco would adopt the anti-Israel position taken by other Arab countries and feared for the lives of the nearly 200,000 Moroccan Jews remaining in the country. The Mossad sped up the establishment of the Jewish underground in Morocco, and various cells began forming secretly throughout the country, one of them right inside Yehudit Galili’s kindergarten. November 16, 1955, the day the King of Morocco returned to his country, was a turning point for Yehudit. The underground at that time was trying to find a cover story by blending in among the Jewish Agency workers who had “official” permits to be in the country, while also attempting to recruit locals into its ranks. When Yehudit returned from her short vacation, she discovered that the villa that housed her kindergarten had also been recruited for this purpose.

Sultan Mohammed V and his son Mawlay Hassan return from exile in Madagascar. Their car was accompanied by a cavalry guard through the streets of Casablanca, Morocco. Photo by Yehudit Galili Yehezkeli

Yehudit Galili Alias “Nora”

“While walking upstairs to my room, I heard strange voices coming from the second floor […] At first, I thought about getting out quickly, but what I heard sounded like Hebrew and I calmed down. I was shocked to find strangers, but I think they were more frightened than I was… Their presence in Morocco was supposed to be top secret. They had come to Morocco under cover and no one knew of their existence, and suddenly an Israeli woman had found them out…” Yehudit Galili recalls in her memoir about her first meeting with members of the Jewish underground in Morocco. Shlomo Yehezkeli, the leader of the cell and later Yehudit’s husband, was the first to get a grip of himself. He asked her to sit down and after briefly introducing himself he started to interrogate her. “At first, I politely answered all the questions but then my patience ran out. Angrily, I said ‘What’s with all these questions? Who are you? Who authorized you to enter the kindergarten? I live here and this is my kindergarten!’” Yehudit writes about the meeting. Her assertive outburst served to diffuse the tension and by the end of the encounter she found herself recruited into the Jewish underground in Morocco. She agreed to join, despite having little idea what this was all about, after discovering that the members of the underground already knew everything about her without her telling them anything.

A girl placing a donation inside a KKL-JNF blue and white charity box, Hebrew kindergarten, Casablanca, Morocco. Kindergarten teacher Yehudit Galili is standing in the center of the photo. The children are wearing costumes for the Purim holiday

It was during this same meeting that the secret agents decided to set up shop in the kindergarten building in Casablanca, which is how it became the temporary headquarters of the Jewish underground in Morocco. The basement was turned into a slick – a hiding place for the underground’s weapons. Later it was also used for training members in how to take apart and reassemble weapons, as well as for secret meetings in which new recruits were sworn in. Mossad personnel posed as Jewish Agency emissaries, and thus the well-known Zionist organization became deeply involved in the Mossad’s activities. Yehudit, as a “certified” Agency worker with papers, became an asset for the underground. Her role as a kindergarten teacher enabled her to be in contact with locals without raising any suspicions. She was in touch with parents of the children in the kindergarten and students in the Ulpan and could listen to their conversations and assess their mindset. Most importantly, her position was ideal for finding potential recruits. Yehudit was trained in using invisible ink, preparing hiding places and various methods for gathering materials and information. She was even given an alias – “Nora”. Yehudit also acted as a courier and liaison between different groups, and eventually began to forge passports for Jews wanting to escape from Morocco.

Kindergarten teacher Yehudit Galili Yehezkeli with the children of the first Hebrew kindergarten in Morocco dressed up for Purim, Casablanca, Morocco

 

A Kindergarten and an Underground HQ: How Did It Work?

How did this strange combination of kindergarten and Jewish underground headquarters function day to day? Let’s consider the case of Carmela and Yona—two Mossad agents—who arrived in Morocco with their young daughter Orly and settled in Casablanca. Carmela and Yona arrived under cover as Jewish Agency emissaries. Orly enrolled in Yehudit’s kindergarten, which provided a perfect cover for conversations between Yehudit and the couple. In the mornings, when Carmela brought her daughter to kindergarten, she would leave confidential packages and letters with Yehudit who in her role as courier would deliver them. Yona, who was Shlomo Yehezkeli’s deputy, was involved in gathering and hiding weapons as well as training recruits in how to use them. He was also an expert in creating special envelopes to hide secret messages. When he came to the kindergarten, he would be busy devising hiding places for weapons and secret storage spaces for messages within the villa grounds. For example, he built a secret compartment inside the pot of a large plant placed near the villa’s entrance where messages could be stored.

A love story. Shlomo Yehezkeli, commander of the underground, and his wife Yehudit Galili who he recruited, in a classroom used to teach Hebrew and arithmetic, Casablanca, Morocco

In early June 1956, the Moroccan authorities decided to limit Zionist activity in the country. Yehudit’s kindergarten continued to operate at full capacity and serve as the center for the underground’s work until it finally was closed down.  After this, the Jewish underground operated from other locations. Yehudit continued her work in the Mazagan immigrant camp near Casablanca until she was forced to leave the country. She would continue her underground work on behalf of Moroccan Jewry from Marseille.

Continuing her work even after her expulsion from Morocco. Yehudit Galili Yehezkeli at a typewriter preparing a list of illegal immigrants from Morocco to Israel, Marseille, France

Yehudit married the commander of the underground in Morocco Shlomo Yehezkeli, whom she met for the first time on that fateful day in the kindergarten. The couple relocated to Paris, where they continued to engage in security, intelligence and public work on behalf of Israel from 1960 to 1964. Later they also took up official posts in Africa before eventually returning to Israel where they raised their three children. In Israel, Yehudit was involved in education, teaching and writing, as well as painting, sculpting, and filmmaking. She published nine books and dozens of articles, as well as numerous exhibitions and even three films. She has won many awards over the course of her life. Her latest book, Shlihut Goralit (Hebrew), about her mission in Morocco, served as the source for this article. The book is available to read online.

Just like in the spy movies. The debonair couple Yehudit Galili Yehezkeli and Shlomo Yehezkeli at a café in Casablanca, Morocco

 

The photos in this article are part of Archive Network Israel, made accessible through the collaborative efforts of the Ben Zvi Institute, the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage and the National Library of Israel