June 20, 2003/Sivan 20 5763, Vol. 55, No. 43
Azeri 'Mountain Jews' struggleCommunity dwindles but hope remains
MICHAEL J. JORDAN
|
 Young students make their way through the hall of a Jewish school in Kuba, Azerbaijan, in January 2003. Photo by Michael J. Jordan/JTA |
Pallbearers carry the wooden plank that bears the deceased, a man named Reuven Amirjanov. As is customary, his body is wrapped in a hand-woven carpet splashed with colors and patterns.
Despite the muddy ascent, the mourners beat a swift pace.
Jews have been making the trek to the cemetery overlooking the village of Kuba for some 250 years. Amirjanov had moved to the Caspian city of Sumgait long ago, but had asked to be buried at his birthplace.
"He wanted to be buried in Kuba with his ancestors," one mourner says. "His sons honored his wish."
Kuba may be one of the world's last shtetls, but for the "Mountain Jews" of Azerbaijan, Kuba is their Jerusalem. Historically isolated in the rugged, hardscrabble wilds of the southern Caucasus, Kuba and other villages across the region have spawned a unique breed of Diaspora Jews.
Hardened by centuries of self-defense and self-reliance, and free of the anti-Semitism and pogroms that plagued the Jews of Eastern Europe, these mountain Jews are a proud, tough-minded, patriarchal lot. Respected as horsemen and marksmen, some of them were among the first fighters in Jewish Palestine.
But every year, fewer Jews are living - and dying - here.
The paucity of jobs and economic hardship common here since the collapse of the Soviet Union and its Communist system has compelled thousands of Jewish mountain men to venture abroad in search of work, often leaving their wives and children behind or resettling with their families in places like Israel, New York or Moscow, which now has its own cemetery for mountain Jews.
Towns like Kuba for the most part are poor, dwindling communities dependent on support from relatives abroad and Jewish welfare agencies like the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee.
At the same time, community leaders are spearheading a return to traditional Jewish life that was severed by seven decades of communism.
The Soviets were harshly anti-religious and anti-Semitic: They banned the use of Hebrew, executed five rabbis in 1937 and sent others into exile, destroyed most of Kuba's 11 synagogues and forced some Jewish farmers to rear pigs.
But everyone was guaranteed a job and enough money to make ends meet. That's not the case today.
"During Soviet times, jobs and duties were distributed by the government," says Boris Semyonov, 74, the elected communal elder, or gabbai, of Kuba. "Now, he who can survive, survives. Those who can't, sink."
Nevertheless, Semyonov says he's content with the tradeoff of economic security for religious freedom, underscoring the importance of faith to the mountain Jews.
Wearing a classic Russian fur cap atop his weather-beaten face, Semyonov sits in one of Kuba's ornate synagogues, a brightly lit shul covered wall-to-wall in magnificent handmade Azeri carpets bestowed as gifts by congregants.
"We always had a minyan here in the synagogue, but we were prohibited from praying openly and only one or two people could translate and interpret the Torah," Semyonov says. "Now we have dozens and we're free to open as many synagogues as we want. It's only economic troubles that we have."
Kuba was established in 1742 by Fatali Khan, who created a haven for Jews within his khanate during troubled times.
The town is split in two by the small Gudialchai River; the Azeris, a Shi'ite Muslim people, live on the southern bank, and the Jews live on the northern bank.
The Jewish side became known as Yevreskaya Sloboda, or Jewish Settlement. The Soviets would later dub the enclave Krasnaya Sloboda, or Red Settlement.
During its peak in 1933, the Jewish population numbered 18,500.
Today, the official figure is 4,000, with some 18,000 Jews - mostly mountain Jews, but also smaller numbers of Ashkenazic and Georgian Jews - living in the Azeri capital, Baku. There are a few thousand more scattered elsewhere.
The road from Baku north to Kuba runs through varied terrain, from lowland desert scrub marked by a jumble of above-ground steel pipes and refineries along the oil-rich Caspian Sea to rolling, rock-strewn hills and terraced pine groves.
The rutted, two-lane highway weaves past a few shepherds and their flocks, through small bleak towns and villages with cinder block tenements and rundown, single-story homes dominated by glass verandas.
These days, the streets in Jewish Kuba are relatively quiet. The women generally stay indoors and manage the household, caring for children and in-laws, while many men work abroad and visit only occasionally.
| Doctor campaigns for women's rights |
While some Jewish families have moved away for good, many continue to dig in here, plowing much of their savings into expanding the family homesteads in Kuba. Huge mansions line the single-lane streets of the Jewish settlement, where Stars of David are carved into homes' wood facades or hammered into ornate aluminum gutters that ring the roofs.
It's not just vanity that drives people to build bigger and bigger homes, village elders say; it's a memorial to their ancestors.
"This is the land of their father, grandfather and great-grandfather," says Mayor David Ben Yusef, 73, who wears a black fedora and has gold-capped teeth. "They're trying to build something richer, more beautiful in their memory. As we say, if I forget my forefathers, my grandchildren will forget me."
But the ostentation belies the poverty wracking the community. Many homes in the settlement have been left vacant, some occupied by house-sitting Azeri Muslim families. In addition to organizing rituals and communal celebrations, Semyonov helps coordinate food packages to about 100 residents.
Many mountain Jews, however, refuse to accept handouts.
"There's something in our mentality that, even if you are in need, you wouldn't go out on the street begging," Semyonov says. "They will not come collect the support if there is a big crowd. They'll come one by one. They're really ashamed."
Some ask that their aid packages be dropped off at night. One elderly woman in a northern Azeri village refused charity even after one of the walls of her decrepit home collapsed, using a tarpaulin to cover the gaping hole instead of accepting assistance to rebuild the wall.
The community also provides assistance to the half-dozen Azeri families housesitting in town, a reflection of the good relationship Jews here have with their neighbors across the river and with the Azeri government.
Since the collapse of the Soviet empire, Azeri President Haidar Aliev, a former KGB boss and Communist Party secretary, has returned to the community three synagogues and a Jewish college nationalized by the Soviets. He also encouraged the restoration of Kuba's most spectacular synagogue, a wooden, hand-carved structure topped by five onion domes.
Jews here have returned Aliev's affection. The mayor's office is adorned with framed portraits with Aliev, collections of the president's political writings and a white bust of him.
"I have not only strong feelings for him, but a strong love for him," says Ben Yusef, who has been mayor of Krasnaya Sloboda since his appointment by the Soviets 36 years ago.
Aliev is praised here for keeping the country stable and for maintaining quiet support of the United States and Israel.
Nevertheless, Jews here worry about their future. While they are irked by characterizations of the city as dying, the reality is that many young people are moving away.
"Of course, we feel a bit lonely and bored here," says Semyonov, who has three children living abroad.
"We're like five fingers on a hand," he says. "But now that they have their jobs, their homes and their lives set up around the world, how can we drag them back here?"
He pauses for a moment, his eyes suddenly flickering with hope. In 1898, Baku produced half the world's oil. Today, efforts are underway to build a trans-Caspian pipeline.
"Maybe one day Azerbaijan will become the next Kuwait, and everyone will come back," he says. "Ours is a country rich in resources. We have everything - except jobs.''
These articles were made possible, in part, by support from the Charles and Lynn Schusterman Family Foundation, the Joseph and Harvey Meyerhoff Family Charitable Funds and the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee.