Newspaper reflects realities of life for country's Jews
VICKI CABOT
Contributing Editor
A glance at the front page of the Turkish Jewish weekly, Salom, offers an instructive view of life in Turkey today.
Attractively laid out with bold headlines and full-color photos, the eight-page newspaper provides an overview of what is happening at home and abroad. A recent issue featured an update about the Nazi gold controversy involving Switzerland, a story about the impending visit of the Turkish foreign minister to Israel, and a feature describing the experiences of a father and son in the Turkish military.
The eight-page newspaper, published by the Jewish community, contains seven pages written in Turkish and one in Ladino, the ancient Judeo-Spanish language spoken by some of Turkey's oldest residents. That includes, notes Tilda Levi, Salom's lively, chain-smoking editor, the community's 80-year-old chief rabbi, who "speaks Turkish with an accent."
Operating out of offices in an upscale neighborhood in Istanbul, the staff at Salom dedicates approximately half of its pages to local news, the other half to news from around the world. Turkey's current open relationship with Israel is reflected in the content. "Ten years ago there would have been nothing about Israel," says Levi. Strained diplomatic relations would have constrained such coverage.
The 15-member staff depends on translations of wire stories for its in-depth features and news; the paper's reporters - "amateurs," as Levi refers to them - are unpaid volunteers who cover local events. Levi makes clear that the newspaper is a community paper with a responsibility to further the interests of the community.
"We don't write anything to hurt the community," she says.
Levi describes the Turkish Jewish community as secular.
"Being Jewish does not mean being religious," she says. "It's our history, our tradition."
Korin Penso, who keeps the paper's archives, is a mid-40ish mother of two children in their early 20s. She explains that, like many Jews of her generation, she does not keep kosher and is not shomer shabbos, Sabbath observant.
"But we light Shabbat candles and have dinner at home on Friday nights." On holidays, says Penso, her family attends services.
Most synagogues in Turkey have small minyans (prayer services) but do not have weekly Shabbat services unless there is a bar or bat mitzvah.
Levi and Penso, both working mothers, explain that adult children traditionally live at home until they marry. Most attend private school, where learning to speak a second language is of prime concern. Levi explains that one reason the Jewish day school previously had difficulty attracting students was that it did not offer intensive foreign language education.
Speaking English, or another language fluently, is critical to succeeding in the business world, says Levi. Levi and Penso speak several languages including flawless English; their business cards are printed in both Turkish and English.
Penso describes the business climate as "very competitive."
"There is no more middle class in Turkey," says Penso. Jewish families are either very wealthy or struggling. Many of the more well-to-do are involved in the textile business.
Intermarriage is a major concern, as young people integrate into society. Levi estimates that the intermarriage rate in Turkey is now at 35 percent. Many are marrying Muslims - not surprising in a country where 99.9 percent of the population are followers of Islam. Levi estimates that in about half of the interfaith marriages in which the wife is Jewish, the couple will raise Jewish children.
In an attempt to provide more Jewish social opportunities, the community has organized social clubs for people of varying ages and interests. Penso says the effort has been marginally successful, as the clubs cannot be identified as specifically religious in nature due to state regulation, and many young people bridle at the exclusionary inference.
"We want our children to be Jewish," says Penso, whose children attend one of the social clubs.
But such efforts may only be delaying the inevitable. According to Levi, "We are a dying community."
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