91�첥

On April 2, 1941, amid British setbacks in World War II, anti-British nationalist Rashid ‘Ali al-Kailani led a successful military coup against the pro-British government in Iraq supported by pro-Nazi army officers (the “Golden Square”) and the former Mufti of Jerusalem, Hajj Amin al-Husayni. In addition to the Nazi propaganda that found a receptive audience in Iraq in the 1930s and 1940s, Jews were also portrayed as pro-British and Zionist, opposing the prevailing sentiment of Iraqi nationalism. In this context, the Farhud, a violent dispossession, a riot against Jewish lives, property, and businesses took place on June 1-2, 1941, during the holiday of Shavuot in Baghdad, Iraq. Anywhere from 135 to 189 Jews were killed, 700 to 1,000 wounded, and around 550 stores and 900 homes looted. My father, of blessed memory, was three years old.

After the Farhud, many of my father’s cousins left Iraq in the 1940s and migrated to India, then under British rule, before eventually settling in Australia. Amid rising antisemitism following the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948, most of the Iraqi Jewish community, approximately 120,000 to 130,000 out of an estimated 140,000, were airlifted to Israel in a mass emigration effort known as Operation Ezra and Nehemiah in 1951–1952. Among these Jews were my father and his immediate family. The Jews were permitted to leave Iraq only on the condition that they renounce their Iraqi citizenship and leave behind their property and possessions.

The Farhud marks the abrupt end of the thriving Jewish community that had lived in Babylonia, present-day Iraq, since the late 6th century BCE. Over the centuries, they developed a rich religious and intellectual culture, notably producing the Babylonian Talmud, a foundation work of Jewish law and interpretation that continues to shape Jewish practices worldwide. In the modern state of Iraq, in the 1920s and 1930s, Jews flourished across various sectors of society. They served as writers, journalists, musicians, merchants, attorneys, dignitaries, and government officials. The community established schools of higher learning, with an emphasis on foreign languages. They made significant contributions to the country’s banking system and played a central role in composing and performing Iraq’s most renowned music.

In the new country of Israel, the cultural institutions were dominated by secular Zionist ideology. Many of the community felt pressured to assimilate to these secular European norms. Today, there are of course still vibrant Iraqi Jewish and other Sephardi Mizrachi communities in Israel and the diaspora. However, there are many of us, the children and grandchildren, of Iraqi refugees, who experience a broken link as articulated by Sarah Sassoon, the Australian-born Iraqi-Jewish writer. See Sarah Sassoon podcast transcript. Throughout heritage is not entirely lost, we were denied full access to our own culture and traditions, language, food, customs, and nusach (the liturgical text and music). When we did encounter them, it was piecemeal and often, without validation or wider cultural support, leaving us to learn and absorb them in a fragmented way. The importance of the Jews of Iraq was left largely to the world of academia and did not have a place in the larger Jewish narrative, let alone in the historical narrative of modern-day Iraq. This is a common thread, the impact of Jews of Arab lands and Iran was largely double erased, by the lands of their origin and then from the nations they immigrated to.

While the sense of brokenness is largely irreparable, especially in the absence of my father, a proud Arab Jew from Iraq, there remains a notion of positive change. We can never fully recapture the culture as it once was for the Jews of Iraq, but we can reclaim its melodies, foods, and traditions, weaving them into the fabric of contemporary Jewish practice in our homelands. This is not to idealize the past, as much of it is problematic to my modern progressive views, nor is it about token multiculturalism. Engaging in this work, to reclaim the past of the past, is about genuine exchange, one that empowers individuals to access their own identities and enriches the broader Jewish community through exposure to its inherent diversity.

I take immense pride in the inclusive environment at 91�첥, where students from diverse cultural backgrounds, including Sephardi and Mizrachi communities, come together to learn and grow. Our curriculum not only educates about the diverse continuum of Jewish students but also immerses students in the musical traditions of Sephardi and Mizrachi Jews, fostering a deeper appreciation for our shared heritage. Each year during Shavuot, my synagogue honors the significance of Iraqi Jews by inviting me to teach about the Farhud, but with the recognition that Iraqi Jews are integral to the broader Jewish narrative, not to be defined by the adversity they face. This year, I am honored to be working with Cantorial Intern Leslie Goldberg, to teach in the context of reclaiming and incorporating Sephardi melodies and history, highlighting the importance of embracing the full spectrum of the Jewish story.

The melodies my father once sang to me, fragments of Iraqi Jewish music, have found their place in my journey of discovery. This exploration has been enriched by Sephardi and Mizrachi Jewish leaders who have introduced traditional nusach, history, and cultural differences to institutions traditionally aligned with Ashkenazi practices. You will without a doubt, find me tearing up at Shabbat services or listening and reading music from Hibba Center for Jewish Culture’s book of piyyutim, focusing on those from North Africa and the Middle East, when I hear an Iraqi Jewish melody. It is a connection to who I am, my father, but also the recognition that it is up to us, as a people, to explore our origins to better understand and enrich ourselves within the larger Jewish story.