The truth is Out there…. sometimes it’s just hidden between the lines.

What follows is an interesting story that appeared on the BBC website this Monday.

It seems to be a favorable story about Arab Jews. i.e. Jews that were residents of the various Arab countries before 1948.

So, what is the truth that the BBC has gone to such extraordinary lengths to hide?

There was no “mass migration” as they put it, unless you consider violent pogroms, the taking of Jewish homes, property, etc. and the banning of Judaism in all of these countries as a “mass migration”.

That’s right, on May 15th of 1948, or really starting the previous November with the UN declaration of a Jewish Palestine and Arab Palestine, Jes throughout the Arab world were thrown out forcibly, or driven out by violence rivaled only by the famous “Kristalnacht” in prewar Germany.

This is one of the little know lies of the current “Palestinian” question. Why were the Arabs that VOLUNTARILY (yes voluntarily, the new Israel did not remove them and as you know, Arabs to this day have full citizenship in Israel, Arabic is an official language of Israel, they serve in Knesset, the army, etc.) left Israel declared refugees – and every generation hence, in the face of international law, called refugees, but the Jews that were removed from Arab lands not called such?

I wonder. Remember, it is still ILLEGAL to be Jewish throughout the Arab world.

What would happen if Israel declared Islam and Christianity illegal as the Arab countries have done (do you remember the recent case of a man sentenced to death for his conversion to Christianity?).

The shame of it is that there is a lot of truth to the article. Most of the Arab Jews in Israel have tried to maintain their culture, diet, practices, etc. and long to see their homes, even as they consider Israel their home.

So, the article from the BBC website on Monday:

Israelis from Iraq remember Babylon
By Lipika Pelham

“During the Shia festival of Muharram we would take part in the procession and along with our Arab friends, beat our chests to remember the epic battle of Karbala,” said Yakov Reuveni, remembering his youth in 1940s Iraq.

Yakov Reuveni
Yakov Reuveni remembers an easy and happy Iraqi childhood
“My best friend was the son of the mayor of Ammara. After school we would go out to the date palm grove with the freshly caught fish from the river Hidekel, which we would barbeque in the fields over an open fire.”

The river Hidekel runs through his home province, Ammara, 380km (236 miles) south-east of Baghdad.

Among his most cherished memories, says Yakov, is the after-school stroll along the riverbank with his Arab friend.

He grew up in a moderately well-to-do Jewish home with his parents, four siblings and grandparents.

His father had a clothing store in the heart of Ammara’s central market.


It was an easy, happy life. Jews shared almost all aspects of life with their Arab neighbours, reminisces Yakov.

He was 17 years old in 1951, when his family emigrated to Jerusalem.

For the Jews of Middle Eastern origins, like their European co-religionists, coming to Israel was the culmination of a religious journey – it was the fulfilment of the centuries-old dream to live in the so-called Promised Land.

I still think in Arabic, still I can’t string together all my thoughts in Hebrew. You have to understand, my mother tongue is Arabic

Yakov Reuveni
But many who came over to Israel as part of the mass migration that followed the creation of the Jewish state in 1948, look back with nostalgia and fondness for the life that they had left behind.

Israel has a vibrant Iraqi Jewish community who arrived throughout the 1950s. Many Iraqi Jews settled in the area known as Mahane Yehuda in the heart of west Jerusalem.

It is a famous market with alleyways lined with grocery shops: rows after rows of shops laden with colourful fruit and vegetables, fresh fish, dried fruit, sweets, different kinds of bread, cheese, traditional salted fish.

These stores are still mostly owned by the descendants of the Iraqi and Kurdish Jewish immigrants.

Fish feast

“The most memorable taste was the fish called maskuf, from the river Hidekel,” says Yakov.

“After the Sabbath, we would wander off to the fields and have a feast with fish cooked on the spit, Iraqi pita and arak.”

After maskuf and arak, a strong aniseed flavoured local alcoholic drink, the boys would go to Ammara’s club to watch belly dancing.

Most of us still feel connected to the country where we or our ancestors came from. Our parents and our grandparents still remember many things from their Iraqi past and they bring them to us, with food, music, language
Eli Mizrakhi
Yakov recalls, with vivid, powerful details, the life that he had once led, a life that was changed overnight by the political realities of the time.

“We used to eat with them, sleep with them, go to school with them, the Arabs and the Jews went to the same high school.

“We never thought of who was Jewish and who was Arab, until 1947. It all suddenly changed. The people that you knew as good people turned into bad people for you and you became bad for them. It was very sad.”

Thinking in Arabic

In the heart of the Mahane Yehuda market is Cafe Mizrakhi, which specialises in certain traditional delicacies from Iraq. The word Mizrakhi means Oriental Jews.

Food stall at Mahane Yehuda market
Food is central to lingering nostalgia among Jews originally from Iraq
It is owned by Eli Mizrakhi, whose family came from northern Iraq, or what is now known as Iraqi Kurdistan.

“Most of us still feel connected to the country where we or our ancestors came from. Our parents and our grandparents still remember many things from their Iraqi past and they bring them to us, with food, music, language.”

Both Eli and Yakov agree that despite having gone through the process of assimilation into Israel, they keep alive many aspects of their previous lives, in particular, Iraqi food and speaking Arabic.

“We used to eat kubbeh and bamia, or okra. The kubbeh, made with minced lamb, was the national food for the Jews all over Iraq. Thursday was the day of khitchri – it’s a dish cooked with rice and lentils.

“I still think in Arabic, still I can’t string together all my thoughts in Hebrew. You have to understand, my mother tongue is Arabic,” says Yakov.

Now living in a small cottage with his wife in south Jerusalem, Yakov keeps himself busy recreating sweet pickled orange from his youth, while longing to someday return to Babylon.

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