Written by: Rabbi Mendy Chitrik, Chairman of the Alliance of Rabbis in Islamic States
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The article expresses the viewpoint of its author and does not necessarily express the viewpoint of Euronews
As I walked through the halls of the Antalya Diplomatic Forum wearing my kippah, I seemed like a stranger among the ministers, diplomats and security officials. “I wasn’t expecting to see a rabbi here,” a senior American official told me. He was not being rude, but rather surprised.
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Rabbis and Jewish communities are an integral part of Turkish history and the Middle East. Twenty kilometers from Belek, the archaeological site of Side includes a synagogue dating back to the seventh century, discovered by Professor Ferishte Alanyali from Anadolu University under a modern house.
On its floor, next to an engraved “menorah,” we find an inscription in Hebrew and Greek recording that “Joseph,” who came from neighboring “Korakission” (today’s Alanya), restored the synagogue in memory of his son, “Daniel,” who died at the age of two and a half. The inscription ends with a single Hebrew word: “Shalom” (peace).
The Jewish presence here extends from the second century BC, through late antiquity, all the way to the synagogue in which I hope to read the Torah next November.
Ben Azzai taught that an honorable person is one who honors others. My son Chaim and I were two of only four Jews clearly visible in the hallways. We brought with us a Torah manuscript; If we had a minyan, which is a prayer quorum consisting of ten men, gathered on the Sabbath, we would have read from it, but that quorum was not complete.
The first hours were slow. The kippah attracted attention; People would look at us, perhaps out of curiosity or frowning, and then move on. This feeling is no longer strange now, even in some parts of Europe.
But the turning point came with the Qatari delegation. When ministers from Doha engaged in open dialogue with me, others took this as “permission” to talk. By the second day, those who had been avoiding eye contact began to come forward to introduce themselves.
Daniel Levy, the former Israeli peace negotiator, was a separate case. He noticed my presence from the beginning and took the opportunity to talk to me, and within minutes, we were tracing common church connections in North London.
During a dinner graciously hosted by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan and Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan, I connected with leaders from across the region, including the Emir of Qatar, Syrian President Ahmed al-Shara, whom I thanked for protecting the Jewish community in Damascus from a recent bomb threat, and many others.
Not all conversations were easy; There were speeches that were difficult to listen to. But what I came up with was practical; That is, I have hope to return to Damascus and Doha soon. The Alliance of Rabbis in Islamic Countries already provides the Jewish community in Syria with kosher food, and this work will expand. Doha also has emerging societal needs. A dinner like this does not produce agreements, but rather paves the way for the next visit.
There has been a major rift since October 7th and the war in Gaza. Relationships that once seemed normal have been overshadowed by silence. The suffering in Gaza shapes the way many in the region understand this moment. In the West Bank, recurring violence against civilians has deepened feelings of fear and mistrust. These actions are spreading, and with them what remains of trust, which was already minimal, is being eroded.
Sometimes we feel as if the bridges between communities have fallen one by one, just like the bridges that were destroyed along the Litani River in Lebanon.
In Belek itself, one kilometer from the NEST Convention Center, there is a modern religious complex built in 2005 that includes a synagogue along with a church and a mosque. Jewish life in this region is older than the current conflicts, and has not yet ended.
In November, COP31 will bring tens of thousands of delegates to Antalya. I intend to be in Belek during the conference to provide kosher meals, receive the Sabbath at that synagogue, and, if a quorum is present, read from the Torah scroll we carry. A space built twenty-one years ago will serve the purpose for which it was built.
After the ceasefire, the noise subsides and a temporary calm prevails. Not peace, but a “break.” In that break, a simple question arises: What now?
Hillel also asked this question: If not now, then when?
Across Europe and the Middle East, this question is asked in different languages. For many, the instinct is to withdraw and step aside. But we need to talk; Without talking, there is no way forward.
But it cannot remain just words; Rather, it must be followed by action. We were meant to live together, and it is our responsibility to make that possible.
During the days of “Omer” (counting of days), we begin counting all the way to Sinai. Counting is discipline; You cannot skip stages.
Ben Azzai taught us: Do not underestimate anyone, and do not ignore anything. Everyone has his hour. Education is not about agreement, it is about “recognizing” the other.
On Friday evening in an Antalya hotel, I celebrated Shabbat with an American Jewish journalist who had found a home in our Istanbul community. The next night we celebrated Havdalah (the end of the Sabbath) together. There were people at that table who did not see every issue in the same way, but the table contained them anyway.
“The rabbi counts Mendy Chitrickresiding in Istanbul, founder and president of Alliance of Rabbis in Islamic Countries. This organization supervises a network of rabbis active in a wide geographical scope extending from Morocco and Tunisia to the Emirates, Azerbaijan and Iran, all the way to countries in Africa and Central Asia such as Nigeria and Uzbekistan.”
