On Fire in Baghdad Farhud

On Fire in Baghdad AN EYEWITNESS ACCOUNT OF THE DESTRUCTION OF AN ANCIENT JEWISH COMMUNITY “Judah has gone into exile because of suf- fering and harsh toil. She dwelt among the nations, but found no rest; all her pursuers overtook her in narrow straits.” Eichah 1:3 “He burned through Jacob like a flaming fire, consuming on all sides.” Eichah 2:3 Eichah: How? Alas! arhud—violent disposses- sion—an Arabicized Kurdish word that was seared into Iraqi Jewish consciousness on June 1 and 2, 1941. As the Bagh- Fdadi Jewish communities burned, a proud Jewish existence that had spanned 2,600 years was abruptly incinerated. As a nine-year-old, I, Sabih Ezra Akerib, who witnessed the Farhud, certainly had no understanding of the monumental consequences of what I was seeing. Nev- ertheless, I realized that somehow the incomprehensible made sense. I was born in Iraq, the only home I knew. I was proud to be a Jew, but knew full well that I was different, and this difference was irrecon- cilable for those around me. That year, June 1 and 2 fell on Sha- vuot—the day the Torah was given to our ancestors and the day Bnei Yisrael became a nation. The irony of these two historical events being intertwined is not lost on me. Shavuot signified a birth while the Farhud symbolized a death—a death of illusion and a death of identity. The Jews, who had felt so secure, were displaced once again. We had been warned trouble was brew- ing. Days earlier, my 20-year-old brother, Ezekial’s Tomb at Kifel Edmund, who worked for British intel- 64 AMI MAGAZINE // AUGUST 3, 2011 / 3 AV, 5771 STEVEN ACRE AS TOLD TO EFFY FISHER ligence in Mosul, had come home to lord sitting by our door, wearing his dis- filled my nostrils—together with the smell warn my mother, Chafika Akerib, to be tinctive green turban. He was a hajji, of burning flesh. I will never forget those careful. Rumors abounded that danger considered a holy man because he had smells. was coming. Shortly after that, the red made the mandatory pilgrimage (hajj) to How long was I up there—one hour, hamsa (palm print) appeared on our front Mecca, Saudi Arabia. Demanding, raging two hours? I finally jumped down onto door—a bloody designation marking our men were remonstrating with him, and the roof, running into my mother’s arms. home. But for what purpose? then, inexplicably, they moved on. For Shaking, she slapped me—a slap of love. Shavuot morning was eerily normal. some reason, our home was left undis- We later learned that after leaving My father Ezra had died three years ear- turbed. Only later were we told that our Dahana, these teeming masses of men, lier, leaving my mother a widow with landlord had explained to the men that a joined by others, went on to rampage the nine children. I had no father to take me widow with nine children lived inside and other impoverished neighborhoods, later to synagogue; therefore, I stayed home had asked for his protection. Kindnesses making their way into the wealthier dis- with my mother, who was preparing the abound when least expected, and for this tricts. The red hamsa signified their targets. Shavuot meal. The rising voices from the I thanked G-d. All along Baghdad’s main Rashid Street, outside were at first slow to come through The horrors continued to unfold. The Jewish shops that were closed for Shavuot our windows. However, in the blaze of the afternoon sun, they suddenly erupted. Voices—violent and vile. My mother gathered me, my five sisters and youngest On the narrow dirt road, 400 to 500 Muslims carrying brother into the living room, where we machetes, axes, daggers, and guns had gathered. huddled together. Her voice was calm- ing. The minutes passed by excruciat- ingly slowly. But I was a child, curious and killing of men and children and attacks were broken into and robbed. What the impatient. I took advantage of my mother’s on Jewish women were rampant. Four mob couldn’t steal, they destroyed. The brief absence and ran upstairs, onto the doors down—at the home of Sabiha, my multitude of synagogues lining the streets roof. mother’s good friend—a Muslim emerged were equally ravaged—sifrei Torah going At the entrance to the open courtyard carrying what appeared to be a bloodied up in smoke. The destruction was absolute at the center of our home stood a 15 foot piece of meat. We learned afterwards that and relentless. date palm. I would often climb that tree. Sabiha had been killed and mutilated. My On June 2, the second day of the Farhud, When there was not enough food to eat, mother’s sorrowful refrain would later ring an eerie calm descended. Again, I ran those dates would sustain us. I expressed out: “Sabiha! They attacked her! They cut upstairs and climbed the tree. In the dis- gratitude for that tree daily. I now climbed her throat! They mutilated her!” tance were airplanes buzzing and bombs that tree and wrapped myself within At the same time, Jews were scamper- dropping. The British, who had camped its branches, staring down at the scene ing over the roofs, running for their lives. on the outskirts of town as our communi- unfolding below. What I saw defied imagi- If not for the looting taking place below, ties burned, were finally moving into the nation. more would have been murdered. No city and reclaiming what had so tragically On the narrow dirt road, 400 to 500 authorities came to help; barbarism ruled. gone awry. But for the Jews of Baghdad this Muslims carrying machetes, axes, daggers, All the anger and jealousy that had been was too little, too late. What had been wit- and guns had gathered. Their cries—Iktul pent up over the centuries erupted in these nessed and experienced during those 24 al Yahud, Slaughter the Jews—rang out horrific moments. Neighbors with whom hours would ring the death knoll for Iraqi as bullets were blasted into the air. The we had shared a nod, a smile—and even Jewry. Many of us now understood that shrieks emanating from Jewish homes attended their sons’ circumcisions—had after 2,600 years, it was time to move on. were chilling. I hung on, glued to the metamorphosed into sub-humans intent branches. I could hear my mother’s frantic on annihilation. F F F cries: “Weinak! Weinak!” (Where are you?) And then, the fires started. Houses were But I could not answer, terrified of calling being torched amidst the cries of their As is the case with most acts of sense- attention to myself. destroyers. Black smoke ascended towards less violence, the Farhud did not erupt in Amidst the turmoil, I saw our land- the heavens. The putrid smell of smoke a vacuum. It was a well-planned pogrom 3 AV, 5771 // AUGUST 3, 2011 // AMI MAGAZINE 65 know how we would have survived. What had been witnessed and experienced during those Our house consisted of a tiny kitchen, fi ve bedrooms, and a living room sur- 24 hours would ring the death knoll for Iraqi Jewry. rounding an open courtyard. We had dirt fl oors and no electricity. The kitchen had one tap and an open coal pit where organized by nationalistic Arab-Nazis nantly Jewish neighborhoods, the Dahana my mother would cook rice and potatoes, and carried out under the direction of neighborhood, where we resided, held a our staples, that also included goat cheese, Nazi Arabist and diplomat Fritz Grobba mixture of Jews, Christians, and Muslims. peanut butter, and bread. She suffered in cooperation with the Arab and Islamic I always walked to my school, the Alli- more than all of us. She went from being a world. It inspired an international Arab- ance Israelite Universelle, with my head wealthy lady with servants and a carriage Nazi alliance. Leading this alliance was down, hurrying through the Muslim areas to a woman forced to wash her family’s Hajj Mohammed Amin al-Husseini, the as quickly as possible. I remember the clothes by hand in a pot on the roof of the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, and Iraqi Prime day a Muslim spat at me and called me a house. Minister Rashid Ali al Gilani. Yet, I believe dirty Jew. If a Muslim did not like you, he However, to me my mother was the the Farhud was an equal consequence of could easily call the police and denounce repository of our traditions. She would theological and historically-based atti- you for cursing Mohammed. It would then sing us the songs and tell us the stories of tudes toward Jews. be your word against his. We were there- our heritage—stories of Eliyahu HaNavi Under Muslim rule, Jewish existence fore consistently on the alert. Kidnapping and countless other Torah personalities. and welfare were extremely precarious. was prevalent. There were many cases of She had the answers to all my questions. For Jews living in Iraq, as well as through- burlap bags being thrown over the heads My mother also taught us the meaning out the rest of the Middle East, much of Jewish children who disappeared and of eib—shame: that one should never do depended on the goodwill of the caliphs. were never heard from again. I would pro- something shameful. Even today, when I Some caliphs were tolerant and offered tectively hold onto my younger brother’s am tempted to act in questionable ways, the Jews economic and political freedom, and sisters’ hands until we were at school I remember that word and my mother’s while others were violently disposed or back home.

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