With so little said yet so much understood, the power of a 1960 Shabbat in Greece permeated and prevailed
By Lennie Lurie
The massacre that Gaza inflicted upon Israel on October 7, 2023, reminded me of the fragility of Jewish existence; how the life of a community – a Jewish community – can be so vulnerable and so suddenly shattered. All these months after October 7, I reflect back in time to an earlier date when I was unexpectedly exposed to the aftermath of such a Jewish community – not in Israel but in Greece.
In April 1960, I was honorably discharged from the Israel Defense Forces (IDF), having completed my 15 months military service as a South African volunteer.
Together with my good South African friend and fellow IDF paratrooper, the late Ernie Saks, we bought tickets to sail from Haifa to Istanbul, Turkey, and so commence our hitch-hiking adventure across Western Europe. We arrived in Istanbul in May, 1960, to be caught in the middle of a military coup being carried out against the incumbent government, which resulted in the execution of its Prime Minister, Adrian Menderes and two of his ministers.
None of this was instantly apparent shortly after our arrival in Istanbul, where, although we found ourselves in a large public square filled with armed soldiers, we genuinely believed we were about to witness some military celebration. Suddenly shots were fired, soldiers fell and we realized we were caught in the middle of a bloody insurrection! Without hesitation, Ernie and I fled for our lives, making for the main road leading out of the capital to its western neighbor, Greece.
Arriving at the Turkish – Greek border with our backpacks – my backpack was covered with a prominent Israeli flag which accompanied me throughout my travels – we thus commenced our hitch-hiking journey. The first vehicle that stopped for us had room for only one passenger and Ernie insisted that I get in. Very reluctantly I got into the car, never realizing that I would be meeting up with Ernie some six months later in London!
One short lift after another, I finally arrived in the center of Thessaloniki also commonly known as Salonika, the main town in northern Greece. As I entered and gazed at the ancient buildings, my mind too journeyed, remembering this city’s Jewish history that could be traced back 2000 years. Is it any wonder that I would discover that it was nicknamed la madre de Israel (mother of Israel) to its Spanish Jewish inhabitants as it was the only known example of a city of this size in the Jewish diaspora that retained a Jewish majority for centuries. To non-Jews, it was known as the ‘Jerusalem of the Balkans’.
But that would all come crashing down on the 6 April 1941, when Germany invaded Greece, and three days later occupied Salonika. At the time of the German invasion, about 77,000 Jews lived in Greece with Salonika enjoying the largest Jewish community with a population of about 56,000 Jews.
In February 1943, the Jews of Thessaloniki were given less than a month to move into a ghetto and almost all their property was confiscated. Deportations began in March, and by August, almost all had been deported to the death camp of Auschwitz-Birkenau.
More than 90% of Thessaloniki’s Jews were murdered in the Holocaust!
Some quarter of a century later, it was a clear and moonlit Thursday night in 1960 when I was dropped off in Salonika. Realizing that no youth hostel would take in visitors at that late hour, I walked around and found myself in a large public and deserted park. Having little choice about sleeping accommodation – my daily budget of US$ 7 did not enable me to stay in any hotel – I spread out my sleeping bag on a narrow pathway deep in the park, and was soon sound asleep. Suddenly, I was woken up when something kicked me. I peeked out of my sleeping bag and saw a well-dressed man staring at me in bewilderment. I crawled out of the sleeping bag, being fully dressed but shoeless. The man was staring at the Israeli flag on my backpack placed alongside the sleeping bag and then pointing at me, he asked in broken English:
“You Jew?”
Standing up, I replied slowly:
“Yes; I am from Israel”.
His next question did not surprise me:
“What you do here?”
Again, in basic and slow English I explained to him that I arrived in the town late that night and that the local youth hostel was closed.
He seemed to understand the situation and said:
“Me Jew. Come, sleep my house!”
What an amazing coincidence, meeting a fellow Jew late at night in a public park! I instinctively felt the bond of kinship and said the only word that I knew in Greek;
“Efcharisto!” (Thank you!) The man smiled broadly and again pointing at himself said, “Me Josef!”
I hurriedly put on my shoes, folded my sleeping bag which I placed in the backpack and followed Josef, walking out of the park. We crossed some main road with hardly any traffic and walked a short distance, turning into a narrow side street with terraced blocks of flats. Josef’s flat was on the ground floor and consisted of three bedrooms occupied by Josef and his wife Sofia, their 14-year-old son Theodore and his aged mother whose name I cannot remember. Sofia was awake when we entered the flat and Josef (so I assumed) quickly explained to her in Greek who I was and the background to my presence. Sofia smiled pleasantly at me and putting a finger to her lips – indicating that I had to be quiet – opened Theo’s bedroom door and pointed at a second bed alongside that of the sleeping Theo, indicated that I could sleep there. I found myself again repeating “efcharisto”. I had a quick wash up and silently entered the bedroom, with Josef and Sofia saying to me in Greek (I guess), “Good night!”
It was a strange experience lying in a comfortable bed with clean sheets and I had no problem in falling asleep – probably with a smile on my face!
I woke up late the following morning with sunshine streaming through the windows. Josef had gone to work and Theo to school; only Sofia and the aged grandmother were in the house. I had a refreshing shower and found a tasty breakfast of salads, cheeses and warm bread awaiting me. Over cups of tea, Sofia and I had an interesting chat with much hand gesticulation to complement Sophia’s very basic English. The grandmother hardly said a word, just the occasional brief question to her daughter-in-law in Greek concerning myself, I guess.
From our chat, I gathered that the family members were totally assimilated Jews though they expressed much interest in learning about Israel. Josef held a senior clerk position in the local municipality and that the second bed in Theo’s room was for his best school friend who frequently slept over. I never asked what Josef was doing in the park that late hour and simply assumed that he had gone for a stroll. Indicating the photos of people placed in large frames around the open space dining room and lounge, Sofia informed me that they were of her and Josef’s parents and relatives – most of whom, and including Josef’s father, were murdered by the Germans during the occupation of Salonika in World War II. I noticed that the old grandmother was dabbing at her eyes when Sofia pointed to the photos. No doubt, she still retained clear memories of those tragic times.
I decided to pass the rest of day by walking around the town, declining politely Sofia’s request that I return later for lunch. I informed her that I had had a very filling breakfast and did not want to be tied down while exploring the town. She nodded her understanding and I waved to the grandmother when exiting the house. I spent a long time just walking around the town which had its share of modern and old sections. I was looking forward to continuing my travels south to Athens and decided to depart in two days, giving me another day’s rest with my kind Salonika hosts. Shortly after my return “home” in the late afternoon, I had a pleasant chat with Josef and Theo. I told them about my family in Cape Town and my experiences as a soldier in the IDF.
The elderly grandmother entered the room and said something to Josef which found him shaking his head, obviously disagreeing with what his mother had told him. She did not back down and again, speaking more assertively, she repeated her demand. This time, nodding obediently, Josef got up and left the room. He soon returned carrying something wrapped in an old linen bag. He placed it on the dining room table, almost opposite to where I was seated. Slowly he unwrapped the bag and withdrew some articles tied up in a white cloth. The cloth was untied and he withdrew two silver candlesticks which I immediately recognized as the traditional candelabra for the Shabbat, as well as a silver wine glass. Those silver items were very faded and lacked any shine. They had obviously not been used for a very long time. The grandmother then gave Josef further instructions which found him again leaving the room, taking with him the two candelabra and the silver wine glass.
In the meanwhile, Sofia began to set the table for the evening meal. Suddenly it struck me that it was Friday evening and that the old lady was preparing a traditional Shabbat table with the two-silver candelabra and the silver wine glass for the Kiddush. It was obvious to me the Shabbat Kiddush ceremony had not been held in this house since the elderly mother and her son had somehow survived the Holocaust, some 15 years earlier!
My thoughts were interrupted when Josef returned with the two candelabra and the silver wine glass, all shining brightly. Endearingly he placed the two candle sticks at the end of the table and the silver wine goblet at the other end. Sofia had completed setting the table with five place settings and I could almost feel the rising emotions within the elderly members of the family as they gazed in wonder and reverence at the Shabbat eve table setting which had not blessed this household for generations. I firmly believed that the presence of an “Israeli” in their midst, had reawakened in that indomitable old lady, nostalgic and almost lost memories of Yiddishkeit – the joyous Jewish way of life – its customs and practices, of happier times when the Shabbat Kiddush was a traditional aspect in their proud Jewish home.
After we all had washed and changed into clean clothes, we took our positions around the table with Josef at the head of the table, Sofia and his mother at his left and Theo and I at his right. I immediately noticed that candles had been inserted into the candlesticks. Josef proffered to his wife a box of matches and indicated to her that she had to light the candles. She seemed unsure of herself but undertook this assignment. The lit candles cast a warm glow in the room, with the setting sun.
Josef had placed a bottle of wine on the table. Admittedly, I was very unsure of myself when I indicated to Josef if I could pour the wine into the wine glass but he agreed instantly, nodding his head a few times. Having filled the wine glass, I raised it and sang the Shabbat Kiddush in my usual confident and faultless manner. Tears flowed unashamedly from the eyes of Josef and his mother! Sofia and Theo gazed at me with open mouths, realizing that something very unique and meaningful was happening that evening in their house, which had some strong connection to an earlier time when being Jewish was not a source of shame and concealment.
At the conclusion of the Kiddush, Josef and his mother, clasping hands tightly, could barely utter that final and responsive word which had not been said in a very long time:
“Amen!”
As if it had all been rehearsed, Theo stood up and fell into his father’s arms while Sophia embraced her husband. The dear old lady could only stare at me with a whimsical smile of silent gratitude, deep pride and obvious pleasure.
A very tasty meal followed but it was the unique beauty and veneration of the Sabbath eve ceremony which will be long treasured by all those who participated in that memorable occasion when Jewish Sabbath prayers again returned to be said in that kind, hospitable and welcoming home.
The Shabbat was a rest day for all the family and besides a short walk around the neighborhood, we spent it indoors, talking – as best we could.
I had informed Josef and Sophia that I planned to leave the house early the following morning and try to get lifts to Athens and hopefully reach my destination later that day.
So, at about 7:30 on Sunday morning, I faced my hosts and said a final “efcharisto” and “shalom”. I took their extended hands in both my hands, trying to convey my deep appreciation for their very kind hospitality. The old grandmother also stood at the door to say farewell but she did something which will remain forever in my memory:
Placing her hands on my head she mumbled something which at first was totally incomprehensible to me. Not knowing any Greek, this would seem quite natural. However, suddenly I caught a few words and they were in Hebrew, albeit in the Sephardic enunciation! And then the heavens opened up and I fully understood what was being said:
יברכך יהוה וישמרך
יאר יהוה פניך אליך ויחונך
ישא יהוה פניו אליך
וישם לך שלום
“May the LORD bless you and keep you;
May the LORD shine his face upon you and be gracious to you;
May the LORD lift up his face upon you and give you peace”.
I was given the Priestly Blessing taken from the Book of Deuteronomy, Chapter 16, verse 20.
When she had finished, I gently took her hands from my head, looked her in the eyes, conveying to her my full understanding of what she had said, and kissed them.
Too filled with emotion and sadness to say another word, I picked up my backpack, inserting my arm through the strap and placed it on my back. Not looking back, I took my final leave from this kind family and walked in the direction to the nearby bus stop which Josef had told me that the bus would take me to the southern exit of Salonika, in the direction of Athens.
My biggest and only regret was not writing down the full family name of Josef and their Salonika address.
While little remains from the 2000-year enriching presence of Thessaloniki’s Jewish community, what remains for me is an unforgettable enriching shabbat.
About the writer:
A B.Sc. graduate in Economics and Geology from the University of Cape Town (UCT), Lennie may be the only volunteer from abroad who was granted permission to leave his group on kibbutz during the 1967 Six Day War to rejoin his paratroop brigade that he had served with years before following his matriculation in Cape Town. In Israel, Lennie has worked as an Export Manager for some of the country’s major food manufacturers and chemical companies as well as an independent consultant in Export Marketing guiding many small Israeli businesses to sell their products and services in the world-wide market. As a result of a work accident in 1995, Lennie made a career change and became an independent English teacher working mainly with hi-tech companies and associated with universities and colleges in the north of Israel.
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