JERUSALEM — While it is a community that has lived in the city for centuries, not many have heard of the Dom in Jerusalem.
“Few people know that we are the Gypsies of the Middle East,” says Amoun Sleem, director of the Domari Society of Gypsies in Jerusalem.
The cultural center she runs was founded as an NGO in 1999 and is located in the East Jerusalem neighborhood of Shu’fat, on the road to Ramallah.
“The Gypsy communities migrated from India in the seventh century. Then they separated into two migration waves. One resulted in the Dom, which settled in the Middle East; the other is the Roma community, known to most people as the Gypsies of Eastern Europe,” she says.
Today, struggling to survive in the shadow of the political tensions of the region, both the Gypsy cultural heritage and the Dom identity are threatened. The Dom people are non-Arabs, mostly Muslims, living in predominantly Arab communities.
“The word ‘dom’ means ‘man’ in Domari, the language of the Gypsies of this area,” explains Sleem.
Contrary to mainstream belief, not all Gypsy communities are nomadic. A sedentary lifestyle has characterized the life of the Dom for many centuries. The Gypsies of Jerusalem make a living working as drivers, nurses, street cleaners and cooks, and are employed in the textile industry as workers.
Despite counting few members, the Gypsies of Jerusalem are an integral part of the city’s heritage; no less than Muslim, Jewish or Christian people.
“The Dom people who settled in Jerusalem have been residing in the Old City for over 400 years,” Sleem points out.
Other Gypsy communities can be found in the Palestinian refugee camps of Jordan, in the Kurdish region of Turkey, in Syria, Iraq and Daqahlia in Egypt.
The Dom community of Jerusalem finds itself caught in the crossfire of the Arab-Israeli conflict, partaking with neither side but being influenced by both.
Khamis, a man in his mid-40s, has seven children; both he and his wife are of Dom origin.
“There is no justice for non-Jewish communities. Discrimination at work is directed toward all Arabs, and the Dom, even if ethnically different, are considered part of them,” he says.
“We merge with the Arab community so we don’t stand out and spark hatred. We keep a low profile,” he explains.
The situation of the Dom people worsened after Israel’s construction of the separation barrier. Many families found themselves living “on the other side of the wall,” without being able to reach family members. They cannot move freely to seek work.
Making a living became more and more difficult, creating a new obstacle in the struggle of the Dom people.
Poverty and marginalization
“We must rely on our own resources and motivation to preserve our heritage and survive,” says Sleem.
“When we receive donations of clothes and food, we sometimes cross the checkpoints to bring them to the isolated Dom communities in the West Bank,” she adds.
The Gypsies who reside in Jerusalem are educated in the system of the municipality under Israeli administration. At Khamis’ home in the Palestinian refugee camp of Shu’fat, located behind the wall in East Jerusalem, no one speaks Domari. The Domari language is of Indo-Aryan origin, it is not written and it is threatened with extinction. Dom children study Hebrew and Arabic starting in primary school, a useful tool to compete in the challenging job market.
Poverty and marginalization often lead to a very high school dropout rate. The Domari Center offers educational support to children and adults, especially women.
The presence of the Dom Gypsies in Jerusalem is unknown to most people. They seem to merge with local communities, embracing their cultural features but remaining detached.
“I have never heard of the Gypsies of Jerusalem. Are there Gypsies here?” asks a shopkeeper whose business is located just opposite the Domari Center.
This is the predominant reaction of the local population when asked about the Dom people.
“Gypsies of Jerusalem? Ah, you mean the nawar! No one knows where they came from; some say they are from the south,” a bakery owner says. Nawar is a word used in Palestinian Arabic to describe someone who is not too brilliant and, also, to define the Gypsies.
“I never tell people I am Gypsy. Palestinians don’t know what it means and I don’t want to always explain it,” confesses Heba, a student.
Tensions in the region and divisions rooted in decades of conflict have not spared the Dom community. Corruption and power struggles led to hostilities between Gypsy families, pushing them to abandon the core of Dom life, based on their common ethnic background, to seek integration elsewhere.
“We believe in fate. It is all maktoub, written in the traces of history left by our predecessors. We will survive and teach our descendents about our heritage,” Sleem says.
Outside, in the courtyard, young girls and boys paint colorful Gypsy dancers. Here they learn to be proud of their identity as part of a city full of challenges, which Jerusalem has always been.
The Dom have strong feelings of belonging to Jerusalem.
“Jerusalem is my home, I want to stay here. Where can I go? I like it here, all my family photographs have been taken here,” Heba explains.
The longer version of this piece was originally published in Egypt Independent's weekly print edition.
A neo-Nazi has been buried in the former grave of a Jewish musicologist Max Friedlaender – not an oversight, but a deliberate provocation. This is just one more example of antisemitism on the rise in Germany, and society's inability to respond.
BERLIN — If you want to check the state of your society, there's a simple test: as the U.S. High Commissioner for Germany, John Jay McCloy, said in 1949, the touchstone for a democracy is the well-being of Jews. This litmus test is still relevant today. And it seems Germany would not pass.
Incidents are piling up. Most recently, groups of neo-Nazis from across the country traveled to a church near Berlin for the funeral of a well-known far-right figure. He was buried in the former grave of Jewish musicologist Max Friedlaender, a gravesite chosen deliberately by the right-wing extremists.
The incident at the cemetery
They intentionally chose a Jewish grave as an act of provocation, trying to gain maximum publicity for this act of desecration. And the cemetery authorities at the graveyard in Stahnsdorf fell for it. The church issued an immediate apology, calling it a "terrible mistake" and saying they "must immediately see whether and what we can undo."
There are so many incidents that get little to no media attention.
It's unfathomable that this burial was allowed to take place at all, but now the cemetery authorities need to make a decision quickly about how to put things right. Otherwise, the grave may well become a pilgrimage site for Holocaust deniers and antisemites.
The incident has garnered attention in the international press and it will live long in the memory. Like the case of singer-songwriter Gil Ofarim, who recently claimed he was subjected to antisemitic abuse at a hotel in Leipzig. Details of the crime are still being investigated. But there are so many other incidents that get little to no media attention.
The grave of Jewish musicologist Max Friedlaender
Crimes against Jews are rising
Across all parts of society, antisemitism is on the rise. Until a few years ago, Jewish life was seen as an accepted part of German society. Since the attack on the synagogue in Halle in 2019, the picture has changed: it was a bitter reminder that right-wing terror against Jewish people has a long, unbroken history in Germany.
Stories have abounded about the coronavirus crisis being a Jewish conspiracy; meanwhile, Muslim antisemitism is becoming louder and more forceful. The anti-Israel boycott movement BDS rears its head in every debate on antisemitism, just as left-wing or post-colonial thinking are part of every discussion.
Jewish life needs to be allowed to step out of the shadows.
Since 2015, the number of antisemitic crimes recorded has risen by about a third, to 2,350. But victims only report around 20% of cases. Some choose not to because they've had bad experiences with the police, others because they're afraid of the perpetrators, and still others because they just want to put it behind them. Victims clearly hold out little hope of useful reaction from the state – so crimes go unreported.
And the reality of Jewish life in Germany is a dark one. Sociologists say that Jewish children are living out their "identity under siege." What impact does it have on them when they can only go to nursery under police protection? Or when they hear Holocaust jokes at school?
Germany needs to take its antisemitism seriously
This shows that the country of commemorative services and "stumbling blocks" placed in sidewalks as a memorial to victims of the Nazis has lost its moral compass. To make it point true north again, antisemitism needs to be documented from the perspective of those affected, making it visible to the non-Jewish population. And Jewish life needs to be allowed to step out of the shadows.
That is the first thing. The second is that we need to talk about specifically German forms of antisemitism. For example, the fact that in no other EU country are Jewish people so often confronted about the Israeli government's policies (according to a survey, 41% of German Jews have experienced this, while the EU average is 28%). Projecting the old antisemitism onto the state of Israel offers people a more comfortable target for their arguments.
Our society needs to have more conversations about antisemitism. The test of German democracy, as McCloy called it, starts with taking these concerns seriously and talking about them. We need to have these conversations because it affects all of us. It's about saving our democracy. Before it's too late.
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