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I .1 •k i'l Judaism barely noticeable in Odessa The former synagogue of Odessa, converted to a sports club. Photo, 1969. by Joseph Polakoff I hrough Soviet official anti- Jewish propaganda including its theatrical form, imprisonments as warnings against Jewish religious activism, the increasing pressures and allurements of secularism, and some emigration, observance of Judaism among Odessa’s 200,000 Jews is barely noticeable. Never theless, a spark of continuity still exists. The Ukrainian metropolis on the Black Sea, wrested by Russian and Ukrainian forces from the Turks in the late 18th century, was once a Jewish religious stronghold with an extensive Yiddish culture. Seventy years ago, at the time of World War 1 and the Soviet revo lution in 1917, Odessa had 48 syn agogues and a third of its popula tion was Jewish. “Now,” reports Moscow corres pondent Gary Lee of the Washing ton Post, “all but one of the syna gogues are closed, locked up or used for other things—here an ar chive, there an office building. The sole working synagogue, lacking a rabbi and a cantor, draws only a handful of locals for weekly or hol iday services. During Passover,” Lee reported, “25 people showed up for the spe cial service, just over one-thou sandth of the city’s official Jewish population. This year only one bar mitzva was performed in the tem ple, and all the Jewish couples who married opted to do so elsewhere." “Even the relatively minuscule local Catholic, Baptist and Sev enth-Day Adventist communities, with their regular, well-attended church services, are more success ful at attracting what Russians call ‘believers,’ ’’ Lee reported. “We live in a secular society, a society which pulls people away from religion,” Arkady Litvan, Odessa’s Jewish community chair man was quoted by Lee. “Our society offers some ideological values in place of Jewish religious values. 1 don't know if that is good or bad. 1 have my own opinions of course, but I speak only of facts.” He also said, “I don’t think the sec ular state poses any difficulties for individual believers.” Lee described Litvan, who was sent to Odessa to run the synagogue after training in Moscow, as “sounding more like a spokesman for the state than for the (Jewish) religion.” Decline of Jewish religious ob servance and cultural life dates back to World War 11 and con tinued thereafter. When Odessa was occupied on Oct. 16, 1941, by the Rumanian army assisted by German units, about 80,000 to 90,000 Jews remained in the city, many others having fled On the first day of occupation, 8,000 Jews were killed. The last convoy of Jews to the Nazi death camps left on Feb. 23, 1942, and Odessa was proclaimed “Judenrein.” Local inhabitants looted Jewish property and the old Jewish ceme tery was desecrated. Hundreds of granite and marble tombstones were shipped to Rumania and sold. When Soviet troops returned to Odessa on April 10, 1944, about 5,000 Jews were living there under false documents or in shelters pro vided by non-Jews. Numerous in formers were among the local Rus sians and U krainians but there also were persons who risked their lib erties and lives to save Jews. Under Turkish rule, Odessa was known as Khadzhi-Bei. After Rus sian and Ukrainian forces captured the seaport in 1789, it became Odessa. Six years later, in 1795, the Jewish population was put at about 10 percent. In 1914, at the start of World War I, the population was 165,000 or 34.3 percent of the pop ulation. In 1939, on the eve of World War 11, the Soviet census listed 180,000 Jews or 29.8 percent of the city’s people, but the 1959 census put their number at 102,200, some 16 percent of the inhabitants, although the actual number t4iat year was believed to be 180,000, the encyclopedia notes. Lee’s ac count indicates official growth to 200,000 or about a 10th of the total Soviet Jewish population. With the end of World War 11, Jews began returning to Odessa but there was “no manifestation of Jewish communal or cultural life,” the encyclopedia says. There was only one synagogue and one rabbi in 1959. A quarter of a century later there is still only one syn agogue and no rabbi or “working cantor,” Lee reported. Denunciation of the Jewish reli gious congregation that appeared in an Odessa newspaper in 1964 has been enhanced by other means of intimidation. “Last September, the newspaper Vercharnaya Odessa attacked local Jewish refusniks as ‘near spies’ and left a damper on the community that still lingers,” Lee reported. He said the cases of the two Odessans—Mark Niepmi- niaschy and Yakov Levin—“cur rently imprisoned for ‘defaming the Soviet state’ are also much dis cussed” in Odessa. In Moscow’s Stanislavsky Thea ter, Lee noted, a new play about Jewish emigration entitled “Sho- lom Aleicham Street, House 40,” offers “a rare glimpse into the foi bles and heartaches of Jewish home life” in Odessa. “On stage in the Soviet capital, a Jewish family’s living room strife is vividly repro duced. The sharp accents, tarty, sardonic jokes and lively banter exude a chutzpa and humor Soviets consider unmistakably Jewish, uni quely Odessa.” Last year, of the 1,040 Soviet Jews allowed to emigrate, 67 came from Odessa. Several years ago, Lee wrote, a young Odessan came to the Odessa synagogue. After learning Hebrew and improving his singing, he became a cantor. He left a year ago for New York. “Now another young cantor is being trained,” Lee reported. Seemingly, desire for.Jewish life in Odessa is taint but not extinguished. L’SHANA TOVA On Behalf of the Officers and Board of The Atlanta Jewish Federation Your Vehicle for Touching Jewish Lives in Atlanta, Israel and throughout the World. Atlanta Jewish Federation 1753 Peachtree Rd. Atlanta, Ga. 30309 Betty R. Jacobson President David I. Samat Executive Director Gerald Horowitz General Chairman 1987 Campaign 404 873-1661 PAGE 3RH THE SOUTHERN ISRAELITE October 3, 1986