the 1967 Six-Day War, Iraq's Jews and Moslems alike sought reli-
able news by clandestinely tuning in to Israel Radio's Arabic-lan-
guage broadcasts. -
Oddly, the fear and hardships during the Allied bombings
brought a fleeting sense of solidarity with Moslem neighbors.
When the family donated food and medicine to needy neigh-
bors, "they saw that we were all in it together, that even the Jews
wanted to help," Vera says. " We gave everything we had. They
saw that we too are Iraqis."
Some neighbors paid them the ultimate compliment. "They,
said, 'Before you were Jews, but now you have become
Moslems.' "
Despite the war, the Jewish community's relations with the
Iraqi government have remained "correct." The government
cares for Jewish cemeteries and has in recent years paid to reno
vate the Meir Tweg Synagogue. A liaison comes regularly to lis-
ten to community complaints. Despite strict food rationing, the
Jewish community is allowed to procure kosher meat.
Using rental income from property abandoned by Jews who
fled decades ago, Iraq's Jews appear to suffer slightly less from
the economic collapse than the general population.
Ben-Porat and the
Cohens attribute this
to the regime's desire
to use the Jewish
community as a pro.
Iraqi President Saddam Hussein — who
paganda showpiece,
in 1991 said he would "burn Tel Aviv"
attempting to offset
, and ordered missile attacks on Israel —
its brutal reputation
grew up in a family with close Jewish
by highlighting its
friends, according to Mordechai Ben-
lenient treatment of
Porat, chairman of Israel's Center For The
a vanishing minority
Heritage Of Babylonian Jewry.
"The Jews who
When Saddam's mother encountered
remain there, by and
difficulties in her pregnancy, doctors rec-
large they are happy
ommended aborting the baby, Ben-Porat
with Saddam," Ben-
says. But she rejected that advice.
Porat says. "After all,
Instead, she traveled to Baghdad for
there are only 61.
medical care, staying with Jewish friends.
They have no influ-
Eventually, a healthy boy was delivered,
ence and pose no
whom she named Saddam, or "destroyer,"
kind of threat to
for the pain the pregnancy had caused.
him."
For Vera, though,
life after the Gulf
War became more sinister and threatening. There was constant
sexual harassment from Iraqi men who, with the country in
shambles, felt they had little to lose. Men now think little of
grabbing a woman off the street, raping her and leaving her by
the side of the road, Vera says. She claims the attackers are
merely taking their cues from the police. Vera says a young Jew-
ish woman is considered especially valuable prey.
Having had enough, Vera finally gave her parents an ultima-
tum: Start making plans to leave Iraq soon or I will run off with
an Arab man. The ruse worked. With a cash-starved govern-
ment willing to sell exit permits for $400 per person — more
than 10 years' salary for the average civil servant — the Cohens
began selling their belongings and pooling their resources.
Without a doubt, their life is radically different today. "In
Iraq, I heard only bad things about Israel," Vera says. "When I
got here I didn't know what to expect. I felt like a child."
Her Hebrew is quite fluent and she has made Israeli friends
easily. And one aspect of her new life is appreciated much more
than others — not fearing being hounded or kidnapped by
wolfish men.
"They follow you here a little bit too," she says. "But at least
here you can tell them no."

Saddam's Jewish Ties

Not-So-Fond Memories;

JILL DAVIDSON SKLAR
Special to The Jewish News

L

ike many surviving Jews who were
born in Iraq, Esther Ben Ezra does
not remember much.

She doesn't remember the house she lived
in. Or the weather. Or the friends she may
have played with on the sunny Baghdad
streets of her early years.
What the West Bloomfield resident does
remember is why she and
her family — residents of
Iraq for several generations
-- left one day, never to
return.
"The Arabs were not
nice," she said. "They
were bothering my family
and they hurt someone, a
relative I think. So the
whole family left."
Within a very short
space of time, the secular
Jewish family left the
Arab nation for a rela-
,fively new Jewish one.
The year was 1950 and
her family — a sister and
her parents — had
mg.

Prime Ministed Ben-Gurion's brother."
Police harassment also was not unusual.
"We used to be scared. I am light colored
and they could spot me," he said. "But no
one bothered us on our way to rhe syna-
gogue.
Rashty's life became more difficult in
1947 when his father, taking Rashty's sister
with him, went to pre-state Israel to seek
treatment for cancer. The doctors in Bagh-
dad vvere unable to force the disease into
remission and the best hope for survival was
with a surgeon in
Israel.
The pair boarded a
flight to what was then
Palestine, bidding
goodbye to Rashty his
r,5 mother and his brother,
Aron. The flight would
be the last direct link
to Palestine as the war
for Israel's indepen-
dence broke out the
following spring.
Aron, Eli and his
mother quickly applied
for the necessary paper-
work to leave Iraq but
had to wait, in part
because of the war but
also because of the
eroding relations
between Iraq and
Israel. The simple act of
applying for the paperwork caused them to
lose their Iraqi citizenship rights he said*
he process to immigrate was ' slow, talc-
reers. When they finally were
ye in 1951, it was too late for
,,Rghty's father had suc-

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la"
cane,' un er e vx.ret
very Shabbat meant w
liiivi
bors to the local shul and later •011ti
friends and relatives.
Although Rashty felt safe within the con-
fines of his neighborhood, his existence in
Baghdad was not without acts of anti-Semi-
tism. As a child, he recalls that his light skin
made him a target for some mean-spirited
gentile children, who would punch him and
taunt him by saying, "You must be [Israeli

later m
grated a
some of h.& ,
When askd
her childhood ho
seemed stunned.
"Why?" she asked. "
there forme. My life is