Behind the Headlines: Even Peace Won’t Revive Belfast’s Tiny Jewish World

It will take more than peace to rejuvenate the tiny Jewish community of this strife-ridden republic.

It will take a miracle.

Worn down by 25 years of sectarian violence between Catholics and Protestants, Northern Ireland’s Jewish community is on the verge of extinction. The community here is rapidly aging, and there are few young people to ensure its continuity.

Although Jews here share their neighbors’ hopes for a continuation of the five- month cease-fire agreed to by the Irish Republican Army, they have no illusions about their own community’s future.

With a shrug of the shoulders and a shake of the head, they acknowledge that Jewish life here will likely cease to exist within 50 years, at the most.

And if new blood is not introduced soon, they say, the end could come much sooner.

Like many of Northern Ireland’s non-Jewish residents, the younger generation of Jews has fled the republic’s political unrest and the high unemployment rates associated with it.

Many have been lured away by a mainland British education, causing a brain drain throughout the region.

At its heyday during the 1960s, Northern Ireland’s Jewish community — based almost entirely in Belfast — had 1,600 members. Today that number has dwindled to 220.

Established in the 1850s, the community has traditionally attracted British Jews as well as those fleeing persecution in Europe. Once a thriving center of Jewishness, with its own afternoon Hebrew school and a mikvah, or ritual bath, the community has had to sell off the building housing these facilities for financial reasons.

Although the mikvah is gone, the synagogue survives.

Modern and well-kept, the Belfast Hebrew Congregation is home to Sunday-morning Hebrew classes and a variety of activities, ranging from World Zionist Organization gatherings to bridge night.

And every so often, the small kosher kitchen caters a circumcision or a Bar Mitzvah.

Considering the size of the congregation, the turnout for Shabbat morning services is nothing short of remarkable.

On any given Shabbat, at least a fifth of the community — 40 to 50 people – – come to the synagogue to pray and schmooze.

Visitors are warmly welcomed and invariably invited home for a meal.

Located in an area that was until recently considered a war zone, the synagogue has been unable to attract a permanent rabbi for quite some time.

To fill the gap, an acting rabbi is flown in from London once or twice a week.

Kosher food, on the other hand, arrives by ship. Jewish families, who once ordered from Dublin, now order their food from Manchester, England.

And even though few community members are strictly observant, many continue to keep kosher and attend the synagogue’s Orthodox services on a regular basis.

Asked how their lives have changed since the cease-fire went into effect in mid-October, most Jewish residents give a quizzical smile.

“You need to understand something,” says an elderly woman. “Those who couldn’t live with the violence left long ago. Those who feel largely unaffected.”

Indeed, despite the fact that a few local Jews have been injured or worse during the 25 years of bomb blasts and shootings, no member of the community has been targeted for being Jewish, the locals say.

And despite its location in the heart of Belfast, it is believed that the synagogue has never been vandalized. As bombs maimed people around it, the synagogue remained a veritable oasis.

“In truth, I was never really affected by the troubles,” say Kenneth Lewis, 80, referring to the violence between Catholics and Protestants.

“After a while, you learn to live with it. The others are so busy with themselves, they have no time for us. So the cease-fire is business as usual.”

Alex Jaffe, who moved to Belfast from Manchester in 1957, concurs.

“The troubles haven’t affected me very much over the years,” he says. “You see, the Jewish community has been courted by both sides.

“The Catholics say, “You’re like us. You light candles.” The Protestants say, “You’re against the pope, let’s join forces.” They want to know, “Are you a Catholic Jew or a Protestant Jew?”

“When someone asks me, “If have you to choose between the IRA or the English, what would you do?” I say, “I wouldn’t even join the Salvation Army.”

Jaffe stresses that “the Jewish community has been careful to remain neutral. If we keep a low profile politically, we are accepted by both sides.”

But the cease-fire has had some impact on the residents of Northern Ireland, and the Jews are no exception.

If pressed, they point to fewer British troops and roadblocks, and to a greater overall sense of security.

Whether the fragile cease-fore will ultimately attract Jews back to Northern Ireland is another matter.

“If there was a sustained peace, it might bring about a change,” says David Warm, chairman of the Jewish Community. “But I wouldn’t bank on it.”