With roots tracing back to the Hellenistic period and even before that, Egypt was home to one of the most ancient and vibrant Jewish communities in the world.
The prosperity and the relatively good conditions they experienced also allowed for the creation and preservation of some of the most prized treasure chests for historians nowadays. Perhaps the most well-known is the Cairo Genizah, which provides a fascinating glimpse into Jewish life in the Middle East under Islamic rule during the Middle Ages.
However, modern Egyptian rule showed no mercy on this once thriving community. Decades of persecution from both nationalist and Islamist groups led an overwhelming majority of them to leave their ancient homeland, with only a handful of elderly Jews remaining in Egypt today.
The Jerusalem Post spoke to two Egyptian-born Jews to hear about their own Exodus ordeals: David Hayna, whose family immigrated to Israel, and Roland Hasan, who now lives in the US.
DAVID HAYNA FROM ISRAEL
‘Today I feel detached from Egyptian culture’
David Hayna was born 64 years ago in Cairo; his family remained relatively late in Egypt. When asked about his country of origin, his first recollection was the arrest of his father. “After the Six Day War, Egyptian authorities decided to imprison Jewish men, alleging they were ‘spies for Israel.’ My father was a Prisoner of Zion for over two years,” his son related.
“Our family owned a jewelery shop,” Hanya reminisced. “We enjoyed a good standard of living, and went to good schools – and I even remember us going several times to a seaside area for our summer vacations.”
Growing up in Egypt, Hayna said he does not recall any salient antisemitic incidents, adding that children would play with each other regardless of their religion. “We went to a private Christian school, which is why we didn’t know any Hebrew when we arrived in Israel later. I remember vividly how during religion class, Muslims and Christians would split and learn their respective scriptures, while we [Jews] would have free class,” he said with a smile.
Hayna describes his childhood surroundings as “a regular Cairo building in a mixed neighborhood, with neighbors of all kinds.” But after the war, things changed for the worse. “We heard that there were plans to murder Jewish men, but losing the war probably affected [the Egyptians’] appetite,” he said.
“In Cairo there was an active community, with a synagogue and all, and people looked after each other,” Hanya recalled. “We attended services sometimes. I don’t know what the situation of this synagogue is today.”
Once his father was imprisoned, the family would visit him once a month. “He was imprisoned when I was seven years old and freed when I was already nine. The time in Egyptian prison really affected him,” Hayna remembered gloomily. “A group of four families of imprisoned Jews came together, and every week one family made a week’s worth of food and visited the ones in prison.”
Hayna’s father was finally released in 1969, following intervention by the Red Cross and other humanitarian organizations. “He was sent to Paris where he waited for us for three months until the authorities let us go. Needless to say, we weren’t allowed to sell any of our property or take out any money or valuable belongings,” he said.
‘Aliyah was tough’
In France, the family stayed at a hotel leased by the Jewish Agency with other Jewish families from Egypt, until each family settled and decided where they would head next to make their new life and home. “Some decided to stay in France, others immigrated to the US, and our family decided to head to Israel, since my father already had two brothers who had lived there for years.”
The Haynas arrived in Israel in January of 1970 and settled in Bat Yam. “Those were hard times. We did not speak the language; my parents didn’t have a relevant profession. We were six children, and my family had barely any savings left. Absorption was tough. We got an ‘Amidar’ [state-owned] apartment and my father worked at a factory. He didn’t make much, but we saw it through somehow.”
Regarding the place of the old language and culture in his life, Hayna said: “We spoke Arabic at home because my parents didn’t speak Hebrew well. I still speak it. My wife, who is also Egyptian, would speak it to her grandmother who lived with them. My children understand Arabic but don’t speak it anymore.
“I would reminisce sometimes with my wife about life in Egypt, and we would bring up stories from there – but this rarely happens now,” he said. “When we arrived in Israel, there was this culture of watching the Friday afternoon Egyptian film, but today I feel completely detached from the culture.”
When asked if he plans to return to visit his old homeland, Hanya replied: “Some say it’s an interesting country with a rich history. I have some family members from the US who have visited. It creates some tense situations in airports when passport control officers see someone born in Egypt, living in the US, and traveling between Israel, the US and Egypt,” he explained.
“As for me, the authorities wouldn’t let me go back. They treat me as a deported ex-citizen. So even if I would’ve wanted to go I wouldn’t be able to technically. But in any case, I’m against it. See, the Egyptians don’t come and visit us here in Israel; they only want our dollars. I also don’t trust them enough to care for my safety,” the Egyptian expat concluded. “There’s nothing left for me there.”
ROLAND HASSAN FROM NEW YORK
‘Glad to have visited again and gained a new perspective’
Roland Hassan was born in Alexandria in the mid-1950s. His father owned a business of fixing television and radio sets. He described that his family lived comfortably, “in the sense that for not much money, you could have a good lifestyle [according to] those days’ standard.”
Hassan studied in a British boys’ school. “The neighborhood wasn’t high end, but rather a typical mixed, middle-class neighborhood. Temples were a 10-minute walk. The Jewish community in Egypt wasn’t divided into denominations, and everyone prayed together, whether observant or not. We attended services on holidays and celebrated with those of our family who had remained,” he said.
During holidays, the Hassan family would also drive to a beach-side area and meet up with their Cairo counterparts, hearing news from the community in the capital.
“In 1967, the writing was on the wall that things were getting bad,” Hassan remembers, “though things always got bad around wars, including 1956 and of course 1948.”
Hassan’s aunt decided to leave six months prior to the war, the relatively quiet times making it suitable to make arrangements to get money out and obtain visas. “When my aunt left Egypt, my parents also began to mull the idea of leaving. Much of the anti-Zionist sentiment was being reflected upon us in the Jewish community. Even in our British school, nationalistic feelings were swelling.”
Eventually, Hassan’s classmates stopped including him in games and activities. “The only people who were friendly to us were our neighbors and other Jewish families, who were quite sad to hear that we were also looking to leave.”
Passover of 1967 came about, just a couple of months before the war, and no relatives of the Hassan family were left in town. “Everyone had gone. We made the best Seder we could manage. It wasn’t very religious, but we did what we could,” he recalled.
An exodus from Hollywood
The Hassan family’s exodus story seems to have been taken from an action film: Roland and his family managed to leave Egypt in the height of the Six Day War.
“I remember it was already summer break, a bit before the war started. We heard a knock on the door. It was a military officer, who we figured tried to gather information about us, as they probably did to other Jewish families. My parents decided to act friendly, invited him over for coffee, and so it seemed to have ended in a good way,” Hassan said.
Then a few days later there was a second knock on the door. “This time they were two big guys, not at all friendly, looking for my father. We explained that dad was at work and they said that they would come back in an hour.”
In the end they came back for Hassan’s father and took him into custody with other Jewish men. “He was in some sort of basement that had a small window facing the street, and he had his suitcase with him. So, he took out his tools and started taking away the screen, much to the others’ shock. Then he noticed someone he knew walking in the street, so he told her to go quickly to the Italian consulate and tell them that there are Italian nationals being held with no food or representation. She went there and eventually the Red Cross sent a delegation.”
The Hassans had the privilege of holding Italian passports, since several years prior, the Italian consulate in town burned to the ground and published a call to claim citizenship. Many Egyptians came, the Hassan family included. “Our names had to be changed – my siblings and I became Rolando, Gioseppe and Mariuca, but we did keep our last name Hassan. This act turned out to be a lifesaver for us,” he said.
In the meantime, Roland and his family were at home, packing. “It had to be done at night. We worked with candles and covered the windows with dark paper so that no one would notice us,” he explained. However, a couple of hours later, a mob gathered downstairs.
“It was 11:00 PM and someone claimed that we were ‘sending messages to Israeli planes.’ We locked the door quickly and heard people downstairs yelling in Arabic about Jews hiding in the building. Then a brave neighbor went out and told them that there were no Jews around, and they left. I remember I could hear my heart pounding,” he remembered.
THE FAMILY decided to leave their house behind and make their way to the Italian consulate, where they found out that a ship would be leaving town in a couple of hours to Naples. “We stood in front of the consulate and said we’re not moving until they get us on that ship. They told us that they can’t guarantee anything but we said we’ll take the chance.
“We waited for what seemed like an eternity, and finally made it to the ship. We left all of our possessions behind. In customs, the Egyptian authorities searched us and told us to give all of our gold. I had a mezuzah around my neck that I was reluctant to give up, but I had to. They accused me of wanting to sell our gold to buy a gun and kill their kids. My brother was more courageous, as he managed to smuggle his Magen David necklace,” Hassan said.
“We didn’t know where my father was, but we saw many other Jewish families on the ship with us, mainly from Alexandria. As the ship was beginning to separate from the dock, my brother told me: ‘let’s spit in the water and vow to never come back.’”
A day went by and the Hassans started asking around the ship if anyone had seen the father. “Suddenly my mother stopped. She thought she was hallucinating, but no, there he was, standing on the deck.” It turned out that following the Italian consulate’s intervention, his father had been released and made it to the exact same ship in a miraculous turn of events. The Hassan family was reunited.
Today
In Italy, the Hassan family stayed in a camp with other refugees. They had a relative who ended up in LA, and so they decided to make their way there to rebuild their life. Nowadays, Hassan works as a dentist and lives in New York.
As for his connection to language and culture, Hassan mentioned that he hasn’t practiced his Arabic much since he left the country. “French was our first language, actually, as was the case with many Egyptian families.
“My wife is Ashkenazi and we never cooked Egyptian food at home. I kept in touch with some of the people I grew up with. When we were younger, there was an Egyptian community in the area – not only Jews by the way – and we would gather in Santa Monica for picnics on the beach. That lasted for a while, but as time went on, it stopped,” Hassan recalled.
New York had more of an Egyptian Jewish scene: in Brooklyn there was an Egyptian synagogue, but we were not as numerous or as strong as the Syrian, Iraqi, or Iranian Jewish communities who made it to the US.”
Regarding his feelings for Egypt nowadays, Hassan shows a complex perspective. “40 years after my vow, my daughters wanted to visit the pyramids and I decided to join. I saw the old schools, the neighborhood I grew up in. It was all very touching and nostalgic, and much of it remained the same. Egyptians we spoke to were hospitable and admitted they were sad that things had gone this way, accusing Egyptian nationalist leader [Gamal Abdel] Nasser.
“I told my brother I wish he had come on this trip, and he in turn mentioned the vow. I’m actually glad I went back and got to see things from a different perspective. No longer as a kid, I was able to remember everything we went through, and still not retain hostility to the people there. They were very nice; they just wanted to make a living, and didn’t care much about the situation,” Hassan said.
“Unfortunately, some people in Egypt still connect to antisemitism, though I hardly noticed it when I went back. I was there for just a week, but I enjoyed having this new perspective. It was a good feeling being back there. Still, I don’t think I’ll go ever again.”
Hassan is now thinking of writing his own memoir about his childhood in Egypt. “Let the world know that there were quite a few of us who were expelled from our country and had to leave everything behind.”
