What was it like to be a Jew in a land which has become synonymous with religious intolerance in the public mind – “Jewish people never had a problem with the government in Afghanistan down to the Soviet invasion” he says firmly. “You see how the royal family valued us. And with the common people things were even better. Everyone in Flower Street and Chicken Street is my brother. There was never a problem over religion. We are all Afghans.”
Again Mr. Simantov paints a perhaps too rosy picture of the distant past an inevitable result perhaps of the intensity of his own and his country?s suffering over the last quarter century.
Historically non-Muslim minorities such as Jews Hindus and Armenians did enjoy greater tolerance in Afghanistan than in surrounding countries as is exemplified by the case of 600 Jews who were forcibly converted to Islam at Meshed in Iran in 1839; those who were able to later escape to Herat were allowed to resume their ancient faith.
But these ‘cosmopolitan minorities’ (to use Gregorian’s term) were also vulnerable to special discriminatory decrees during times of political turbulence – decrees ranging from arbitrary restrictions on trade dress and movement to imposition of summary taxes.
This was half social scapegoating for political ends and half a function of a rising nationalism that though it used a partly religious vocabulary was not religious in origin.
Yet the harassment never involved any violence ? until the Taliban.
“All Afghans suffered constantly because of the wars but the Taliban treated us worst of all” he affirms. “There were three break-ins and thefts at the synagogue under the Taliban; the last time they took the Torah Scrolls. The authorities not only tolerated this they encouraged it.”
And not satisfied with that they arrested me three times. For what crime? Because I was a Jew that was the crime.”
Mr. Simantov’s dual identity as an Afghan and a Jew is borne out by his dress and his comportment. A short portly man he wears the ubiquitous shalwar kameez (loose trousers and long shirt) of the region and a yarmulke.
Insistent on treating his visitor with the famed Afghan hospitality – though he can only provide a boiled egg and some cucumbers ? he kisses a worn Torah written in Hebrew and printed in Jerusalem before handing it over for perusal.
His kindly demeanor does not at all suggest the rancor that has characterized his feud with another Kabul Jew Isaac Levy over various matters; a conflict that was dwelled upon in various news reports last spring to the neglect of the more fundamental story of the heritage of Judaism that lies sleeping on Flower Street.
“The synagogue is over eighty years old ? he continues ?but there has not been a congregation here for a long time. The war and the Taliban destroyed their businesses and threatened their lives so they fled.
“I have been to Israel and have considered emigrating but someone must tend this holy place desolate as it is. I am desperately looking for financial help to make repairs to the sanctuary and enable me to live. I am barely getting by as it is.”
A tour around the building bears out this description. Like so many older Afghan houses it faces inward away from the street and clusters around a central garden the three sides of the structure being squared off in this case by a high wall that encloses the trees and shrubs.
Though obviously struggling amidst a sandy barely watered space the vegetation is tall enough to lend a cool green feel to an otherwise worn and grimy environment a sensation complemented by the blue metal railing that secures an interior balcony overlooking the garden decorated with interlocking Stars of David – proper ones this time.
