I was just along for the ride. We were going on a two-week tour of Croatia so my husband’s family could see where their relatives had come from.
For most of my life, retracing my family’s European roots had little interest to me. I just wasn’t interested in seeing the house — or more likely the town — where my family lived in Austria or Poland. Why would I want to see the places that killed my family? Other people may hear the call, but it was not for me.
But I was content to be part of this family trip, even if I didn’t feel that desire to see the proverbial old village of my ancestors. It came as a big surprise when I was moved to tears at the shared Jewish history on the trip.
It started as a favor. Before I left, my mom had heard there was a Jewish community in Split and asked me to get a mezuzah from the synagogue there. I was intrigued so decided to make the effort to see the synagogue, which was described as one of the oldest Sephardic synagogues still used today.
Most people are more familiar with Split as the home of the Diocletian’s Palace, one of the most preserved Roman sites in the world. While Diocletian’s Palace is sprawling and confusing to navigate, we got lost trying to find the synagogue. Eventually, we found it on a tiny street with a flight of stairs leading to the front door.
When I rang the buzzer, I was greeted by an older gentleman who welcomed me in for a tour. Another staircase up later, he led me to this tiny gem of a room. The sanctuary was covered in mostly white marble with black marble accents, and the light blue ceiling had golden molding which accentuated the golden lamps hanging from above.
The temple had been in continuous use since the 16th and 17th centuries, thanks to an influx of Sephardic refugees fleeing the inquisition in Spain, Portugal and Italy. It wasn’t even the first synagogue there; there was one built during the Roman period but it was destroyed in a fire in 1507. Plus if you look hard enough, you might see reminders of the Jewish presence there, like a Star of David incorporated into the detailing of buildings.
Sadly, the Jewish population of Split faced a similar fate as the rest of Europe’s Jewish populations under Nazi control. Many were murdered; many fled to Israel. One wall had the names of people who perished from the Nazis, a grim reminder of the power of hate and oppression. The part of my husband’s family that was Jewish was wiped out in the war (though traveling to that village was too far for this trip).
The caretaker told me that about 100 Jewish folks still live in and around the city; they care for the synagogue and a Jewish cemetery outside the center of the city. But they do not hold regular services; there isn’t the demand. If people request them ahead of time, they can generally accommodate. But it’s hard to get enough people together for a minyan, the caretaker told me. They do the best they can.
In the days that followed, I could not stop thinking about the experience. There I was in a gem of a holy place, hidden up two flights of stairs, with a small community of Jewish folks trying to care for their history and culture. It was such a contrast to me, a secular Jew, who was there to fulfill a promise to my mother. What was I doing with my Jewish heritage? How was I keeping the faith and culture alive?
These questions lingered as we continued our trip down the Croatian coast. Dubrovnik was our final location on our trip. The city is now best known as the location of King’s Landing in the HBO series “Game of Thrones.” In comparison to other cities we’d visited, it was by far the most popular with tourists. I could see why: The city walls that encompass the old town, with views of the Adriatic, are incredibly dramatic.
While tourists streamed through the town to visit its sites, go on boat tours and take “Game of Throne” tours (of which there were many), I wanted to make sure to see the Dubrovnik synagogue, the oldest Sephardic synagogue in use and second oldest synagogue in use in Europe.
Like the Split synagogue, it was located down a narrow street and required two flights of stairs to get to the sanctuary. This time, there was a little museum of religious items including Torah crowns, Torah breastplates and old documents in Hebrew.
But unlike my visit to the Split synagogue, this time I came with my husband, toddler, mother-in-law and brother-in-law. I’ll be honest; I was surprised, sure that this would only be something that interested me. I was worried my toddler would be overly rambunctious or rowdy in this holy space, that the others would be bored. But my mother-in-law wanted to check it out, wanting to honor her paternal great-grandmother who was Jewish. My husband and brother-in-law were curious and wanted to help manage our daughter.
It too was beautiful with dark wood, cream walls and a blue ceiling decorated with many depictions of the Star of David. About a dozen lamps hung from the ceiling. In the middle of the room, there was the bimah, facing the dark wooden ark.
There were many parallels to the Jewish history of Split. Many Jews came to Dubrovnik following their expulsion and prosecution elsewhere and built new lives. But World War II annihilated their population; the remaining few would emigrate. Now there were only 50 Jewish folks in the city, facing the same challenge of keeping their history and culture alive.
Looking at the sanctuary with my family, especially my daughter, my eyes filled with tears. She was born at the beginning of the pandemic, so this was her first time in a synagogue. I realized that I had the chance to make a small mark in history by teaching my toddler daughter what it means to be Jewish, culturally and spiritually. While it was not on the same level as the Jewish populations of Split and Dubrovnik caring for these historical living places, this was a task that I could and would undertake.
She may not have understood what this place was just yet, but my goal is to help her understand the history she comes from. Yes, my family was not from Croatia, nor were they Sephardic Jews, but we shared this legacy and passion for Judaism.
So maybe I’ve been looking at these ancestral visits all wrong. Tracing one’s roots doesn’t have to be seeing the town or village that your ancestors came from. It can be a place of significance kept alive by people who share your values and faith. It is a reminder of my own responsibility in keeping our history and culture alive and it is relevant for me and my daughter.
This year, we’re going to try the children’s services at the High Holidays. It’s just a start, but it’s an important one. I can’t wait to introduce her to the enduring legacy of her Jewish heritage. I look forward to seeing what else will follow.
