The Asylumist

Over the past few years, there have been a number of deadly and horrific attacks against Jewish people in Europe. Targeted by radical Muslims, Jews have been murdered in a Kosher market, outside a synagogue, and at a Jewish daycare facility. They have been targeted for attack at a Jewish Community Center, and there have been hundreds of lesser (but still frightening) instances of anti-Semitism.

The Jews of France are not alone. But is that enough?

In response, some (non-French) Jews have suggested that there is no future for Jews in Europe and that they should leave. On one level, this suggestion is based on genuine concern. But on another level, it is quite insulting. It’s as if an African leader came to the U.S. and told American blacks that—in light of Ferguson, Treyvon Martin, and Eric Garner—they should abandon their homeland. My feeling is that a French Jew, an African American, or any other put-upon individual should have the right to make his own decision about whether to leave his country. Unless and until he decides to go, we should do everything possible to help him stay.

Here, however, I am concerned not with the existential issue of European Jewry. Rather, I want to discuss a more narrow question: Whether a French Jew–and I am choosing France because that country has seen the most instances of anti-Semitism–could qualify for asylum under U.S. immigration law.

Asylum decisions are highly dependent on the specific facts of each case; so it is difficult to answer this question in the abstract. However, we can look at general country conditions to get an idea for whether an individual might qualify. Also, where there is a “pattern and practice” of persecution against a specific group, and the asylum applicant demonstrates that she is a member of that group, she can receive asylum (for example, during the 1994 genocide in Rwanda, if an asylum applicant demonstrated that she was Tutsi, she could receive asylum).

To demonstrate a “pattern and practice,” the applicant would have to show that the persecution is systemic, pervasive or organized. Although radical Muslims have attacked Jews in France on several occasions, and the unpredictable nature of the attacks makes everyone feel vulnerable, I think the problem is not systematic, pervasive or organized enough to qualify as a “pattern and practice” of persecution under U.S. asylum law. The recent attacks have been by individuals or small groups; not (as far as we know) the systematic work of an organization. There is a much more widespread problem with harassment, threats, and vandalism. These problems–while frightening–probably would not constitute “persecution” as that term is generally understood. For all these reasons, I believe that a French-Jewish asylum seeker would have a hard time proving that Jews in France suffer from a pattern and practice of persecution.

In the absence of such a pattern and practice, our theoretical French Jew would need to show that he faces a reasonable fear of persecution based on his religion (or other protected ground). If the persecutor is not the government—and here, it is not—he also must demonstrate that the government is unable or unwilling to protect him.

First, it seems clear that the Jews who have been targeted were targeted because they were Jews. Persecution on account of religion is a basis for asylum. So the real question is whether there is a reasonable likelihood of persecution.

Courts have stated that an alien may qualify for asylum where there is a 1-in-10 chance of persecution. This is a fairly low standard, but even so, a person needs to demonstrate some type of individualized threat in order to qualify. I doubt that the average French Jew would be able to show that he faces a 10% chance of persecution. There are nearly half-a-million Jews in France, and only a small number have been harmed. And even in countries with much higher instances of violence–Iraq and Syria, for example–a person can generally not qualify for asylum without an individualized threat. Although the average French Jew would probably not meet this standard, some Jews–those who have received specific threats or who hold high-profile positions, for example–might be able to prove that they face a likelihood of harm.

If our theoretical French Jew demonstrates a likelihood of harm, the next question is whether the government of France is able and willing to protect him. While there are surely people within the French government who do not like Jews, the French government as a whole clearly wants to protect Jewish people. After the Kosher supermarket and Charlie Hebdo attacks, the government deployed thousands of troops to protect Jewish sites. But given the nature of the attacks (random and against soft targets), there is a good argument that the government of France is unable to stop the terrorists.

In the end, it seems that most French (or European) Jews would not qualify for asylum, but some might: Those who have received threats or who are high profile, and who their governments–unfortunately–cannot protect.

This June marks the 50th anniversary of the Evian Accord, the agreement recognizing Algeria’s independence from France. Since Roman times, Algeria was home to a large Jewish community. During the French colonial period, Jews were granted French citizenship. After independence, however, Algeria denied citizenship to its Jewish population and most of the country’s 140,000 Jews left for France. By 2004, there were less than 100 Jews remaining in Algeria, and most of those fled during the civil war (1991-2002) when the Armed Islamic Group threatened to exterminate them.

I had an opportunity to visit Algeria in 2001. I traveled with an Ibadite Muslim friend who is from the M’Zab Valley, an oasis in the Sahara, about 500 km south of Algiers. The principal city of the M’Zab Valley is Ghardaia, which a French philosopher described as a “Cubist painting beautifully constructed” (maybe I am a bit more pedantic, but to me it looks like the video game Q*bert). There, I visited an old abandoned synagogue and the Jewish graveyard. As we are approaching the 50th anniversary of the Evian Accord, I thought I would share some photos and facts about the Jewish community of Ghardaia.

As best as we know, Jews arrived in Ghardaia in two waves. The city’s original Jews arrived in the 13th or 14th century, a few hundred years after the town was founded. The Jews were invited to the M’Zab to work as jewelers and smiths, professions traditionally avoided by the local Muslims. Legend tells of four families who came to the desert town from Djerba, an island off the coast of Tunisia. The Jews of Djerba trace their lineage back to Biblical times.

The second group arrived in the late 15th century. At the time, an extremist Muslim movement (possibly fueled by the failure of Islam in Spain) attacked and expelled Jewish communities in Morocco. Some Jews fled to Ghardaia. They joined the existing community, and over time, the two groups merged together.

Algeria synagogue — Abandoned Synagogue in Ghardaia

The Jews of Ghardaia lived in relative harmony with their neighbors until the mid-20th century. By then, Algeria was controlled by France, and the population of Ghardaia was divided between Ibadite Muslims (who originally settled the M’Zab Valley), Jews, and Sunni Muslims. When the war of independence began in 1954, the situation for the Jews of Algeria deteriorated, and by June 1962, all the Jews of Ghardaia had been forced to seek refuge abroad.

Just as this 800-year chapter of Jewish history was drawing to a close, two anthropologists arrived on the scene, hoping to study genetic traits of the Jewish people there. Instead, they documented the final years and days of Ghardaia’s Jews. The anthropologists, Lloyd Cabot Briggs and Norina Lami Guede, wrote up their observations in an amazing (and obscure) paper called “No More Forever: A Saharan Jewish Town.” The paper begins: “This book is the record of a people who are gone.” Recalling their own departure, through newly established rebel checkpoints in the now independent Algeria, Briggs and Guede write:

The notebooks and pictures that we carried with us were the only coherent record that remained of a curiously distinctive way of life which had gone on for centuries and came suddenly to an end, leaving behind it only empty houses and an abandoned cemetery in the desert.

Algeria old photo 2 — The same synagogue, circa 1958

It so happened that I was visiting Algeria during Passover, and so I was particularly keen to find other Jews, or at least visit Jewish sites. With the help of several friends, I was able to visit the old synagogue of Ghardaia and the Jewish graveyard.

The synagogue had been empty for almost 40 years when I visited, and it was in bad shape. A man lived there, and he allowed us to visit for a few minutes. I took some pictures, which you can see here, and I said a prayer. It was quite moving to pray in that abandoned temple, where (I assume) no Jew had prayed for almost 40 years.

The synagogue was a typical Sephardic design, with blue and white walls, and numerous thick columns. A wooden bimah (stage) would have formed the center piece of the room, but it was gone. Parts of the domed roof had collapsed, covering the floor with piles of stone and mortar. The ceiling above the women’s section had fallen in, filling the balcony with rubble. A few chains hung from the ceiling. At one time they held lamps with an eternal flame, long since extinguished. Two Stars of David were all that remained to confirm that we were in a synagogue.

Algeria ceiling — Another view of the synagogue.

After visiting the synagogue, we walked to the Jewish cemetery, which is a mile or two outside the town. It’s difficult to get a sense for the size of the graveyard, as it blends perfectly with the rocky surroundings. It was here, in 1962, that the last Jews of Ghardaia buried their old prayer books, before departing their oasis homes forever (in Jewish tradition, books containing the name of G-d are buried, not thrown away). The oldest dated grave is from 1749 (5509 in the Jewish calendar), but some graves are probably centuries older. Members of the community used to come to a small grotto here to light candles and pray for assistance from their ancestors. Women who reached menopause came here to pray for one more male child. I also said a prayer at the graveyard and I placed stones on some of the graves (it is a Jewish tradition to place stones on the graves).

Algeria cemetary — The Jewish cemetery near Ghardaia

The last Jews of Ghardaia left Algeria in 1962. They fled to France and most of them are still there. All in all, over 800,000 Middle Eastern Jews were forced to flee their homes between 1948 (the founding of the state of Israel) and the 1970’s. Like the Jews of Ghardaia, they came from communities that had existed for centuries (and in some cases millennium). Also like the Jews of Ghardaia, they lost most of their property and were lucky to escape with their lives. Having seen a bit of this history makes me lament the loss of these ancient and diverse communities, but it also reminds me of the importance of offering refuge to those fleeing persecution.

For more information about the Jews of Ghardaia, take a look at Jews of the Sahara by Ronald L. Nagel.

Asylum for the Jews of France?

Remembering Algeria’s Jewish Refugees – 50 Years Later