I am a Winnipegger of Israeli origin, and my father and his family were rescued by the newly established State of Israel after Jews in Yemen were being subject to attacks and persecution. My father’s family lived in Aden and were harassed by local Muslims. The most violent incident—the “Aden Pogroms”—occurred after November 29, 1947, when the United Nations voted to partition what was then Mandatory Palestine into two states, a Jewish and Arab state. The first three days of the pogrom left 87 Jews slaughtered or burned to death, with over 70 seriously injured. The count included children, women, and the elderly. The Jewish schools that my my father and his brothers attended . several synagogues and many homes were destroyed , and almost every single Jewish-owned shop was looted and or burned. After a thousand years in Yemen, the Jewish community realized there was no future for them there. Although the British who occupied Yemen sent a military unit to protect Jews, its soldiers were Muslim, and in many cases actively joined in the killings. As a result Israel launched an urgent and secret rescue mission to transport. Some 49,000 Yemenite Jews to the nascent state of Israel, known as Operation Magic Carpet between June 1949-September 1950 on neatly 450 flights from Aden to Israel. After the Aden pogroms my father and his family were traumatized and immigrated to Israel as part of this operation, which they called “Wings of Eagles.” The exodus marked the extinction of a millennia old Jewish community of Yemen, and is part of the exodus of Jews in the Muslim world.
My mother’s family lived in Baghdad, Iraq and on the eve of the Jewish holiday of Shavuot, June 1, 1941, riots broke out in Baghdad. For two days, Muslims in the city carried out a pogrom against the Jews. People were attacked in the streets—beaten, robbed, looted, raped, and murdered. Homes were broken into. In the days leading up to the events, the rioters marked Jewish homes by stamping a red handprint on the doors, while on Muslim-owned businesses they wrote the word “Muslim,” to ensure they would not be harmed.
My grandfather worked far from home, on the other side of the city. When he heard what was happening, he hurried home. He carried a rolled-up carpet and pretended to be one of the looters so he could make his way through the crowd. The streets were crowded and blocked. The mob attacked cars, dragged Jews out, and slaughtered them before his eyes. They spared no one—not even infants. He described scenes of severed limbs of babies, women, elderly people, and men, and beheadings.
That day, my mother’s family, who were preparing for the holiday heard the chaos outside and saw the rioters approaching their home. My grandmother was lucky in that she had very good relations with her neighbors, who protected her, prevented anyone from entering the house, and helped the family escape across the rooftops. As they fled, they witnessed horrifying sights of the raging mob. My grandmother saw her Jewish neighbor thrown off a balcony.
Other members of my grandmother’s family were less fortunate. Her brother was beaten severely in his home until he bled and required long-term medical care. Her nephew, my mother’s cousin, was caught on his way home, robbed, and brutally murdered.
After these events, relations between Jews and Muslims deteriorated, and hostility grew. The family began secretly listening to radio broadcasts from Israel. Anyone caught doing so—or found with letters smuggled from Israel—was arrested, tortured, and accused of treason.
When the State of Israel was established, Jews were allowed to leave Iraq. However, those who left were not permitted to return or take property with them—only one suitcase of personal belongings. My grandfather, who had escaped from Russia to Iraq, did not have Iraqi citizenship and could not legally leave the country for Israel. The family had to pretend they were going on a trip to Iran, leaving all their possessions behind. They stayed for several weeks in a transit camp in Iran and then flew to Israel in October 1950.
The Canadian Museum of Human Rights (CMHR) is planning a Nakba Exhibit which will focus only on the stories of Canadian Palestinians who were displaced in the Arab-Israeli war of 1948. My family’s story and exodus from Yemen and Iraq as part of that same war is just as compelling and ought to included in the CMHR.
