English – Jewish Traveler

Meet SKY Express: the Greek airline promising fewer ferries and more wings

יעקב מאור — Thu, 05 Feb 2026 12:08:39 +0000

The Greek airline SKY Express inaugurated its route to Israel this past December. To mark the occasion, the company sent two of its senior sales and marketing executives to Israel for the IMTM tourism fair, where they presented the airline to the local market.

It turns out that SKY Express may be new to the Israeli skies, but it is by no means a newcomer to aviation. Behind it stand around 15 years of operations, an impressive growth story, and, above all, a quiet, smart and highly precise strategy. One that has been built from the small airports of Greece’s islands toward the international market.

SKY Express was founded in Heraklion, on the island of Crete. Not in Athens, not in Thessaloniki, but at the main gateway to Greece’s largest island. In its early years, the airline focused exclusively on domestic flights, operating a fleet of small ATR aircraft, turboprops capable of landing on short and challenging runways, exactly what Greece’s island geography demands.

Behind SKY Express stands the IOGR Group, which also operates in hotels and travel agencies. Within this ecosystem, the airline has grown into the most significant and direct competitor to Aegean. A term that is not used here by coincidence.

George Baliouskas and Fani Bazou Cravens at IMTM

In recent years, the company has undergone a transformation. Not merely cosmetic, but conceptual. Ironically, it was during the COVID aviation crisis that SKY Express chose to push the throttle control. While many airlines around the world were cancelling aircraft orders, SKY Express identified an opportunity. In a move that, in hindsight, looks almost bold, the company acquired new Airbus aircraft that other carriers had relinquished.

As a result, the airline renewed its fleet with 15 new-generation Airbus A320 and A321neo aircraft, equipped with highly efficient, quiet and reliable engines. At the same time, its ATR fleet was also renewed, with 14 aircraft. The result is impressive: a fleet of 29 aircraft with an average age of under three years. A figure that is rarely seen today among regional airlines.

SKY Express’s ATR aircraft currently operate no fewer than 33 domestic destinations across Greece. This is the largest domestic network in the country, and perhaps the most important data point for the Israeli market.

Because, unlike the classic “Athens–Santorini–back home” traveler, SKY Express is clearly targeting those who want to open Greece from the inside, like a crumpled map being unfolded on a taverna table.

The airline offers convenient connections from Athens to more than 30 islands, including Santorini, Mykonos, Rhodes, Crete, Corfu, Zakynthos and more. No more chasing ferries at the port of Piraeus. No more long waits with a suitcase and sunscreen. Just a short flight, and on to the next island.

In 2020, SKY Express launched a broad rebranding and technology process: a new visual identity, a dramatic expansion of its route map, digital investments, and the official introduction of its new fleet. The slogan chosen was: “Greece is Bliss.”

It is easy to write a slogan. It is much harder to turn it into a product. In practice, however, the rebrand marked a clear shift in direction: SKY Express stopped being only a domestic carrier and began building an international network.

Today, the airline operates flights to 27 destinations outside Greece. From Lisbon and Madrid in the west to Tbilisi and Yerevan in the east. And this past December, Tel Aviv also joined the list.

“We came to Israel with a long-term perspective,” says George Baliouskas, director B2B sales at SKY Express, who arrived to present the airline at IMTM. “Israel is one of the strongest and most prominent source markets for inbound tourism to Greece. It is a large market for us, and we see real potential here. That is why we are fully committed to the success of this route.”

The airline currently operates a daily flight from Tel Aviv to Athens, with convenient onward connections to destinations that regularly top Israelis’ wish lists: Santorini, Rhodes, Crete, Thessaloniki, Corfu and Zakynthos.

And contrary to what is often assumed about competitively priced airlines, a business class cabin is also offered on board.

Another point that George repeatedly emphasizes is punctuality. According to him, the vast majority of flights land on schedule. A particularly sensitive issue in the Israeli market.

Fani Bazou Cravens, SKY Express’s International B2B Sales Executive, highlights the company’s flexibility in the Israeli market. According to her, prices are updated frequently in order to remain competitive.

In a check I conducted on several OTA websites, tickets could be found starting at around €130, including a carry-on trolley. By comparison, fares on El Al were around $253, and from Israeli airlines roughly $200 and up.

When I ask about seat occupancy or load factor, the answer is refreshingly honest. “It’s still too early to draw conclusions,” says Baliouskas. “This is a new product that is not yet sufficiently known to the Israeli public. At the moment, load factors are low, but we are seeing growth week by week.”

The bottom line: SKY Express is perceived as a good, affordable and highly efficient option for domestic flights within Greece and for regional European routes.

In Israel, the airline is represented by Tal Aviation (GSA), a long-established and well-known player in the representation of foreign airlines.

There is something symbolic in the fact that the airline was born in Crete- an island that represents an authentic, simple and unpretentious Greece. Today, as SKY Express lifts off from Tel Aviv to Athens aboard a brand-new, gleaming Airbus, it is trying to preserve that same basic connection: to be the airline that connects us not to a single destination, but to all of Greece. Not only to the Acropolis, but also to the tiny airstrip on an island you have never heard of. Not only to a vacation, but to a journey.

Uzbekistan Appoints an Israeli Tourism Ambassador

יעקב מאור — Tue, 13 Jan 2026 12:09:48 +0000

The Government of Uzbekistan has appointed an Israeli tourism professional as its Tourism brand Ambassador to Israel. The position was awarded to Mr. Nissan Moshayev, co-owner and co-CEO of the religious tourism company Asia Travel. The official letter of appointment was presented during a meeting of senior Israeli tourism professionals held yesterday at the Embassy of Uzbekistan in Israel, by the Uzbek Consul, Shukhrat Abdullaev.

Abdullaev explained that Moshayev was selected in recognition of many years of cooperation, during which he has actively promoted tourism from Israel to Uzbekistan and strengthened ties between the two countries.

In his acceptance speech, Moshayev, who was born in Samarkand, noted that Uzbekistan has, for the first time, entered the list of the world’s seven most visited countries. According to him, more than 10 million tourists visited Uzbekistan in 2025, including approximately 20,000 Israelis. He added that most Israeli visitors are immigrants from the former Soviet Union or descendants of families originating from Samarkand, Bukhara, Tashkent, and Khiva. However, he emphasized that Asia Travel, which has been operating for 26 years, is also working to attract a broader Israeli audience. A trend he expects to strengthen in his new role.

Moshayev also referred to the once-thriving Jewish communities of Uzbekistan, most of whose members immigrated to Israel following the fall of the Iron Curtain. Today, the Bukharan Jewish community numbers around 300,000 people in Israel and in the United States. According to him, community members maintain close ties with their cities of origin, and recently a kosher restaurant has opened in Samarkand.

He noted that alongside heritage tourism, there is also significant activity by Israeli businesspeople and organized tour groups. Asia Travel provides a full range of services. From flights and hotel accommodations to limousine services and personal drivers. He further pointed out that Israel’s Arab sector is also showing growing interest in Uzbekistan: “Over the past year, we have sent eight tour groups from the Arab sector,” he said. He concluded by stressing the country’s high level of safety, noting that Jewish tourists can walk around freely and securely, even while wearing a kippah or visible Jewish symbols.

The main speaker at the conference, held in Ramat Gan, was Mr. Tokhir Shamsimatov, Head of Marketing at the Uzbek Ministry of Tourism, who joined via Zoom from Tashkent. In his remarks, he emphasized that Uzbekistan lies along the historic Silk Road and served for centuries as a major hub of international trade. He presented the country’s leading tourism destinations- Samarkand, Bukhara, and Khiva, and noted that UNESCO recognizes the cultural significance of many historical sites in Uzbekistan.

Shamsimatov shared figures from the local hospitality industry: approximately 1,250 hotels operate across the country, offering around 93,700 beds, including properties of international hotel chains. In addition, Uzbekistan boasts modern ski resorts suitable for winter tourism, which host international sports events and festivals. He invited Israeli tour operators to visit both as event organizers and as travelers.

Following him, Mr. Oscar Akhmedov, Head of the Tourism and Diplomatic Assistance Department at the Uzbek Ministry of Foreign Affairs, addressed the audience via Zoom from Tashkent. He presented the logistical and hospitality services offered by his ministry, highlighting the Uzbek tradition of warm hospitality. A significant portion of his remarks was dedicated to luxury tourism services, including VIP transportation. According to him, the ministry works with approximately 240 luxury hotels and 30 resorts, and he invited Israeli tourism professionals to make use of these services.

The event was sponsored by Uzbekistan Airways and Centrum Air. Uzbekistan Airways representative ⁠Bokhodir Dadamukhamedov welcomed the participants and presented the airline’s summer schedule, which will include four weekly flights to Israel, up from three at present. He invited the airline’s representative in Israel, Mila Aznian of Hillel Tours, to present the company’s group marketing activities.

Rumi Mukhamadaliev, who arrived in Israel about a month ago to manage the local branch of Centrum Air, presented the airline’s operations at the conference, even though Israel does not yet appear on the route map shown in the presentation. He explained that Centrum is the aviation passenger arm of the Centrum Group, which includes five companies in the hospitality, tourism, and cargo sectors. In 2025, the airline transported more than 1.6 million passengers. Its strategic vision is to transform Tashkent and Samarkand into international aviation hubs, with stopovers in Samarkand.

The airline’s fleet currently includes 11 aircraft, with two additional passenger aircraft expected to join in 2 months. By the end of 2026, Centrum aims to operate a fleet of 21 aircraft, with a long-term goal of reaching 100 aircraft by the end of the decade.

On the Israel route, Centrum Air currently operates three weekly flights. Two to Tashkent and one to Samarkand. With the option to return from the second destination as well. Ahead of the summer season, an additional flight to Samarkand will be added in March. Flights operate on Sundays and Thursdays, “to allow passengers to return to Israel before Shabbat,” Mukhamadaliev noted.

He concluded by presenting a dedicated marketing plan for Israel, tailored to different market segments, and called on travel agents to join future promotional activities. He also offered familiarization tours to Uzbekistan for agents and journalists to further promote tourism to the country.

In addition to the airlines that participated in the conference, other carriers operate on the Israel–Uzbekistan route. Qanot Shark is expected to resume a weekly flight to Samarkand in early April. By contrast, Air Samarkand has suspended its operations on the Israel route.

The conference was moderated by Mr. Sherzod Shavkatbekov, Trade Advisor. Notably absent was the Ambassador of Uzbekistan to Israel, Jakhongir Aminov, who sent his greetings to the participants. The event concluded with a kosher lunch featuring traditional Uzbek dishes- plov and samsa.

Judging by the atmosphere at the conference, Uzbekistan is no longer asking if to attract Israeli tourists, but rather how to prepare for the next wave. With an Israeli tourism ambassador, an expanding flight schedule, and a clear message of openness and security, the real question no longer seems to be whether Israelis will travel to Samarkand and Bukhara, but when these destinations will become routine stops on the flight board, somewhere between Athens and Dubai. In the meantime, at least one thing is already certain: the plov and samsa left guests convinced that this is a destination worth returning to.

Between the Caucasus Mountains: A Journey to the Place Where Judaism Was Once an Empire

יעקב מאור — Mon, 22 Dec 2025 04:01:28 +0000

In northern Azerbaijan, facing breathtaking landscapes and an ancient stillness, a thrill awakens at the possibility of stepping onto land where the Khazar Kingdom once existed. A Jewish kingdom forgotten by maps but not by memory.

Everyone knows that Israel is the Jewish state. Far fewer know that at one point in history there was a Jewish state larger than Israel. Not merely another state, but an empire. Between the ridges of the Caucasus and the rivers of the north, a sovereign, powerful, and flourishing Jewish kingdom existed for nearly four hundred years. It was far larger than today’s State of Israel, stretching across a territory several times its size, encompassing areas that are now Azerbaijan, Georgia, Dagestan, and Ukraine. Its name was the Khazar Kingdom.

For years, this idea accompanied me like an intellectual legend. Something from the shelves of Jewish thought, from yeshiva and university, not something one could touch or smell. But in northern Azerbaijan, facing the mountains, the legend insists on becoming tangible space. Here, among winding roads, cold forests, and sharp rivers, you understand that this is not only history. It is a geography of memory.

The Azerbaijan Tourism Board in Israel quite rightly promotes the Caucasus Mountains, Mount Shahdag, the village of Laza, and the town of Qusar. They appeal to Israeli lovers of nature and skiing. But for a Jewish traveler there is a far deeper story here. It seems to me that the depth of our personal and emotional connection to these regions in their country is not fully understood. In my opinion, they could attract many more Israeli visitors if they called the region by its ancient, resonant name: “The Khazar Kingdom.” That name would reach those who are searching not only for scenery, but for roots, echoes, and shivers.

The name “Khazari” is not foreign to us. It is deeply embedded in our educational memory. Students in the religious state school system and university students of Jewish studies all learn The Kuzari, written by Rabbi Judah Halevi. A foundational work of Jewish philosophy and a cornerstone of the discipline known as Jewish Thought. Even years after closing the book, the name continues to resonate, perhaps because it bridges doubt and faith, thought and belonging. And here, at the foot of the Caucasus, it ceases to be an abstract idea and becomes landscape.

Already in the tenth century, Rabbi Hasdai ibn Shaprut, the finance minister of Córdoba, heard of this kingdom. “I was told that there exists a kingdom of the Jews, and I did not believe it,” he writes with an almost modern candor. Only when envoys arrived from Constantinople with a letter from the King of the Khazars did he understand that the rumor was true. His astonishment crosses the centuries: the knowledge that there was a place in the world where Jews were not guests, but masters of their own house.

Hasdai was stunned and wished “to inquire and know the truth, whether there is a place where there is land and a kingdom for the exile of Israel, where none rule over them and none dominate them. And if I knew that this thing was true, I would travel until I reached the place where my lord the king dwells, to see his greatness and the glory of his rank, the seat of his servants, the standing of his ministers, and the tranquility of the remnant of Israel.”

Hasdai ibn Shaprut himself did not merit seeing the Jewish Khazar Empire with his own eyes, but we can reach parts of its former territory today, within the borders of modern Azerbaijan.

According to The Kuzari, during the period of the Amoraim in Babylonia over a thousand years ago, the King of the Khazars, Bulan, dreamed that an angel appeared to him and said: “Your intentions are pleasing, but your deeds are not.” When the dream returned again and again, unsettling his spirit, he summoned representatives of the three religions and asked a simple yet piercing question: What does God truly desire?

Judaism was represented by Rabbi Isaac Sangari. The king understood that Christianity and Islam both rest upon Judaism. The result, as The Kuzari recounts, was dramatic: in the year 740 CE, the king converted to Judaism, and with him an entire kingdom. Was it the whole people? Only the elite? Historians debate this to this day.

Rabbi Judah Halevi wrapped the story in a brilliant philosophical dialogue between “the Haver" (Jewish sage) and the king. Is it historical documentation or literary creation? We may never know. But sometimes deeper truth is not a matter of precision, but of meaning. And in that sense, the Khazars were and The Kuzari continues to speak. Over the past thousand years, evidence of the Khazar Kingdom’s existence has indeed been uncovered.

The Khazar capital, Itil, stood on the banks of the Volga in what is now Ukraine. Excavations conducted there in 2008 uncovered remains of synagogues and menorahs. Findings that are difficult to dispute. But I was drawn to places where history is not documented by explanatory signs, but is present in silence.

That is how I arrived in the town of Qusar in northern Azerbaijan. Low houses. A small local market. The scent of sweet black tea. Tea houses where time moves at a different pace. I searched for Jewish remains. I found none. It turned out that only limited archaeological excavations had been conducted there, uncovering pagan artifacts from periods predating the Khazar era. But sometimes absence is the story. The name itself whispers a promise. Not proof, but a possibility. And along the Silk Road, always a corridor of peoples, merchants, and refugees, possibility alone is enough to stir emotion.

In his letters to the King of the Khazars a thousand years ago, Ibn Shaprut posed questions that intrigue us still: From which tribe does the king descend? What is the extent of his land and its borders? With whose peoples does he wage war? What language is spoken in his realm? Does war override the Sabbath?”

The King of the Khazars responds in a long epistle, reporting that he is descended from Khazar, the grandson of Japheth. His forefathers fought the earlier inhabitants of the land and expelled them. After generations, “there arose a wise and God-fearing king named Bulan, who, together with his princes and servants, entered under the wings of the Divine Presence.” One of Bulan’s descendants, a king named Ovadiah, “renewed the kingdom and strengthened the law properly and according to Halakha. He built synagogues and Yeshivot, gathered the sages of Israel, gave them silver and gold, and they expounded the twenty-four books, the Mishnah and the Talmud, and the prayer rites of the cantors.” After him arose a dynasty of kings from his seed, all bearing Hebrew names- Ovadiah, Zechariah, Manasseh, Benjamin, Aaron, and David. The letter’s author, King Joseph ben Aharon, writes that he is “a king, son of a king, of the line of kings, and no foreigner may sit upon the throne of my fathers.”

Thus the Khazar Kingdom existed for centuries, until in 965 the Russian army invaded, plundering its cities and inhabitants. The Khazars sought military and economic aid from the neighboring Khwarazmian Empire. The king of Khwarazm set conditions for his assistance. One of them was that all the Khazars had to convert to Islam before he would help them. A new king then arose, and Islamized his subjects. About fifty years later, the Byzantines and Russians finally defeated the Khazar Kingdom, destroying what remained of the Muslim state that had once been Jewish. Everything was laid waste.

On the periphery of the Khazar Kingdom, royal control was weak. Especially in the remote Caucasus Mountains, whose settlements were difficult to reach. In the southwestern reaches of the Khazar realm, in what is today northern Azerbaijan, there are villages and towns such as Krasnaya Sloboda (the “Red Village”), Qusar, Oguz, and others, where Khazar Jews continued to observe Torah and commandments. Today we can visit Jewish heritage sites and synagogues in these places and be deeply moved. But they date from a later period, after the Khazar era.

Some Khazar Jews fled to Eastern Europe, to regions that are now Hungary, Romania, and Poland. Some scholars claim that all Ashkenazi Jews descend from the Khazars, and that they introduced Khazar words into Yiddish, such as davenen (to pray) or yarmulke (skullcap), among others.

Nowadays, Qatar funds research at American universities aimed at proving that all Ashkenazi Jews descend from the Khazars rather than from our forefathers Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. An attempt to sever the connection between the Jewish people and the Jewish Land of Israel. You can relax: genetic studies prove that our genes differ from those of non-Jewish peoples of the Caucasus Mountains. But the Qataris are attempting to engineer global consciousness through distorted "scientific research".

I recommend visiting Qusar with the Kuzari book in hand. Open it there and read a chapter or two. It is an uplifting experience that greatly enhances a journey to Azerbaijan. Near a cave on Mount Shahdag, I read about Jews hiding every Sabbath in order to refrain from labor. The words took on a different weight. The landscape became a partner in reading. The trip gained an "extra soul". The knowledge that you are walking in a region where a great, self-confident Jewish kingdom once existed expands the chest and slows the breath.

Qusar lies at the foot of the Greater Caucasus, and the mountains here are not scenery but presence. In the morning they are blue-gray, in the evening purple, and in winter white and silent. The roads leaving the town are the real experience. Twists and turns, cold rivers, and small villages that seem forgotten by time.

In this mountainous region stands Mount Shahdag, which has become a “magnet” for religious Israelis. The mountain is about a half-hour’s drive from Krasnaya Sloboda, itself a Jewish tourist attraction.

Near the summit, three luxury hotels have been built, with another scheduled to open this coming summer. The hotel complex offers abundant activities for the whole family, for all ages.

Shahdag is now a popular ski destination in winter and a lively recreation center in summer: a zipline that makes your stomach flutter, horseback riding, ATV and jeep tours, karting on a racing track, and even small electric cars for children. There is also archery and shooting, among many other attractions. If you come with children, a single day will not be enough.

There is constant movement here in a space once dominated by Khazar Jewish merchants. This blend of a weighty past and modern presence creates a sense of continuity. Not of a museum, but of life.

The name Qusar is not historically proven. It is an invitation. It whispers a promise that is easy to succumb to. It recalls that enigmatic kingdom that embraced Judaism and vanished into the mists of the Volga, inviting the traveler to imagine a hidden thread connecting a forgotten past with a Caucasian present. There is no stone inscription here and no explanatory sign. There is space. And there is silence. And in such places, silence speaks.

Qusar is not a “Jewish heritage site” in the conventional sense. It tells no story through archaeological remains, but through rhythm. Slowness, landscape, lingering. Here one understands that Jews did not live only as persecuted communities on the margins, but also as a sovereign people at the heart of space, on trade routes, between mountains, within an open world. Not as a tolerated minority, but as a shaping force.

Perhaps that is why the experience here is so powerful, precisely because it lacks clear remnants. The Khazar Kingdom left behind a faith that did not seek to be carved in stone, but to continue moving. Its memory lives not because it is backed by ruins, but because it asks the visitor to be an active partner. To imagine, to feel, to think.

And as we stand here, between the Caucasus Mountains in northeastern Azerbaijan, The Kuzari in hand and a cold mountain wind on our faces, we understand something simple and unsettling: not everything that disappears is lost. And not every kingdom needs ruins to leave a mark. Some kingdoms continue to exist precisely in memory, in the journey, and in our ability to reach them.

The name Qusar whispers a historical promise that is easy to be drawn to. Its sound recalls the Khazars, that enigmatic kingdom that embraced Judaism and vanished into the mists of the Volga, inviting the traveler to imagine a hidden thread linking a forgotten past with a Caucasian present. Qusar is not a “Jewish site” in the usual sense. It is a station of slowing down, preserved for centuries. Here one pauses to understand that Jews lived not only on the margins, but also at the heart of space on trade routes, between mountains, within an open world.

And when you stand here, between the Caucasus Mountains in northeastern Azerbaijan, you grasp something simple and profound: not everything that disappears is lost. And not every kingdom needs ruins to leave its mark.

Baku: Where Fire Remembers

יעקב מאור — Thu, 18 Dec 2025 23:05:07 +0000

Some cities are defined by a single silhouette, like a visual signature. Paris has the Eiffel Tower. Rome has the Colosseum. Jerusalem has the Western Wall. And the capital of Azerbaijan, Baku, is unmistakably identified by its Flame Towers, rising along the city’s skyline.

Three glass-clad towers shaped like flickering flames soar 39 stories high. Their curves are soft, almost human. Even at rest, they seem to move. Like an ancient bonfire someone forgot to extinguish.

As night falls, Baku changes its mood. Darkness here does not close in; it opens up. The Flame Towers turn into a living screen: technicolor flames ripple across their surfaces, Azerbaijani flags billow in an imagined wind, and bands of blue, red, and green slide into one another like a secular prayer. This is not merely a charming light show. It is a spectacle. Mesmerizing, theatrical, impossible to ignore.

Fire was not chosen as a symbol by chance. The very name Azerbaijan means “Land of Fire.” The country’s economy is based on oil and energy. From here, Israel imports much of the fuel that powers our cars. When the war in Ukraine disrupted global wheat supplies, Israel shared advanced agricultural knowledge with Azerbaijan, in exchange for access to part of the new harvests. Today, a significant portion of Israel’s wheat also comes from Azerbaijani fields. Ancient metaphors of seed and soil quietly find their way into modern geopolitics.

In recent years, Baku has become a favorite destination for Israeli travelers. It's a relatively short flight distance. just three and a half hours, and at prices lower than in many other European countries. From the beginning of 2025 until the end of November, about 26,000 Israelis visited Baku, an increase of nearly 130% compared to the same period last year.

Yet these numbers tell only part of the story. The statistics count only Israelis who passed through border control at Baku’s international airport. In reality, many more Israelis pass through the city in transit, continuing onward on connecting flights without ever stamping their passports. Azerbaijan Airlines (AZAL) has positioned Baku as a major hub to the Far East, offering remarkably affordable fares with a stopover in the city. Demand has grown so rapidly that the airline now operates two daily flights on the Israel–Baku route, and soon they will increase to three daily flights, totaling 21 flights per week.

Quite a few Israelis choose to turn this technical stop into a small adventure, stepping out of the terminal and into the city. My recommendation: don’t rush onward. Extend the stopover. Even a single day or two can reveal a city of unexpected depth, contrasts, and quiet charm. Here are a few ideas for exploring Baku if you decide to linger.

Begin along the Boulevard, the graceful promenade tracing the edge of the Caspian Sea. Scattered along its length are attractions such as the Swan Fountain, whose long, elegant necks echo the curves of the Flame Towers above. At the southern end lies Mini Venice, a small amusement park where gondolas glide through artificial canals. A touch of kitsch, perhaps, but undeniably charming.

Standing proudly on the promenade is the Carpet Museum, housed in a building shaped like a rolled carpet, as if a story were moments away from being unfurled. In Azerbaijan, carpet weaving is not merely a craft; it is a language passed from mother to daughter, from grandmother to granddaughter. The museum holds more than 6,000 carpets dating from the 17th century to the present.

I admit: I am no expert. But in the faces of others, I saw reverence. One carpet stopped me cold- a piece woven in the Jewish town 'Red Village'. At its center is a biblical scene: Eliezer, servant of Abraham, meeting Rebecca at the well as she offers, “Drink, my lord, and I will draw water for your camels also.” In that moment, I understood: even a carpet can be a midrash of Torah.

At the far end of the promenade rises the Heydar Aliyev Center. A white, flowing, cornerless structure, as if shaped by wind rather than by hand. Azerbaijani tradition dressed in ultra-modern futurism. Inside are more than 3,000 manuscripts, rare books, sculptures, miniatures, and literary relics. It is a civic temple to culture, and no less, to hope.

From there, the journey bends backward in time, into the alleys of the Old City. The Maiden Tower greets the visitor: an enigmatic eight-story structure built atop foundations far older than itself. Constructed in the 12th century over remains from the 6th–7th centuries BCE. It may once have served as a Zoroastrian fire temple, or perhaps a 'Tower of Silence', where bodies were exposed to birds of prey. The stone here remembers more than we do. From the summit, the view is commanding, though a tall glass railing complicates photography. Perhaps a reminder that not everything is meant for Instagram.

Wandering the Old City’s narrow lanes is a journey through time. Small cafés, carpet shops, and a city wall that evokes Jerusalem walls. Along the inner side of the wall stand ancient cannons, oddly aimed inward rather than outward.

Nearby is a surviving ballista, once used to hurl massive stones over the ramparts. We learned in school that Roman ballistae were used to conquer Jerusalem and Masada. We saw drawings then. Here in Baku, we see one with our own eyes. Children are thrilled. Adults grow thoughtful.

Pause near the Governor’s House, an elegant building whose windows are adorned with green copper sculptures. On an exterior wall hang copper plaques in 23 languages, bearing the words: “Let love blossom in every heart! Let our world be filled with compassion.” Hebrew among them. The quote comes from the Azerbaijani legend of Ali and Nino, the local Romeo and Juliet. Love, it seems, transcends language.

Above the city rises the Shirvanshah Palace, one of the masterpieces of medieval architecture, remarkably preserved. Inside are ancient vessels, garments, jewelry, manuscripts, and many swords. There were once more treasures, but the Soviets looted them for museums in St. Petersburg and Moscow. One hall displays a scale model of the Old City enclosed within its walls, a city remembering itself.

Many of Baku’s most intriguing buildings date to the early 20th century, during the oil boom that reshaped Azerbaijan. These structures form a ring around the Old City and include grand private mansions built by the first oil barons, blending Rococo, Baroque, and Moorish styles.

In the western part of the city stands the Bibi-Heybat Mosque. It turns out the Azerbaijanis, too, have a “Bibi.” Originally built in the 13th century, the mosque was destroyed by the Soviets during their war on religion, and rebuilt after the collapse of the USSR. I went out of my way to visit, I admit, by the name alone. Come at twilight, when the lighting lends the mosque an almost otherworldly beauty.

Another unforgettable tourist site is Yanar Dag, the “Burning Mountain”, about half an hour drive from Baku. Here, flames emerge directly from the earth, fed by methane gas that has burned continuously for centuries. Nearby stands an ancient Fire Temple, once a pilgrimage site connected to Hindu worship and Zoroastrianism.

Each autumn, Baku hosts Formula 1 races that make the city tremble. The race consists of 51 laps totaling 306 kilometers. Along the boulevard stretches a straight section more than two kilometers long, where cars reach astonishing speeds, sometimes exceeding 350 km/h. Part of the circuit snakes tightly around the Old City, narrow and unforgiving. Past and future, once again, framed together. If you find yourself in Baku in September, do not miss it.

The Jewish Points

Azerbaijan is a Shiite Muslim country with a deeply rooted culture of religious tolerance. I was told there is no issue walking the streets wearing a Kippah or visible Tzitzit. I chose not to stand out, though there is no real danger. Most ethnic Azerbaijanis live in Iran, whose leaders openly call for Israel’s destruction. Yet in Azerbaijan itself, affection for Israel is genuine, and in recent years, increasingly open.

Azerbaijan has a long-standing territorial conflict with Armenia over the enclave of Nagorno-Karabakh. Three wars were fought for control. Azerbaijan lost the first two, in 1990 and 2016, but emerged victorious in 2020, assisted by drones purchased from Israel. Nearly every Azerbaijani I met, mentioned this with pride and gratitude.

Another source of admiration is a national hero: Albert Agarunov, a Jewish tank commander who was killed in the first Karabakh war. A prominent memorial to him stands in Baku.

In Azerbaijan lives a Jewish community, small in number yet large in presence. About 25,000 Jews reside in the country today. A figure that does not shout, but most certainly speaks. In Baku alone, three synagogues are in operating: three Jewish hearts beating in different prayer rites, yet coursing with the same ancient blood.

The Mountain Jews’ Synagogue is perhaps the most impressive of them all, not only for its beauty but for its story. It began operating in 1945, during an era when religion was something to be concealed, not displayed. Then, as if history itself sought to make amends, President Ilham Aliyev ordered the old structure demolished and rebuilt. Since 2011, the synagogue has stood here as a declaration: an unapologetic Judaism. Prayers here are inthe Nusach Caucasian rite.

Inside, one enters a world of quiet grandeur. The furnishings are modern, almost meticulously refined, crafted from and coated in lacquer that reflects light like a cherished memory. Above the Torah ark are 2 Parochets, and above them rises a vast wooden arch, hand-carved by a master artisan. Like a ceremonial gateway between the everyday world and the realm of prayer.

The floor is covered with thick colorful Azerbaijani carpets, textiles that tell stories even without words. As a small gesture of respect, and to preserve them, prayers and visitors remove their shoes at the entrance and slip into fabric house slippers, neatly arranged in cabinets by the door.

Across the street lies a public garden where children run freely and elders sit quietly on benches. Beside the other end stands a single building housing two additional synagogues, one above the other. Layers of Jewish identity stacked within one structure.

On one floor operates the Sephardi–Georgian synagogue, led by Rabbi Zamir Isayev, a figure who embodies the bridge between Baku and Jerusalem. A native of the city, a graduate of Israeli yeshivot, a former IDF soldier, he is today a rabbi, educator, and paternal presence within the community. Rabbi Zamir also runs the local Jewish school, where about one hundred students study not only mathematics and English, but also Juhuri, the language of the Mountain Jews. In the synagogue itself, some thirty worshippers gather daily for morning Shacharit prayers in the Sephardi rite, using Yechaveh Da’at prayer books.

Rabbi Zamir speaks of customs unique to Azerbaijani Jewry. On Hanukkah, dreidels are fashioned from walnuts. On Passover, a giant round matzah, nearly a meter in diameter, is baked and hung on the wall of the Seder room, like an edible sun gazing down upon the table.

Beyond this, Rabbi Zamir also serves as a member of the rabbinical court, whose jurisdiction extends as far as Tbilisi. He notes that in Baku there are Muslims who seek conversion, studying Judaism in his synagogue. The conversion certificates issued by the court are recognized by Israel’s Chief Rabbinate. The same court also grants kosher certification to local food factories that export to Israel.

On the floor above stands the Ashkenazi synagogue. Its roots reaching back to the early twentieth century, during the boom-rush for black gold. Oil drew businesspeople from across Europe to Baku, including Jews from Poland and Lithuania, who arrived with capital, nostalgia, and their own prayer version. They built a synagogue in the Ashkenazi tradition, though today prayers follow the Ari rite.

In 2003, the building moved to its current home, one floor above the Sephardi synagogue. Perhaps not by chance, but as a symbol of historical layers.

Today it is led by the Chabad emissary, Rabbi Schneur Segal. On Shabbat, around seventy worshippers gather here, some of them Israelis. During the High Holidays, some four hundred people came to hear the sound of the shofar. A single call that crossed rites, identities, and passports.

“But this is not a religious community,” Rabbi Segal says with a trace of sorrow. “Most of Baku’s Jews do not observe Torah and mitzvot.” And yet, between holiday celebrations and cultural activities, between Hanukkah and Purim, the Chabad House continues to light a Jewish flame. Sometimes that is all that is needed. Not a majority, but continuity; not numbers, but the stubborn persistence of identity.

Three synagogues, three stories, and one community that continues to stand upright between the Caucasus and the Caspian Sea, with a quiet yet profound pride of belonging.

As my plane lifts off from Baku, the Flame Towers shrink into a small light on the horizon, like a Hanukkah candle on the eighth night. It feels as though the city is not truly saying goodbye, only nodding in farewell. Baku does not ask you to remember its streets, but a feeling. That past and future can coexist, that fire can warm without burning, and that Judaism can flourish far from Jerusalem, if only it is given space. And those who know how to listen will understand: this is not a transit stop. It is a station of the heart.

But Azerbaijan is not just Baku. Beyond the capital’s polished façades lies a land that resists haste, mountains that unfold slowly, villages that move at the tempo of centuries, roads that reward those willing to linger. My brief tour as a journalist allowed only a glance, a polite introduction rather than a genuine acquaintance. Since returning, a quiet restlessness remains: a desire to go back, to spend time in the country’s heart and along its western routes, where history and landscape speak in softer, deeper tones. Some journeys feel complete. This one, clearly, is only beginning.

The Red Village: the last shtetl in the world

יעקב מאור — Sat, 13 Dec 2025 20:10:35 +0000

The Red Village (Krasnaya Sloboda) is a must-visit destination for Jewish Travelers. It is the only place in the world outside Israel whose entire population is Jewish. That fact alone is enough to draw Israeli travelers here, but there is far more beyond it.

The Red Village lies in the heart of the Caucasus Mountains, about three and a half hours’ drive north of Baku. Longer than the flight from Israel to Azerbaijan itself. Even before the eye has time to process the view, the nose already understands: the scent of damp earth, old wood saturated with prayers, the thin smoke of winter stoves, and the distant sweetness of fermented feijoa fruit.

The Red Village is not merely a point on the map, but a state of matter in which time itself has solidified. A place where history was not put on display, but lived daily, at home, in the courtyard, in a whisper. It is the kind of place that leaves you pensive from the very first step: a small Jewish town, padded with history as thick as a handwoven Caucasian carpet, somehow managing to exist between a glorious past and a sparsely populated present.

A Story of Decline and Longing

In the 19th century, some 18,000 Jews lived here. A vibrant community rich in tradition. But the Soviet era slowly extinguished that spirit. Stalin exiled all the rabbis to Siberia and closed all the synagogues. And yet, unlike Jews in most parts of Russia who assimilated, the Jews of the Caucasus Mountains succeeded in preserving Judaism and Shabbat.

After the collapse of the Soviet Union in the 1990s, the exodus from the village began. Most emigrated to Israel; others went to Moscow in search of economic opportunity. The town was nearly emptied, and today the community numbers about 3,500 people. Mostly elderly, especially widows. Nearly every resident has family in Israel.

Between the empty houses, a luxurious villa sometimes appears, built by someone who succeeded in business in Moscow, but whose heart remained here among the red stones.

In the Red Village, there is a custom known as the “General Kaddish Day” on Tisha B’Av. On this day, sons and daughters return to the village to weep together over the destruction of the Temple, and to pray at the graves of their parents and relatives. It is a unique tradition. A kind of emotional bridge between a nearly vanished community and its descendants around the world.

Today the place looks like a deserted ghost town. From time to time, an old Lada car passes through the street. One hardly sees people outside. Only cats, and even they are in no hurry. Children are rarely seen, even though there are now two schools, a high school, a yeshiva, and even a Bnei Akiva youth movement branch. Many abandoned houses stand closed, neither rented nor sold to non-Jews. In a strange way, religious law preserved the Jewish uniqueness of the place.

During Soviet times, the area was called “Yevreyskaya Sloboda,” the Jewish settlement. The name “Red Village” stuck because many of the first houses were built from red brick quarried from the surrounding mountains. Even those that later received plaster were repainted red. In every home one can find a small patio, an inner courtyard originally intended for building a kosher sukkah.

The Legend That Began on the Riverbank

There is a local legend about the founding of the village. On one Shabbat in 1734, the Persian army under the command of Nader Shah invaded another town in the region. The Persian soldiers also burst into the synagogue while the Jews were praying Shacharit. Rabbi Reuven ben Shmuel rose from his place and stepped toward the soldiers. The general raised his sword to strike the rabbi. Instinctively, to protect himself, the rabbi thrust forward the prayer book he was holding. Miraculously, the sword broke, and the prayer book was partially cut, but the rabbi was unharmed. The Muslim general saw this as a sign from Heaven. He said to the rabbi, “If your religion protects you so powerfully, I have nothing to do here.”

The original “slashed siddur” is now displayed in the local Jewish museum.

The attack was halted, and the Persian soldiers prepared to withdraw from the village. The general asked the rabbi what his request might be. The rabbi replied that the community wanted a more spacious place to live. The general granted him land on the southern bank of the Gudyalchai River, which became known as “the Caucasian Jordan.” Rabbi Reuven and his community settled there. About 30 years later, the ruler of Quba, Fath Ali Khan, invited more Jews to settle in that area.

The community expanded, and in the 18th and 19th centuries, it already included nine neighborhoods (“makhlot”), each named after the hometown of its residents. Every neighborhood had a synagogue, a mikveh, and communal institutions. The Jewish village expanded and became the spiritual and material center for all Jews of the Caucasus. It had yeshivot and a central rabbinical Beyt Din (Jewish court), earning it the title “Jerusalem of the Caucasus.”

The villagers engaged in trade, tobacco cultivation, and wine production. The local Muslims, who do not drink wine, allowed the Jews to develop the industry almost exclusively. The women of the village specialized in carpet weaving.

Last year, celebrations marking the 290th anniversary of the town were held in Tel Aviv, attended by Azerbaijan’s ambassador to Israel, Mukhtar Mammadov, and the head of the Azerbaijani Tourism Office in Israel, Jamila Talibzadeh.

Deep History: From the Tribe of Ephraim to the Quzars

How did the Jews arrive here?

Some researchers claim they are descendants of the Tribe of Ephraim, exiled from the Land of Israel to Persia at the destruction of the First Temple, and from there migrated here.

Another theory links them to the Qazar Kingdom. The Qazar empire ruled this region between 650 and 969 CE. The Jews of the region came to be known as “Mountain Jews,” because in the past they lived near Mount Shahdag, one of the peaks of the Greater Caucasus range, located about a half-hour’s drive from the Red Village. The mountain was the heart of the Quzar Kingdom. The city of Qusar is still located near the mountain.

We all studied the book The Kuzari, written by Rabbi Judah Halevi, which describes conversations between Rabbi Hisdai ibn Shaprut and the King of the Quzars, culminating in the king’s conversion to Judaism in 740 CE. He then ordered all his people to convert to Judaism. After several generations, another king came to power in Quzar who Islamized all the inhabitants. His control over the empire’s periphery was weak, and pockets of Jewish resistance refused to convert to Islam. The Jews of the Red Village are descendants of those Jews.

The Mountain Jews are called “Juhuro,” and they speak the Juhuri language. A Jewish dialect of Persian, just as Yiddish is a dialect of German and Ladino is a dialect of Spanish.

Thirteen Synagogues, Two Still Active

In the past, 13 synagogues operated in the Red Village. Today, only two are active. The others have become public buildings, schools, museums, all still marked with marble plaques in Hebrew on their entrance walls.

The Gilaki Synagogue was built in 1896 and has operated continuously ever since. It was never closed, not even during the Soviet period. The synagogue has 12 windows, symbolizing the 12 tribes of Israel. On the roof stands a low hexagonal tower, topped by a flat dome crowned with a Star of David. Inside the tower, whose walls are transparent, stands a seven-branched menorah.

Inside, the Torah-reading bimah stands beneath the raised dome. The furnishings are extremely ornate, with magnificent wood carvings above the ark, around the windows, and on the ceiling, truly awe-inspiring. Among the young people of the town who moved to Moscow are three who became wealthy oligarchs, yet did not forget their roots. They invested in the splendor of the active synagogues and other public institutions in the town where they grew up.

After the initial admiration of the woodcarvings and grandeur, I feel a certain absence. I do not see a women’s section.

I ask the Gabay (synagogue caretaker), Pesach ben David Isakov, “I see prayer books of Yahaveh Da’at, but are you affiliated with the Conservative movement?”

“No! Heaven forbid,” he replies.

“Then where is your women’s section? From here it looks as though women sit and pray together with the men.”

“No,” the caretaker replies. “Juhuri women do not come to the synagogue. Only on Yom Kippur and rare occasions do they come and stand in the courtyard outside, listening to the cantor through the windows.”

On the inner wall near the entrance we see an open cabinet with shelves holding woolen slippers. The local custom is to remove shoes upon entering. The caretaker explains that this is out of respect for the sacred place, similar to the Muslim custom when entering mosques. One of the worshippers tells me it is also to protect the expensive carpets (about 10,000 shekels each) that cover the floor.

The caretaker says that about 30 people pray in this synagogue daily, and on holidays it is full.

This synagogue was designed by the Jewish architect Hillel ben Chaim, whose name appears on other synagogues and public buildings he designed in the Red Village.

The “Six Domes” Synagogue

A few minutes’ walk brings us to the impressive architecture of the large “Six Domes” synagogue. Six domes stand on its roof, arranged so that the lines between them form the shape of a Star of David.

During the Soviet era, the building served as a warehouse. In the early 2000s it was returned to the community. Here too, the furnishings and the design of the Holy Ark are breathtaking in their splendor. There are two adjacent Holy Arks, commemorating the two Tablets of the Covenant.

A special prayer rite, “the Caucasian nusach,” is used here. Today, prayers are held here only during the warm seasons, as there is no budget to heat the large prayer hall.

The caretaker, Pesach ben David Isakov, says the synagogue has 120 seats, and during the High Holidays it is completely full, with worshippers even sitting on the floor in the aisles. A scene reminiscent of other times. Here too, there is no women’s section.

The Jewish Museum

In the Karchag Synagogue, a charming museum of Caucasian Jewry has been established. It has not yet officially opened, but we are allowed to visit nonetheless. The building had been abandoned and on the verge of collapse. It was carefully dismantled and rebuilt using the original stones. The renovation preserved the sanctified atmosphere, with traditional elements such as the bimah and Holy Ark, while adapting it into a museum.

In the entrance hall there are benches like those in a synagogue, with computer screens on the back of the seat in front of you, like airplane seats. Visitors can browse the digital information that interests them. The explanations on the screens and the wall signage are in Azerbaijani, Russian, and English. Why not in Hebrew too?

This museum is a living testament to the community’s heritage and a must-see destination, even though it has not yet officially opened. The museum was completed in 2019, but its inauguration ceremony was postponed due to the Covid19 pandemic and recently postponed again because of the war in Gaza.

Among the exhibits are traditional garments, ritual objects, jewelry, manuscripts, and sacred items through which Judaism is presented. I also saw a fascinating exhibit there- a pair of tiny tefillin, only about a centimeter and a half wide, resembling dice. The guide, Elnara Gadashova, explains that during the Soviet period, Jews laid tefillin in secret and had to hide them under a hat or inside a shirt sleeve. Therefore, in Russia at that time, tefillin cases were produced in such small sizes.

One of the most interesting documents on display is a handwritten letter describing the Jews’ migration to the Caucasus, comparing it to the story of the Exodus from Egypt. How their ancestors fled Persia, wandered through deserts, crossed rivers and mountains, until they reached “the land of mountains that touch the sky, where they built the House of God,” in a neighborhood called Gilaki, named after their hometown in Persia.

In the Red Village, a local newspaper called Birlik-Yedinstvo (Unity) is published in Russian and Azerbaijani. The Jewish museum also displays copies of the newspaper in the Azerbaijani language printed in Hebrew letters. The Red Village also had a Jewish theater and singing ensembles.

A source of local pride is a massive carpet covering 70 square meters, woven in 1949 in honor of Stalin’s 70th birthday. A group of 70 people worked day and night, weaving 90,000 knots a day. After eight months, the carpet was completed, featuring a four-meter-tall portrait of Stalin at its center.

The exhibition also includes photographs of famous Jews from the Red Village. Among them, we found a photo of Israeli singer Yaffa Yarkoni, whose origins are from the village, and of Major General Yekutiel Adam, whose parents were born here, and who was killed in the Lebanon War just a few meters in front of me.

A place of honor is dedicated to Azerbaijan’s national hero, Albert Agarunov, who grew up in the Red Village. During the Nagorno-Karabakh War in 1992, he was a revered tank commander. The Armenians attempted to assassinate him unsuccessfully. Once, they placed the bodies of dead soldiers on the road along which Agarunov was driving, knowing that as a religious Jew, he would respect the dead and not run over the bodies. Indeed, Agarunov stopped the tank and descended to move the bodies, at which point an Armenian sniper shot and killed him.

The museum director is Igor Shaulov, and the chief guide is his deputy, Elnara Gadashova, who also speaks Hebrew.

The Mountain Jews did not suffer during the Holocaust, because the Germans declared that they were not Jews but part of the “Caucasian-speaking peoples.”

Walking Tour

When leaving the museum and a light breeze passes between the red bricks, we can notice Stars of David above the doors of many houses.

Some buildings that once served as synagogues still bear marble plaques with Hebrew inscriptions mentioning donors or the synagogue’s name.

For example, the green building that now serves as a pharmacy was once a synagogue.

Another interesting building on our walking tour is the maternity house, notable for its green color. The building was originally the private home of a wealthy, childless couple. After the husband was widowed, he no longer wished to live in a house filled with memories of his beloved wife. He renovated his home to serve as a maternity house. The exterior wall of the façade was designed in the Art Nouveau style, with supporting columns (caryatids) in the image of his wife, and above the windows mascaron sculptures of children’s and babies’ faces as decorative elements.

At the edge of the Red Village, over the Gudyalchai River, stretches the Arch Bridge. An engineering project of Tsar Alexander III that withstood floods. Today it is open only to pedestrians and closed to vehicles for fear of collapse. The bridge is also called the Bridge of Love, because on spring Saturdays and during the Nowruz holiday, the community observed their version of Tu B’Av there.

Jewish families would go on picnics along the riverbank near the bridge, and unmarried young women seeking a match would walk back and forth across the bridge in a kind of fashion parade. Young men would stand beside or beneath the bridge to watch the procession, and if a young woman caught a young man’s eye, his parents would contact her parents to arrange a marriage. Apparently, this matchmaking method worked, because the town’s wedding hall was built at the beginning of the bridge. Above its entrance we see a Star of David and an inscription in Russian. The last wedding held here took place last summer.

Zionism Emerges from the Caucasus

The Red Village had vibrant Zionist activity. Caucasian representatives from the region participated in the First Zionist Congress in Basel in 1897 and in subsequent congresses. In addition, Zionist congresses exclusively for Caucasian Jews were held, with delegates from the Red Village as well.

Their Zionism was not merely talk and debate, it was practical. The first wave of Aliyah from here to Israel occurred at the end of the 19th century. The Chief Rabbi of the Caucasus, Yaakov Yitzhak Yitzhaki, immigrated to the Land of Israel with hundreds of his community members, settling in Jerusalem’s Bukharan neighborhood. Later, Rabbi Yaakov purchased a large tract of land adjacent to Ness Ziona and established the settlement of Be’er Yaakov, named after him, which became a big city

Another wave of Aliyah occurred in the mid-1970s, when 12,000 Mountain Jews immigrated to Israel. With the collapse of the Soviet Union in the early 1990s, most of the residents of the Red Village made Aliyah.

The Jewish Cemetery

At the top of the hill lies the ancient cemetery. The earliest tombstone dates back to 1756. Most of the gravestones are made of black marble, engraved with portraits of the deceased. A unique tradition that adds a personal dimension. There are also family burial plots enclosed in marble, containing only a few graves.

It is also worth visiting the grave of Rabbi Gershon, who was the Chief Rabbi of Caucasian from 1853. Rabbi Gershon established the only Rabbinical Jewish Court in the entire Caucasus Mountains, and under his leadership, the town earned the title “Jerusalem of the Caucasus.” His grave was renovated in 2013.

In towns such as Oghuz and other villages in the north, there are additional Jewish heritage sites. I have not yet had the privilege of seeing them, but if you have already come this far, it is worthwhile to continue and discover more chapters of Jewish history that remain mysterious and hidden.

Between the red bricks, the flowing rivers, and the ancient gravestones, the Red Village remains a living testimony to a Jewish spirit that did not surrender, as if crying out “Am Israel Chay" (The People of Israel Live). It is a place where history touches the present, and faith, even as nearly the entire world has changed, continues to flow through generations and memories, like the mountains surrounding the village, touching the sky.

Thailand National Day Reception in Tel Aviv

יעקב מאור — Fri, 05 Dec 2025 10:04:36 +0000

Thailand celebrated its National Day and the birthday of King Rama IX with a distinguished reception hosted last night by the Thai Embassy in Tel Aviv. The ceremony was led by Imri Kalmann of TeraNova, the Israeli representative of the Tourism Authority of Thailand (TAT).

Ambassador Boonyarit Vichienpuntu opened the evening with heartfelt tributes to King Bhumibol Adulyadej, highlighting several of the thousands of development initiatives across Thailand inspired by the late monarch’s vision. He noted that part of the King’s legacy was the agricultural partnership forged between Thailand and Israel in 1955.

“The moshav model was the first official and practical cooperation between our two nations,” the ambassador said. “Thousands of young Thais have taken part in MASHAV internship programs in Israel. Today, 60,000 Thai nationals work in Israel, including 45,000 in agriculture.” He added that the number has nearly doubled since the events of October 7.

Diplomatic relations between Thailand and Israel were established 72 years ago, and the ambassador described the partnership as one that continues to flourish with “tremendous potential.” The embassy, he said, remains committed to strengthening cultural and humanitarian ties. Recent efforts include donating works by King Rama to the National Library of Israel and supplying specialized equipment for blind children at Jerusalem’s Keren Or center.

Ambassador Vichienpuntu spoke with deep sorrow about the 46 Thai workers murdered here by Muslim terrorists on October 7 and the 31 nationals taken hostage to Gaza. He noted that just yesterday, the remains of the last victim, Suttisak Rintalak, were returned to Thailand. Extending condolences to the family, he expressed hope that “the return of the last Thai hostage will mark a turning point that allows Thailand and Israel to move forward together beyond the tragedy of October 7 and refocus on cooperation in science and innovation.”

He also revealed a lesser known historical connection between the Thai and Jewish peoples even before the state of Israel was born: during the Holocaust, the Siamese consul in Marseille issued hundreds of visas to Jews fleeing persecution.

Tourism remains a central pillar of bilateral relations. “This year we expect 400,000 visitors from Israel. An increase of more than 40% compared to last year,” he said. Industry insiders note that much of this success is due to the work of Mr. Dov Kalman and TeraNova, whose influence on Israeli outbound tourism to Thailand is widely recognized.

The ambassador concluded his remarks with a festive toast in Hebrew: “Toda raba! Le’chaim! Ein kmo Thailand!” (There’s nothing like Thailand).

During his economic overview, the ambassador noted that bilateral trade exceeded $1.33 billion last year. He reaffirmed Thailand’s commitment to helping Thai food producers enter the Israeli kosher market. An intention warmly received.
Still, one detail cast a slight shadow over an otherwise elegant and well-organized event: the food served at the reception was not kosher. This oversight was perceived by some Jewish guests as an unfortunate lapse in sensitivity, albeit likely unintentional. Previous Thai ambassadors, like many diplomats in Israel, have traditionally ensured the serving of kosher refreshments to accommodate all attendees.

24 Hours in Abu Dhabi

יעקב מאור — Wed, 03 Dec 2025 16:56:40 +0000

Between desert sunlight and marble lanterns, between ancient whispers and towers of steel

Etihad Airways invites its passengers to discover Abu Dhabi through its Stopover program. An elegant way to turn a long connection into a short, meaningful adventure. The program offers comfortable accommodation, access to major sites, and generous discounts that make even a brief stay feel like a well-planned detour. Many Israelis fly to the Far East with Etihad, but only a handful pause long enough to taste the city beyond the terminal. I decided, for once, to give it a try.

Flights from Israel land in Abu Dhabi toward evening. The moment the terminal doors slid open, the desert heat wrapped around me, not aggressively, but like a warm blanket that has been soaking in sunlight all afternoon. The air carried a faint sweetness of frankincense, mixed playfully with curry drifting from a nearby food stall, as if the city wanted to whisper: Welcome to the East. The sinking sun splashed its last, fiery brushstroke across the glass façades of the skyscrapers, making them shimmer like molten gold.

Abu Dhabi, at first sight, feels like an impossible dialogue between One Thousand and One Nights and a futuristic screenplay. But beneath the shine there is a softness, a rhythm that pulls you in. Asking you to breathe slower, listen deeper, and sense the story unfolding behind its immaculate façade.

Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque

No journey here can truly begin without the Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque. Even travelers who have seen their fair share of monumental religious sites tend to fall silent before its vast, otherworldly presence. The courtyard sweep of white marble seems perpetually polished by invisible hands. Incense drifts across the air in gentle spirals. Local guides, with voices as calm as the architecture around them, explain the symbolism of every arch, every floral mosaic, every carved column.

I sat for a moment on a cool stone bench. It was astonishing how quickly the city’s tempo dissolved. Time here is not measured in minutes but in heartbeats. And in those heartbeats, awe settles in.

Louvre Abu Dhabi

Designed by Jean Nouvel, Louvre Abu Dhabi is a museum one feels long before one begins admiring the art. Its vast dome filters sunlight into a lacework of shifting patterns, like walking inside a celestial net that keeps both shadow and light in perfect balance.

Inside, civilizations meet across centuries. European masterpieces converse with Islamic calligraphy; ancient statues face contemporary canvases. As I wandered from gallery to gallery, I realized the Louvre here is not an echo of the French original. It is its own philosophical statement: that cultures do not need to collide. They can illuminate each other.

Ferrari World

After so much grace and contemplation, Ferrari World was like switching from a whisper to a roar. Yas Island’s temple of speed delivers exactly what it promises- velocity, adrenaline, and a sea of red. Children’s laughter mixes with simulated engine growls. Machines that once tried to outrun the limits of physics now attempt to outrun boredom.

Impressive as it is, the place felt mismatched to me. Perfect for families and car enthusiasts; less so for the traveler in search of meaning. I quietly wished those two hours back.

The Abrahamic Family House

I saved for last the site that had captured my imagination even before landing, though, ironically, I never managed to reach it.

For months, media buzzed with excitement over the Abrahamic Family House: a rare interfaith complex housing a mosque named for Sheikh Ahmed El-Tayeb, a Christian church, and the Moses Ben Maimon Synagogue, complete with ark, mikveh, and study hall. A place where stone and spirit meet, each faith facing its sacred direction: Mecca, the East, Jerusalem.

One of my main reasons for stopping in Abu Dhabi was the idea of praying in a synagogue named after Maimonides, on Arab desert soil. That thought alone was enough to make any Jewish traveler’s heart do a small, hopeful leap.

But reality added its own plot twist. Maps, taxi drivers, hotel staff, no one seemed to know where it was. The project that had been advertised in Israel as a beacon of global harmony had, for me, become invisible.

When I asked the UAE Embassy’s public relations officer, he assured me nothing was hidden. If I missed it, the fault was entirely my own. Perhaps so. Or perhaps this, too, is part of Abu Dhabi’s lesson: the gap between vision and everyday reality. Between the poetry of politics and the prose of navigation apps.

A Kosher Culinary Pause

Abu Dhabi is not just architecture and ideology. It is taste as well. And yes, even kosher taste.

Sababa, the city’s glatt kosher restaurant, offers Middle Eastern and international dishes with comforting familiarity. The aroma of grilled fish, chickpeas, and Eastern spices fills the room. The plates arrive colorful and generous. Even the serving dishes seem designed to keep the traveler a little longer at the table. Each bite tells a story of home, of diaspora, of culinary imagination. (Orders can be placed conveniently via Hebrew WhatsApp: +971-50-438-3770 or Israeli WhatsApp 054-7690318).

Art, Light, and Quiet Shores

In the city’s cultural centers, exhibitions from East and West speak a shared visual language. Sculptures, reliefs, and canvases echo the region’s layered past. Walking among them, I felt the quiet dialogue between ancient memories and modern ambition.

Later, on an artificial island just off the coast, the day exhaled into stillness. Seabirds glided low over the Gulf. The sunset dissolved into shades of apricot, violet, and rose. In that silence, Abu Dhabi revealed its true identity. A place where tradition and innovation rest side by side, each giving the other room to breathe.

Journey’s End

A visit to Abu Dhabi 24 hours becomes a journey that blends the sensory with the spiritual. The city is a lesson in coexistence: where a white mosque stands next to a global museum, and where a synagogue can exist within an interfaith vision, even if difficult to locate on a map.

As the sun melted into the Gulf, I thought of Abraham setting out for an unknown land, trusting only a whisper of faith. Abu Dhabi, too, is a place of unexpected encounters. A meeting of cultures, ideas, and beliefs. A reminder that maps show borders, but travelers discover connections.

When my plane took off from Abu Dhabi, the city receded into a shimmer of light. But something lingered. A quiet that felt earned. The quiet of someone who stopped, briefly, between flights, and found a small piece of humanity to carry onward.

Panama’s National Day Celebration That Surprised Everyone

יעקב מאור — Mon, 01 Dec 2025 05:44:55 +0000

Panama celebrated its National Day in Jerusalem as well, with a grand and impressive event. This was no minimalist diplomatic cocktail typical of a foreign embassy, but rather a vibrant display of color, culture, and national pride. More reminiscent of the U.S. Embassy’s Fourth of July festivities or France’s Bastille Day than of a small Central American nation. Hundreds of guests from Israel’s business community and diplomatic corps filled the hall, joined by a particularly moving group: Panamanian doctors who arrived in Israel after the October 7 massacre to help treat the wounded and stayed. For many attendees, they were the heroes of the evening.

In fact, Panama celebrates two independence days. The first, on November 3, marks Panama’s separation from Colombia in 1903. The second, on November 28, commemorates its independence from Spain. The latter was the occasion marked in Jerusalem last week.

Ambassador Ezra Cohen, a religious Jew with rich and precise Hebrew, opened the ceremony with a speech that blended poetic flair with pitch-perfect diplomatic tone. “Panama was born with a mission to connect the world,” he declared. “We connect oceans, trade, cultures, and people. And today, we are committed to connecting Israel with Latin America, and Latin America with Israel.” He recalled Panama’s historic support for the establishment of the State of Israel back in 1947 and stated that relations between the countries are “bonds of values, bonds of the heart.”

That emotional bond gained another layer when the ambassador highlighted the remarkable contribution of the Jewish community in Panama for more than 150 years. Entrepreneurs, educators, leaders in finance and commerce. They strengthened Panama and have always stood by Israel with love and loyalty.” Quiet nods were visible in the crowd; many are familiar with the strength of the Jewish community in this warm, small nation and the deep connection it maintains with Israel.

Representing the State of Israel was Minister of Innovation, Science and Technology, Gila Gamliel. It is rare for a country the size of Panama to receive representation at the level of a sitting minister, another clear message that the relationship is important to both sides. Gamliel noted Panama’s consistent support for Israel, from the historic vote on November 29, 1947, to the present day, and emphasized the deep friendship between the nations.

One of the evening’s main points of interest was, surprisingly, the water bottle. It was not a commercial sponsorship but a tangible glimpse into technological cooperation between the countries. Guests drank water produced from the air by 'Watergem', a company that extracts potable water from humidity. This fascinating technology is especially relevant in an era when climate change is shrinking global water resources. The company, owned by businessman Michael Mirilashvili, set up a display at the entrance with a household device model. Curious guests received explanations from Mr. Jeremy Diamond, and the booth stood out like a small island of Israeli innovation within an evening filled with Latin fragrances.

The celebration exuded confidence: Panama is looking forward, not only back. And the future, judging by the ambassador’s remarks, appears promising. A direct flight between Panama and Israel is being negotiated. A move that would shorten distances and deepen cultural ties. Cooperation in water management, agriculture, public health, and technology is already underway. Discussions include scholarships, training programs, and even joint water-management projects, an area where Israel excels and Panama shows significant interest. Ambassador Cohen also mentioned the development of bilateral tourism. Several months ago, senior Panamanian tourism officials visited Israel, floated ideas and promises for boosting tourism, but concrete action has yet to be seen.

Relations between the countries are not new. Since the 1950s, a steady friendship has flourished, including official visits by Israeli leaders such as Golda Meir and Moshe Sharett. Both nations have honored each other in the public sphere: a street named after Panama in Jerusalem, and streets named after Israel in Panama City and Chitré. Panama also stands out as the only Central American country that does not recognize a Palestinian state, another expression of its support for Israel in sensitive times.

Amid all this, the Jerusalem event was more than a national celebration of a distant country across the ocean. It was a reminder of a warm, human bond between two small nations. One bustling with canals, the other bustling with ideas. An evening where one could taste tricolor cookies, shake hands with doctors who have become part of the Israeli landscape, listen to an ambassador who speaks Hebrew like us, and imagine a future in which oceans, cultures, and continents draw a little closer.

Ambassador Cohen closed his speech with a blessing: “May Panama continue to rise. May Israel continue to thrive. And may our partnership grow stronger every year.” On that evening, in Jerusalem, it felt as though that blessing was already beginning to come true.

A Fresh Aroma in Israel–Guatemala Relations

יעקב מאור — Thu, 27 Nov 2025 10:34:28 +0000

The Benjamin Hotel in Herzliya awoke yesterday to the scent of freshly brewed coffee. The Embassy of Guatemala in Israel chose this venue to launch its “Sunrise of Guatemala” event. A festive reception dedicated to the most sacred product in the homeland of the Maya: coffee. Dozens of businesspeople engaged in trade with Guatemala, members of the diplomatic corps, and journalists attended the event.

The Hebrew meaning of the name “Guatemala” is “place of many trees,” and in this case, most of them are coffee trees. Anyone familiar with the world of coffee knows that Guatemala holds a place of honor. It is a small country with a big personality, producing some of the finest coffee varieties on the planet. No less.

Ambassador Ava Atzum Arévalo de Moscoso opened the event with welcoming remarks: “Our goal,” she said, “is to deepen the economic and business ties between Israel and Guatemala. We are a small country, but rich in landscapes, diverse climates, and volcanic soil. All of these create coffee that is appreciated around the world.”

Throughout the event, guests were introduced to eight coffee-growing regions, representing a selection of the 18 varieties cultivated in the country. Every cup offered a miniature geographical journey: from the volcanic soils of Acatenango, through the colonial streets of Antigua, to the villages surrounding Lake Atitlán.

A barista station was set up in the lobby, serving all the different types of coffee. Guatemalan coffee enjoys a strong international reputation and has earned numerous awards in global competitions such as the Cup of Excellence. Many of the world’s leading baristas prefer Guatemalan beans. Coffee that has effectively become one of the national symbols of Guatemala. After the informational segment, the ambassador invited guests not only to taste but also to begin importing. “We want to see Guatemalan coffee in cafés and shops across Israel,” she said.

Standing beside her was the embassy’s economic attaché, Ritha Chech, who reminded the audience that in 2022 the two countries signed a trade agreement (TLC), but its implementation was suspended following the war that broke out on October 7. Now, Guatemala hopes to activate the agreement’s commercial advantages.

The economic attaché added that Guatemala imports agricultural technology from Israel. Israeli experts operate an agricultural farm in Guatemala that also trains local farmers. Chech revealed: “There are 27 lone soldiers from Guatemala serving in the IDF, so we kept a low profile. Now we can resume economic and tourism activity, and we want to bring tourists from Israel.”

Guatemala: The Hidden Gem Israelis Rarely Know

Despite the warm friendship between the two countries, Guatemala remains almost absent from Israelis’ travel maps. A pity, because those who do visit discover a country that feels like a journey back in time. Only a handful of Israelis know how colorful and emotionally stirring Guatemala truly is. It is a place where ancient Maya heritage meets dramatic volcanic landscapes, vibrant markets, and postcard-like villages.

In Guatemala City itself stands “Israel Square,” featuring a massive three-story-high sculpture of a Star of David. A touching tribute to the bond between the nations. From there, it is a short step to the heart of Guatemalan culture.

Beyond Guatemala City and its museums, Antigua Guatemala is widely regarded as the most beautiful colonial city in Central America, as if plucked from an old travel chronicle. Colorful stone houses, cobblestone streets, timeless churches, and a volcano towering above like a guardian. It is the starting point for most travelers, and rightly so.

Tikal, one of the largest and most spectacular Maya archaeological sites in the world, lies deep inside a lush rainforest. Towering pyramids rise from the jungle. A silent testament to one of history’s greatest civilizations. Howler monkeys echo in the distance, and the air feels ancient, as if the story unfolding here has been going on for 1,500 years. There is no other place like it.

Lake Atitlán, framed by three volcanoes and lined with traditional Maya villages, offers a completely different rhythm of life: slower, gentler, deeply soulful.

And these are only a few of the many attractions.

The embassy team hopes to make all this beauty more accessible to Israeli travelers. We will continue following and reporting on their tourism initiatives.

Mrs. Ritha Chech revealed they aim to promote direct flights between Israel and Guatemala. It is not yet clear whether discussions are underway with Guatemala’s national carrier Avianca or with Israeli airlines, but the desire is strong. The La Aurora International Airport in Guatemala City serves as a major hub in Central America and could become a convenient gateway for the many Israelis traveling throughout South America.

The Jewish Community in Guatemala

Guatemala City is home to a small Jewish community of fewer than a thousand people. The Jewish community offers a kosher mini-market, two kosher restaurants (at the Chabad House and in the community’s new building), and two synagogues. The Ashkenazi Shaarei Binyamin and the Sephardi Magen David.

Guatemala was among the 33 countries that voted in favor of Israel at the UN 'Partition Plan' in 1947, and full diplomatic relations were established with Israel from the moment our state was founded. In 2018, Guatemalan President Jimmy Morales ordered the relocation of his country’s embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, and personally led the delegation to inaugurate the new embassy.

“Sunrise of Guatemala” was not merely a coffee celebration. It was a statement: Guatemala seeks a closer relationship with Israel, in business, tourism, and culture.

A Golden Synagogue in the Heart of Taipei

יעקב מאור — Mon, 18 Aug 2025 18:19:00 +0000

Taipei is a city of contradictions: glass towers that vanish into clouds, temples perfumed with incense, and night markets steaming with dumplings and grilled squid. Yet, amid this Far Eastern bustle stands one of the world’s most unexpected jewels—a golden synagogue that feels at once ancient and startlingly new.

Currently, only a handful of orthodox Israelis have ventured to Taiwan on their own, while organized religious groups have avoided it altogether. The main deterrent has been the widespread belief that kosher food simply doesn’t exist there. But Taipei has quietly changed that reality, offering reliable kosher options. Once Israeli tour operators will recognize this, it’s only a matter of time before group trips begin appearing on their itineraries.

The Jeffrey D. Schwartz Jewish Community Center built from the funds of the Jeffrey D. Schwartz & NaTang Jewish Taiwan Cultural Exchange Association (JTCA) in an award winning 2000 SQM building in the heart of Taipei the capital of Taiwan, includes a magnificent synagogue, a kosher restaurant, a large and elegant dining hall, a mikveh, and a kindergarten. The Chabad House also operates the religious part of the Jewish Community Center, under the leadership of Rabbi Shlomi Tabib.

According to the JTCA fancy brochure, its front view looks like suggests something between the Taj Mahal and Like a dazzling white tallit wrapping the entrance door. The facade is adorned with a golden Star of David, one encasing the word Chai, beneath it the inscription: JEFFREY D. SCHWARTZ JEWISH COMMUNITY CENTER, beneath which sits a golden menorah. On the left-hand side of the entrance, there is a Chinese inscription I could not read. The wall behind is made of Jerusalem stones bricks.

A mosaic star of David glitters on the entrance floor, as if you are stepping directly into a constellation.

Step inside, and you are carried to Europe—or, more precisely, to the spirit of Europe’s great synagogues. The ark doors are carved wood, without a Parochet. The Bimah gilded.

Above, the ceiling curves like a wave of gold—whether painted or simply lit to brilliance, it seems to shimmer with prayers already whispered.

The women’s section is separated by polished wood of the same design. Above the women’s section is a vaulted ceiling, on whose beams hang large golden letters from the Chanukka dreidel: Nun, Gimel, Hei, Shin.

Every Shabbat, the synagogue fills with 50 to 70 worshippers: half locals, half visitors. On Passover and the High Holidays of Rosh HaShanna and Yom Kipur, as many as 300 voices rise together, their prayers threading upward into Taipei’s humid sky.

But this complex is more than a place of worship. It is a world of its own. There is a gourmet kosher kitchen, a ballroom-like dining hall that hosts weddings, bar mitzvahs, and community celebrations, under chandeliers shaped like Stars of David. The carpets are blue and thick with Stars of David. The windows shaped like an arch ending in a pointed tip in the Ottoman style. Every Shabbat free kiddush meals are served.

Even non-Jewish organizations rent the hall for events, savoring kosher meals while learning that these dietary laws, as Jeffrey explains, “It is a blessing to eat kosher food came from God.”

Israeli’s backpackers after army service, sometimes wander in, weary and hungry after Southeast Asian detours. For them, the JCC offers simple buffets at modest prices.

At the Jewish Center complex, there is also a Chabad House, managed by Rabbi Shlomi Tabib.

And then there is the museum. Jeffry Schwartz and his wife NaTang, the couple behind it all, is a collector of Judaica, and his treasures give the walls a soul. Every wall is decorated with ancient Jewish manuscripts, a glass cabinet containing Sephardic Torah scrolls, one of them a 600-year-old from Tunisia, a menorah, portraits of Jewish Nobel laureates.

A magnificent Iranian Chair of Elijah, inlaid with gemstones, waits patiently for each new Brit Milah ceremony.

Taiwanese schoolchildren come here to learn about Judaism, their eyes tracing Hebrew letters like unfamiliar constellations.

On the rooftop they have a beautiful terrace, music and laughter spill into the night. There they're installing the Chupa on weddings.

The mikveh is another wonder: railings and ceilings covered in gold, befitting a palace more than a ritual bath.

The story of this place, however, is inseparable from the story of Jeffry Schwartz himself. Born 74 years ago in Cleveland, he studied Chinese in Ohio State University and moved to Taiwan in 1972 because China was closed to foreigners. Over the decades, he built a business empire in exports, real estate, and finance. And then, in his seventies, he built this center, at a cost of $20 million, entirely from his own pocket.

“I've been in Taiwan for so long" he says. "Taiwan has been very good to us over all these years. I wanted to do something for Taiwan. My wife said to me I've been in business and raised my family. Now you're older, you should do something for Taiwan. I first replied: I already pay so many taxes. But I thought about it. What can I do that's different from any of the Chinese people?. So I decided to build a Jewish center".

I asked why a small community of 2,000 Jews needs such a large complex?

"This building was way too big for the Jewish community. It started as a small project. Then Hashem kept telling me, bigger, better, bigger, better. It’s not about how big you are, but how strong you are".
He did not just build a center. He rediscovered his Judaism in the process. Once a Conservative Jew who had drifted away. “My mother used to call and remind me when it was Yom Kippur,” he admits. Today, he now wraps tefillin daily, and wearing a black kippah. Last week he even purchased a home in Jerusalem.

"There's nothing more important than staying connected to Hashem, especially as we get older. When you're younger, you have plenty of time to make mistakes. When you're older, you don't have time for mistakes."

The synagogue is Orthodox—a choice that stirred criticism from his Reform friends. “They said: You're not Orthodox. Why are you making it Orthodox, Jeffrey? Our wives can’t sit with us in services. You should be taking care of us".

"I told them: Even when we go out for a beer, your wives don’t sit with us. Why should it be different in synagogue?"

But now, over time, all levels of observance are still different of the diversified local Jewish Community, but our spirits are in harmony as Jews living in a foreign country. We welcome everyone to join in whatever aspect of the JCC that resonates to you.

Yet what Jeffrey has created is bigger than denominations. It is a meeting point, not just for Jews but for Taiwanese society at large. He founded the 'Jerusalem–Taipei Fund' with Mayor Moshe Leon, hosts Israeli politicians, and supports the 'Jerusalem Prayer Breakfast'. Soon, even AIPAC donors will cross the Pacific to stand beneath this golden roof.

Taiwan, Jeffry insists, is the least antisemitic country in the world. Just five minutes away from the JCC, a mosque serves some 700,000 Muslims, mostly Indonesian caregivers and construction workers. “They’re not extremists”, he says. Taiwan presents a compelling travel destination for Israelis, particularly now, as a dark cloud of antisemitism is settling over Europe, making it an increasingly unwelcoming destination for Israeli tourists.

From its glossy brochures and his own storytelling, the center seems almost mythical, shimmering with gold and possibility. But the truth is even more compelling: a synagogue planted like a seed of Jerusalem in the heart of Taipei, promising roots for generations of Jews yet to come.

I plan to fly and see it myself soon, to walk its golden halls, to hear the echoes of Shabbat songs rising over the noise of scooters and street vendors, and to come back to report. Because sometimes, the most unexpected corners of the world hide not only history—but the future.