At Ben Porat Yosef (BPY), seventh-grade students undertook a meaningful mission: to research, preserve and share the legacies of Jews from the Middle East and North Africa—communities collectively known as Mizrachim. The result was “Memories of the Mizrach,” a student-produced documentary that brought these stories to life through personal interviews, honoring family traditions and celebrating resilience.

BPY’s Head of School Rabbi Saul Zucker opened the evening by explaining that “mizrach” means “east” in Hebrew and shares a root with “zerach,” meaning “shining.” “The Jews of the Near and Middle East are truly a story of shining,” he said.

Following his introduction, the school’s third-grade students performed “Hatikvah,” “The Star-Spangled Banner” and a selection of Hebrew songs. Then seventh-grader Jacob Mitrani took the podium: “This is an important project because it tells the forgotten stories of Mizrachi Jews,” he said. “It’s important that future generations know and value their history. The stories are inspiring and will live on through this project.”

The first interviewee was Joseph Abergel from Morocco. He described his vibrant Jewish community in Casablanca, where he was surrounded by friends and family. Jewish life—comprising over half a million Jews before the 1960s—was peaceful and harmonious with Arab neighbors until 1966, when tensions rose due to the political situation in Israel. Today, only around 2,000 Jews remain in Morocco, but Abergel says they are protected and well cared for.

He moved to New York in 1970, opening an import/export business based on his Moroccan connections. Focusing on textiles, he frequently traveled back and forth and eventually met his wife, Lydia Gabay, in Morocco. The two married and settled in Fort Lee, New Jersey.

Determined to maintain his family’s Moroccan traditions, Abergel recalled how his father, Rabbi Simon Abergel, agreed to move to the U.S. only if there would be a Moroccan synagogue. “With the help of several close friends, we opened one of the first Sephardic synagogues in Bergen County in 1989.” That synagogue, the Sephardic Congregation of Fort Lee, was led by Rabbi Simon Abergel until his passing in 2014.

Next was Aminadav Adamit from Iran, born in 1949. He described life under the Shah as “good,” noting the country’s Western aspirations. But when extremists seized power in 1979, Iran became hostile toward Israel. Many Persian Jews emigrated to Los Angeles or Israel.

His parents, who were Zionists, had already made aliyah in 1951. They first lived in a government-established tent city in Haifa, and then in rudimentary shelters in Castel. “There was no running water, indoor plumbing or electricity,” Adamit recalled. “But my parents never complained because they wanted to be part of building up the State of Israel.”

Eventually, the family moved to Moshav Zecharia, where he and his brothers farmed the land. “We’d wake up at 4 a.m., work, go to school, then work more, sometimes until midnight.” He was only 6 years old when he began working in the fields. Later, they moved to Tel Aviv, squeezing 12 children into a three-bedroom house.

In 1968, Adamit served as a flight engineer for the Israeli Air Force, flying on hundreds of missions across the region. He now lives in Jerusalem and hopes his family will always remember to lihiyot sameach b’chelko—be happy with what you have.

Another powerful story came from Mira Mizrahi, born in Lebanon to Syrian parents. Her father, who used to work for the French government, left Syria during World War I after learning that his father—Mizrahi’s grandfather—was at risk of being kidnapped.

Mizrahi attended the Catholic École des Sœurs de Besançon in Lebanon. At home, her family maintained Jewish traditions; her father prayed daily with tefillin and secretly listened to Kol Yisrael, Israel’s public radio—a dangerous act at the time. Coexistence with the Arab population remained stable until after the Six-Day War, when many Jews fled to the U.S., South America or Israel for safety.

She later studied at an American university in Lebanon. However, during that time, Albert Elia—the Jewish community’s secretary-general—was kidnapped by the Syrians. “I was told that it was no longer safe for the Jews in Lebanon,” Mizrahi recalled. Her uncle sent her to Israel, hoping she’d find a husband, as the majority of Jewish people left Lebanon. Unable to adapt to Israeli life, she was eventually sent to America, where she married and settled in Teaneck. She and her husband are members of Shaarei Orah Synagogue. Today, she notes, there are only about 10 Jews left in Lebanon.

Emma and Berti Pilosof from Turkey shared their stories next. Emma attended the only Jewish school in Turkey; Berti attended a private school but was active in the Jewish community, including with the underground Betar group. He also volunteered for Mizgeret, a security group protecting synagogues. Tragically, such protection proved necessary. The Turkish Jewish community endured devastating attacks, including synagogue bombings in 1986 that killed 22 Jews, and another in 2003 that claimed six lives—including Berti’s friend who was guarding the synagogue.

“Eventually I came to the painful realization that there was no long-term
future for Jews in Turkey,” Berti said. “I didn’t speak Hebrew, so I decided to try the United States first.” While in the U.S., a mutual Turkish friend introduced him to Emma Alkota, and they later married. They chose to send their children to BPY. Emma shared: “I feel lucky because my children have both Jewish and secular names. I, however, had a Jewish and Arabic name because we feared Arabs would attack or abduct us if they found out we were Jewish.” Her entire family still lives in Turkey, and she visits them every summer.

Rachel Alexandroni Soued was born in Egypt and raised in a Syrian Jewish community. Her father was blacklisted for working with the Jewish Agency to forge passports to help families escape Egypt for what was then called Palestine. She remembered the Egyptian police inspecting their home for any proof of his involvement. Her father arranged for his family to be sent to safety in Israel, but he had to stay behind because of the blacklist. There, the Jewish Agency placed Rachel and her brother in an orphanage in Jerusalem. Their sister had gone to Israel earlier via a youth movement. Eventually, her father escaped to Israel, and random people on the streets thanked him for their forged passports.

The following speaker was Leah Zeitlin, originally from Afghanistan. Zeitlin said that until 1955, there was no school for Jewish girls—so her father opened one rather than send her to a public school. There, she studied Torah, Gemara, and other Jewish subjects.

Zeitlin described the four main Jewish families in Afghanistan, including her own Gol family, which traces its lineage back to Babylon. The main language in Afghanistan was Farsi, though multiple dialects were spoken.

She noted that overt antisemitism only emerged in Muslim countries after the establishment of Israel in 1948. Many Afghan Jews claimed they were traveling to Iran when they were actually fleeing to Eretz Yisrael. “When we first arrived, nine of us lived in a one-and-a-half-room apartment without any toys. But I was happy, because my home was Eretz Yisrael,” she said.

The final speaker was Abraham Alkota, who moved to Israel from Turkey when he was 5 years old. Due to financial constraints, he and his sisters attended public school, while he studied Torah on weekends at a Talmud Torah.

He eventually married and had two daughters—one of whom is Emma, from the earlier Turkish story. Retired from his work in finance, Alkota volunteers frequently. One of his positions includes serving as an amateur chazan at one of Istanbul’s historic synagogues, helping preserve its rich religious and cultural heritage.

Alkota makes sure to be careful regarding his Judaism living in Turkey. For example, he can’t wear a kippah outside the house nor use his real name. Instead of going by Abraham, he tells people his name is Aslan (Turkish for lion).

The evening concluded with remarks from Rabbi Dov Emerson, BPY’s associate head of school. He reflected on the significance of the student-led documentary: “The students met heroes and learned what it means to be a committed Jew. Even when we’re not escaping hostile countries, we can make sacrifices, achieve kedusha, and become big people.”

Guests left the event inspired by the stories and nourished by Sephardic delicacies such as burekas and kibbeh. The individuals interviewed in the documentary are a testament to how important it is to hold on to traditions and be brave in the face of opposition.