The Amazonas
Jewish home?
Photo: Raviv Sela
Jews of the jungle
In the vast expanses of the Amazon, Jewish families cleared a path through the jungle and fulfilled their dream. A rare journey to an endangered community in the jungles of Brazil
When Fortunato Shukrun speaks about his father and recalls the holidays they used to spend together in the city of Obidos, in the thick of the Brazilian jungle, he weeps bitterly. “Excuse me for being so emotional,” he says, wiping his eyes, “I get emotional when I remember my father. He was the greatest authority on religion here. Everyone knew he was the only one who really knew the prayers.”
But Fortunato is not giving up. He sent one of his sons to Israel. Two granddaughters visited recently and are considering converting to Judaism. He and Sonia-Maria celebrate Christmas and Hanukkah, Easter and Passover, and everybody, even Sonia, fasts on Yom Kippur. They don’t eat pig meat or fish without scales, and on Passover they eat sweet chicken with couscous, just like in Morocco.
Shukrun’s Christian wife Sonia-Maria and his son Avram watch him, helpless. Fortunato does not weep only for his father. His tears symbolize his longing for a time that will never return to the “interior” - the Amazon River frontier - when the Jewish immigrants from Morocco controlled commerce, married among themselves, maintained a traditional Jewish way of life, and traveled from village to village by boat.
Fortunato’s father came to Brazil from Morocco at the beginning of the 20th century, age 14. Until the 1980s the Shukruns had a small empire in the heart of Amazonia, at the deepest, narrowest point of the river. Then unusual changes in interest rates and insane fluctuations in the local currency caused the business to collapse.
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Fortunato will not leave, though most of the other Jews have. “For me Obidos is still the best city in the world. It took my father in and helped him survive; it made us a well-to-do family. I feel an obligation to it. I’m relaxed here and I have no enemies. In spite of all the difficulties, I still love the Amazon.”
The Land of El Dorado
The first “Marroquinos” arrived in the area as early as 1810. The legends, mostly true, about “Pais el dorado” (the land of gold) and the fertility of the river spread far and wide.
“The first people to come here were young men, sometimes no older than bar mitzvah age,” explains historian Nachman Falbel, founder of Sao Paolo’s Brazilian Jewish history archives. “At first it was no more than ten adventurers who began trying to find their way in an unknown country, like the pioneers in the Land of Israel."
The pioneers made their way through the forests. Everywhere they stopped they opened a large chain of stores. This continued until the mid-19th century, bringing to the Amazon, according to non-authoritative estimates, some 300 large Jewish families.
According to Falbel, in the city the Jews would equip boats “with work tools that laborers in the jungle didn’t have, sail toward the Indian villages, and there they would exchange the merchandise for the products of the interior, such as leather and rubber. Some of them lost their lives along the way, but those who survived returned to the city with rare treasure.”
The height of the period of prosperity was the “age of rubber” from 1870 to 1916. Rubber was in demand all over the world, and a number of God-fearing Jews spread out around the Amazon. Some estimates speak of tens of thousands of Jews immigrating to the Amazon during that time. In many frontier towns active Jewish communities were established.
Jewish immigration to the interior started coming to an end in the second half of the 20th century. The age of rubber ended, and the Jews gathered themselves into communities in the capital cities. Those who remained in the interior found themselves isolated and were forced to assimilate. Assimilation and mixed marriages became acceptable, and the separation between the large cities and the small cities became an established fact.
The black Jew
Max Fima’s grandparents came to Alenquer in 1930 and observed Jewish religious rites such as kiddush, fasting on Yom Kippur, and the customs of Passover, Shavuot, and Sukkot. But his father, who married a Catholic woman, raised Max and his brother between the two religions.
“Outside the house we were Catholics—we were baptized, we went to church and a Catholic school, and we celebrated Easter. My brother and I were not circumcised. But at home there was still a lot of Judaism.”
Because of his dark skin he was called “the black Jew.” His wife is Catholic. But his daughter’s eyes sparkle when he mentions his Jewish father. She records our conversation “so I can listen afterwards and learn more about grandpa.”
“The history is interesting,” she notes. “I would look at my father’s bookcase and caress his kippah. I wanted to connect more to the family’s roots. Every time I visit the city and give them my credit card they get confused by my name. I always proudly correct them and say, ‘Fima. It’s a Jewish name.’”
Love conquers all
Are the Amazon’s Jews fated to disappear? Not if the Sruya family of Santarém is any indication. The women marrying into the family convert to Judaism. The walls and shelves of the family home and store are overflowing with Judaica—menorahs, flags, tablets of the covenant, and a Star of David.
Fortunato was born here 76 years ago. Neither his wife Marlena - who left Rio de Janeiro and converted to Judaism for him - nor the other family members understand what all the fuss is about.
“What’s so hard about preserving Judaism in the Amazon?” asks Fortunato’s son. “We don’t have kosher chicken, but we don’t touch beef, pig meat, or seafood, we make kiddush properly, and for Passover we bring in kosher wine from Belém and Yehuda Matzos from Sao Paolo. There’s a solution for every problem. It’s important to us to maintain the spark of Judaism here for the next generations.”
When Fortunato’s son first fell in love with his wife he got her interested in Judaism and she became an enthusiastic Jew. His sister made aliyah but returned to Brazil after four years. “I had a hard time in Israel,” she says. “I had trouble with the language, the mentality. My home is here.”
Her husband Ruben descends the stairs, waves his hand, and calls out in slightly accented Hebrew, “What are you doing here in the jungle?” Born in Belém, he tried his luck in Israel, where he studied the biochemistry of the Amazon at the Agricultural Faculty in Rehovot. “But I got burned out very quickly: the pressure, the inflation, the war in Lebanon.” I decided to return to the Amazon.”
He opened a business in Belém and a year and a half ago, on the way to a business meeting, called up Fortunato, the token Jew in the area, and asked to stay at his home. Fortunato invited him for lunch and introduced him to his daughter. “At that moment it was all over. I closed the business in Belém and moved to Santarém.”
The couple are apparently the only Israelis in the interior. She holds an Israeli identity card and he has a temporary resident’s card. Both speak reasonably good Hebrew. Ruben is the most observant of anyone in the family. “I brought with me my religious ‘package.’ Sometimes, when I’m up to it, I slaughter a chicken for the family because I worked in a slaughterhouse in Bet She’an and I have a kosher slaughterer’s certificate.”
Ruben continues, “I’m 47 years old. I was married before to a non-Jewish woman and nothing came of it. What am I lacking for here? My whole life I’ve prayed to find a good Jewish woman. I would cast my eyes to the heavens and ask the Holy One Blessed be He for her to appear before me. So when I see my wife lighting Sabbath candles, I know I’m at home. Who would have believed that I found everything I was looking for in the heart of the jungle of all places?”
Thanks to Dr. Ana Vivian Spitzcovsky for assistance in preparing this article
