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Brooklyn's SyrianEgyptian Jewish commu nity has prospered even as it has retained its Old World traditions and tight-knit feel.
I was only 16 when I left my community of Syrian Jews in Brooklyn, convinced I was on an upward trajectory. I was, after all, trading the prospect of Brooklyn College for Vassar, abandoning the staid, simple streets of Bensonhurst for the lush opulence of the quad in Poughkeepsie and later Manhattan, leaving behind the little shul where I sat with my mom in the obligatory women's section for the vast progressive egalitarian temples that were sprouting everywhere in America.
I am not sure when, exactly, I found myself longing precisely for those staid streets, for that cozy shul, for that women's section.
And it was too late.
Somewhere during my personal exodus in the 1970s, my Sephardic community had gone on an upward trajectory of its own. They had, in classic immigrant mode, struggled and worked hard and prospered, in some cases, beyond their wildest expectations.
But then - unlike the classic American story of assimilation and dispersal - they found each other again in another patch of Brooklyn and made a secret pledge among each other, call it the Omerta of Al lepo.
They would largely ignore the onrush of modernity, cast a cold eye on secular America and avoid the temptations of the New World. Feminism, sexual liberation, intermarriage and so many other hallmarks of post-1960s modem life would be as relevant to this immigrant enclave as to their ancestors in tum-of-the-century Aleppo, which means not relevant at all.
Ocean Parkway, home to an estimated 40,000-50,000 Jews of Syria and Egypt extends dreamlike from the Gowanus Parkway to the Atlantic. To my mother, this strip bore a wondrous resemblance to the boulevards of Paris. Coming back as an adult I realize that it does have a strange European feel to it - the vastness of the boulevard, the leafy trees, the grandeur of the buildings - all conjure up in my mind some of the most splendid streets of Paris, including the...