Djerba, Tunisia — In less than two weeks this island will mark the second anniversary of an al-Qaeda terrorist bombing of an ancient synagogue that rocked this normally quiet resort.

But Youssef Uzon, head of the tiny Jewish community in Djerba, isn’t planning a ceremony to note the April 11 desecration of the El-Ghriba synagogue and the murder of 19 German tourists and Muslim workers.

Instead, the community is immersed in Passover preparations — most critically baking matzah for the holiday recalling the rushed flight of the Israelites out of Egypt to freedom.

“We Jews are always making ceremonies to remember what happened to us. Every day on the radio we hear about memorials for people killed in attacks,” Uzon said. “There is enough misery in the world. Why do we need to add misery upon misery?”

Undeterred by the attack, the 900 Jews of Djerba have put the bombing behind them and continued to preserve what is one of the last remaining Jewish outposts in the Arab world.

Although hundreds of thousands of Tunisian Jews abandoned the country after the Arab-Israeli wars of 1948 and 1967, those left behind in Djerba doubt immigration to Israel or France would make them any safer.

In the alleyways of the city’s Jewish quarter, young boys scurry to Hebrew school in yarmulkes amid whitewashed walls and a rainbow of sky-blue windows typical of Tunisian houses. With the surge in children — some 300 kids attend the Djerban schools — a nursery is being added to the local yeshiva. The stone frame of a half-finished community center stands alongside two synagogues that are more than 300 years old.

“There is Judaism on the street, in the home and in the synagogue,” said Uzon, 45, who owns a small jewelry retail shop in Djerba’s central market. “There’s Torah in Djerba and that’s what’s protecting us.”

Since the bombing, the Tunisian government financed the refurbishing of the burned interior of El-Ghriba, an 80-year-old, single-story whitewashed building erected on a site of worship believed to be more than 2,500 years old. Outside the synagogue, policemen from the presidential guard of Tunisian ruler Zine el-Abidine Ben Ali man barricades put up to prevent future attacks.

Fragi Mazouz, a venerable rabbi here, escaped the bombing with burns to the face. Undaunted by the nightmare, he has returned to El-Ghriba daily to read Jewish mystic texts and recite Psalms.

“We have a strong police,” he said in denying fear of another strike.

When reports were still emerging about the bombing, Uzon was interviewed by Tunisian television affirming Ben Ali’s false assertion that the mayhem was the result of a car accident. It was a lie, but that was preferable to embarrassing Ben Ali, a leader that Jews say protects them, Uzon said.

Ben Ali’s dictatorship has been something of a blessing to the Jews of Djerba. The omnipresent president — his picture can be found in every public place in Tunisia — is more concerned with stifling Islamic fundamentalists than worrying about what is being taught to the Jewish children of Tunisia.

So in the elementary school supported by the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, teenage girls teach multiplication tables in Hebrew while introducing the Talmud in the students’ mother tongue of Arabic.

“This is the only place in the world where girls are teaching Talmud in Arabic,” said Yechiel Bar-Hayim, the Joint’s liaison to the community. “This is the largest extant community of Arabic-speaking Jews. This is because of the relatively moderate policy of the Tunisian government.”

To be sure, Djerban Jews are well aware of the threats around them. The Arab-Israeli conflict is neither brought up in the classrooms nor fodder for casual interactions with Muslim neighbors. Trips to Israel to visit relatives serving in the army are not discussed.

After twin bombings of two Istanbul synagogues in November, Uzon received permission from the local government to erect metal poles at the entrance to a road that runs between the shuls.

“It was for security,” said Uzon. “Sometimes a stupid guy with a car will see a group of Jews and you don’t know what will happen.”

Some 155 miles north of Djerba, the 500 or so Jews in Tunis live a markedly different existence. The main synagogue’s domed sanctuary of boldly colored murals is empty on a Saturday morning. About a dozen men worship in a small chapel in the corner. When they leave the synagogue, yarmulkes are not worn in the open.

The wealthier and less religious Jewish community in Tunis seems to be dwindling fast. The population consists of either children or middle-aged and older adults.

That’s because most of the young move to France once they finish school. The push to leave Tunis is mainly to find a spouse in the larger Jewish communities in Paris, Marseilles or Nice, but some also mention fear of their Arab neighbors.

“Every day another is going. Tunis is emptying of Jews,” said one 22-year-old. “A lot of people are afraid. If there is another attack, everyone will go. This is not ours. It is finished in Tunis.”

But back in Djerba, the community is determined to keep alive centuries of Jewish heritage on this island. The El-Ghriba synagogue, located about two miles outside of the Jewish quarter, is said to contain some of the oldest Torah scrolls in the world.

With pictures of Djerba’s16th century Talmud master Shimon Bar Yoshi looking down on them, young and old men sit in small synagogues debating dietary regulations after a day’s work.

David Kidouchin, who has been the principal of Djerba’s Hebrew-language school for more than 50 years, has children living in New York and Israel, but he ignores any suggestion of moving closer to his family. Instead, he fears for the future of the school.

“If I were to leave, it would all disintegrate,” he said.

For the past month the community’s two-room matzah factory has been in operation weekday evenings. Young men gather here to make loaves of unleavened bread by the thousands for the local community and Jews in the nearby city of Zarziz.

The matzah bakers break for the evening prayer service, their quiet murmuring mixing with the hum of the dough rolling machines’ belt-driven motors mingling. As Uzon walks out of the factory and into a courtyard where a new production room is planned to be completed by next year, there is little nuance in his answer when asked to reflect on the holiday’s message and its relevance for the Jews of Djerba.

“We were once slaves in Egypt and now we are free people,” he said. “We are free people.” n

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