Imagine walking into a tavern on a Greek island, but alongside traditional Greek music you are surprised to find yourself dancing to Hebrew hit songs by Omer Adam. From airport signs, restaurant menus on buzzing streets, and business cards in Hebrew, an Israeli visitor can almost feel at home in Rhodes.
This Greek island, a 75-minute flight from Israel, has a small Jewish community of 25 people and two kosher vendors. One of them, the Chabad of Rhodes, located just outside the city of Rhodes, doubles as a kosher restaurant during the week. Here, you can experience a moussaka eggplant dish alongside Israeli delicacies, all while taking in the dazzling seaside view.
However, if you dig deeper, there’s an island awash with Jewish and Israeli history waiting to be explored.
Hidden on a quiet corner in the bustling Old Town of Rhodes, where thousands enjoy their summer holidays, are glimpses of Jewish history that are easily overlooked.
Despite my fears of a backlash, every Greek I met was very welcoming and encouraged business. One even boasted that, given the chance, he would help open a kosher restaurant next to the synagogue, specifically to cater to his good friend, the Israeli tourist.
IN THE middle of a busy square full of shops, deep inside the Old Town, restaurants cater to tourists from across the globe. Store owners sell their merchandise next to a small park known as Jewish Martyrs Square; even some local merchants don’t know its exact location.
Here, surrounded by shade from overgrown trees, is a large Star of David-shaped monument dedicated to the island’s 1,604 Jews murdered during the Holocaust. The monument – written in Greek, English, Hebrew, and Italian – is well preserved.
Enter the historic Jewish Quarter from the Walled Gate that leads to the port, although few clear remnants remain. At the Rabbinical College of Rhodes, the only remnant of Jewish life here, is a hole in the wall where a mezuzah was once affixed.
The Jews of Rhodes once included bankers and merchants; however, most of the Jewish Quarter was abandoned after World War II, with few survivors reclaiming their heritage. But it is still there, in plain sight.
In an alleyway, Jewish history comes to life. A Star of David on the door was the first indication that I had reached the Kahal Shalom Synagogue, founded in the 16th century and the only surviving synagogue of the island.
The next indication was the heavy security: A Greek security guard checked my bag and asked me questions to ascertain who I was before I could enter and purchase an admission ticket. It brought me back to the current day-to-day reality of insecurity.
Isaac Habib – a descendant of Rhodes’s Jewish community
Isaac Habib, born in Congo, currently divides his time between Rhodes and Cape Town, South Africa. He spoke to the Magazine about the memory and legacy of a once-thriving Sephardi Jewish culture on this Aegean island. With the exception of arriving dignitaries, he is the last Jew in what was historically the Jewish Quarter of Old Rhodes. His story is not only personal; it is the living echo of centuries of history.
At the heart of that story is the Kahal Shalom Synagogue. “We take the date 1577 as the synagogue’s foundation year because of a plaque we have, but some scholars believe it may be even older,” he said.
Another plaque, from 1831, marks a major restoration of the building. Today, Kahal Shalom is the oldest functioning synagogue in Greece, and a vital monument to the Sephardi community that once flourished here.
Jews have lived in Rhodes since at least the 2nd century BCE, beginning with the Romaniote Jews, descendants of Jews of the Roman Empire, who predated the Sephardi influx by centuries.
That changed after the conquest of the island in 1522 by Ottoman sultan Suleiman the Magnificent. “He invited Sephardi Jews to settle here after their expulsion from Spain,” Habib said. “Over time, the Jews themselves lost track of who was Romaniote and who was Sephardi.”
Despite Rhodes being part of modern Greece today, Habib emphasized that the Jews who were once here were not Greek. “From the time of the Roman Empire to 1948, Rhodes was not part of Greece. So when Rhodes was finally given to Greece after World War II, the Jews had already been taken to Auschwitz. They were never Greeks. They were Sephardi,” he explained.
One of the most distinctive features of Kahal Shalom is its two holy arks (aronei hakodesh) – an unusual architectural feature that has long puzzled visitors. “There are three stories about the two arks,” Habib said. “One is symbolic. Some Sephardi communities had two holy arks to remember two major events: the expulsion from Spain, and the eternal desire to return to Zion.”
A second explanation comes from historical necessity. “A rabbi from Amsterdam once explained that under Muslim rule, synagogues sometimes needed to have a copy of the Quran to survive. Since the Turks ruled Rhodes from 1522 to 1912, this could be one reason we had two arks,” he said.
The third theory connects Rhodes to the wider Jewish world. “If you go to Sardis, in Turkey, you’ll find a third-century CE synagogue from the Roman Empire that also had two holy arks. So maybe it’s not that strange after all,” he added.
Throughout the centuries, Rhodes’s Jewish community interacted with various powers that shaped its cultural and linguistic character. In 1902, the Baron and Baroness de Rothschild passed through Rhodes and noticed the absence of a Jewish school.
“They gave money to open one, on the condition that French would be taught,” Habib said. “Back then, knowing French was seen as a plus in life.”
Later, in 1923, the Treaty of Lausanne granted Rhodes to Italy. “The school became Italian,” Habib said. “With the Italians came modernity, and they brought a new curriculum, new institutions. The community adapted again.”
But the most harrowing chapter of Rhodes’s Jewish story came during World War II. In 1943, the Germans occupied the island. Though Rhodes’s Old Town remained physically intact – “it was the British who bombed the quarter,” Habib noted, “and they destroyed the school and many other buildings that were once part of the quarter” – the Jews were not spared. In July 1944, the entire Jewish community was deported to Auschwitz, first by boat, then in a two-week train ride from Athens.
“My mother was one of them,” Habib said as he showed me a list with names of Jews from Rhodes. “When they walked through the gates of hell, they became a number. When they perished and rose to heaven, they remained a number. Every soul had a name. Every name deserves to be remembered.”
Only the ones designated with a star survived. There were not many stars; only 151 of a community that once numbered some 1,700 before the war.
After the war, most survivors did not return. “They were Italian citizens, so they were sent to Italy, not here,” Habib explained. “Some people fought to get their property back, but many couldn’t,” He pointed out.
Habib’s mother eventually moved to the Congo, along with a small group of survivors, establishing a unique Congo Jewish community for a time.
“There were two Jews left in the Congo by 1975,” he said. “That year, the government ordered the Jews to give up their businesses. Most left. A few, like us, moved to South Africa.”
Habib's own journey took him to Israel, where he spent time on Kibbutz Gan Shmuel and studied Hebrew at Ben-Gurion University. But he didn’t stay. “My suitcase was packed for Israel, but after 10 months I realized something was missing,” he said.
Eventually, the community in Congo called him back – and later, so did Rhodes. “They found out I had retired from teaching,” he said. “One day, I got a call. ‘We need someone to help lead tours about the synagogue, they told me.’ I told them, ‘But I’m not a guide.’ ‘You’ll be fine,’ they replied.”
Some 20,000 visitors visit the Kahal Shalom Synagogue annually. Although once free of charge to enter, the site now charges admission to help fund its preservation. The synagogue is open for Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and special Shabbat services, with melodies sung in the traditional Ladino tunes of Rhodes’s Sephardi past.
The surrounding Jewish cemetery tells its own story. “In 1938, the fascist Italian regime decided to make a park where the Jewish cemetery used to be,” Habib recalled. “So my grandfather was exhumed and moved to the general cemetery. That cemetery today is immaculate, beautifully kept.”
Antisemitism, however, still casts a shadow. “We have police in civilian clothes 24 hours a day,” Habib pointed out. “There are still things that touch the Jews here.”
He recounted a chilling story: “A chazan once told me, ‘Remove your kippah and don’t wear a hat at night; anyone with a hat at night is regarded as a Jew in disguise, and everyone knows that.’”
While touring the synagogue, Habib showed us a plaque from a different time. In 1946, members of the Jewish Brigade of the British Army helped renovate Kahal Shalom.
“The first Rosh Hashanah service after the war was held here,” Habib related. He was not sure if the Jewish Brigade included soldiers from Mandatory Palestine, as it was then called, but it is likely that Jewish soldiers who had enlisted in the brigade took part. “They knew what it meant to keep the memory alive,” Habib said.
That was not the last reference to links to Israel. At my hotel’s reception desk, I was told to visit the Rhodes casino for another captivating piece of history. The casino, located about a kilometer outside the medieval walls, is also known as the Grande Albergo Delle Rose Hotel.
At first glance, it looks like any lavish five-star hotel. However, it was at this casino that the location of Israel’s borders would be decided: The 1949 Armistice Agreement between Israel and Egypt was signed there, ending the War of Independence.
The plaque commemorating the event isn’t easily seen – it is indoors, and visitors have to pass through security. A picture on the wall shows a 1949 Hebrew newspaper, with the text: “The agreement is signed,” followed by black-and-white photos from the era.
The Old Town of Rhodes and its surroundings, with its hidden Jewish treasures of times past, showcase an ultimate duality for the Jewish and Israeli tourist. On the one hand, it is a sun-soaked holiday escape, alive with Greek tavernas and laughter. On the other hand, it is a place where the echoes of Ladino songs, Sephardi prayers, and Israel’s own past still linger in hidden corners.
For Israeli tourists, the island may feel strikingly familiar. It is a reminder that memory endures – carried by one synagogue, one community, and stories that refuse to fade.