On a quiet street in Asmara, Eritrea’s capital, stands a striking synagogue that seems almost frozen in time.
Its doors remain closed most days. The pews are largely empty. The voices that once filled the sanctuary with prayer have long since faded away. Inside, original Torah scrolls, Italian-era plaques and rows of wooden benches still stand. They appear to be waiting for a congregation that left but never returned.
Yet the building endures, serving as a silent witness to a remarkable and largely forgotten chapter in Jewish history.
For much of the early and mid-20th century, a thriving Jewish community flourished in this small nation on the western shores of the Red Sea. Merchants, craftsmen and entrepreneurs built businesses, established communal institutions and maintained a vibrant Jewish life thousands of miles from the traditional centers of the Jewish world.
Today, most traces of that community have disappeared.
This often-overlooked outpost of Jewish life deserves to be remembered. It is a tale of perseverance, faith and identity, in addition to a reminder that the Jewish people left their mark in even the most unexpected corners of the globe.
Eritrea also occupies a unique place in the history of modern Zionism. In the 1940s, during the final years of the British Mandate in the Land of Israel, Eritrea itself was under British military administration. The British authorities deported members of the Irgun and Lehi underground movements, as well as Holocaust survivors intercepted while attempting to reach the Holy Land, to detention camps in East Africa, including Sembel near Asmara in Eritrea.
Among those imprisoned was Yitzhak Shamir, who would later become Israel’s prime minister and who famously escaped British captivity in 1947. Far from the Land of Israel, these Jewish fighters endured imprisonment because of their commitment to the dream of Jewish sovereignty. In an ironic twist of history, the same African land that briefly held Jewish freedom fighters was also home to a flourishing Jewish community of its own.
The story of that community began in the late 19th century, when Jews from Yemen and Aden arrived in Eritrea, attracted by the economic opportunities created by growing Italian influence and colonial expansion in the region. Many settled in Asmara, where they engaged in commerce and trade while maintaining a strong commitment to Jewish life.
As the community grew, its members established the Asmara Hebrew Congregation in 1905 and built a synagogue the following year. Completed in 1906, the elegant structure included a sanctuary and classrooms, and the community maintained a cemetery nearby, making the synagogue the center of Jewish religious and communal life in the country.
The community was diverse. While most members traced their roots to Yemen and Aden, a handful of Italian Jews also joined their ranks, as did Jewish refugees fleeing Europe during the rise of Nazism in the 1930s. Eritrea became an unlikely refuge for Jews escaping persecution, and the community flourished as a result. Daily life blended Hebrew liturgy with Judeo-Arabic traditions and the imprint of Italian colonial culture, creating a distinctive and layered communal identity.
In the years following World War II, Eritrea’s Jewish community reached its peak. The Jewish population numbered around 400 to 500 people, and the synagogue bustled with activity. Hebrew prayers mingled with conversations in Arabic and Italian. Jews traveled from neighboring countries, including Sudan, to celebrate the High Holidays in Asmara. The community maintained schools, charitable organizations and a rich social life.
Like so many Jewish communities across the Diaspora, the Jews of Eritrea succeeded in striking a delicate balance. They integrated into the society around them while preserving their distinct religious and cultural identity. They contributed to the local economy, participated in civic life and earned the respect of their neighbors, all while remaining deeply attached to their heritage.
But the decades ahead would bring dramatic changes both for Eritrea and for its Jewish community.
Last surviving links to a Jewish presence
The establishment of the State of Israel in 1948 prompted many Eritrean Jews to make aliyah. Drawn by the dream of Jewish sovereignty after nearly 2,000 years of exile, families left the Horn of Africa and settled in the Jewish homeland.
For a small community such as Eritrea’s, even a modest wave of aliyah had a profound impact. Families departed, businesses changed hands and the institutions that had sustained communal life began to shrink. Nevertheless, a core group remained determined to preserve Jewish life in Asmara.
Those who stayed would soon face challenges of a different kind.
Following Eritrea’s federation with Ethiopia in the early 1950s and its subsequent annexation a decade later, the country became engulfed in a prolonged struggle for independence. Political instability, violence and economic uncertainty led increasing numbers of Jews to depart. The exodus accelerated during the 1970s as conditions deteriorated. By 1975, the community’s rabbi and many of its leading members had left. Most settled in Israel, while others moved to Europe or North America.
The decline was swift and dramatic. What had once been a thriving congregation gradually dwindled to a handful of elderly individuals. Families left, communal institutions ceased to function and Jewish life became increasingly difficult to sustain. By the end of the 20th century, only a remnant remained.
In recent years, the community dwindled to what was widely believed to be a single remaining member. Samuel (“Sami”) Cohen, who was born and raised in Eritrea, became the guardian of its heritage. Now nearly 80, he has cared for the synagogue, maintained the cemetery and preserved the remnants of a Jewish presence that had all but vanished.
His story is quietly profound. Across generations, there have always been individuals who refused to allow the flame of memory to be extinguished. Even when communities disappeared, they safeguarded the synagogues, cemeteries, books and traditions that connected them to those who came before.
Perched on a hillside overlooking Asmara is the community’s small Jewish cemetery, containing roughly 150 graves. Silent and windswept, it stands as a poignant reminder of a congregation that once flourished on the shores of the Red Sea.
The cemetery, together with the synagogue, constitutes one of the last surviving links to a Jewish presence that endured in Eritrea for more than a century. Though regular services are no longer held and there is no functioning Jewish community to speak of, the building still stands as a testament to the endurance of Jewish history. It is occasionally maintained by local caretakers and visited by curious travelers, standing in quiet defiance of time and neglect.
This story is significant not because of its size, but because of what it teaches us.
The story of Eritrean Jewry underscores a sobering truth: Communities that take generations to build can disappear with startling speed. Within a few decades, an entire world can vanish, leaving behind little more than photographs, gravestones and memories.
The Jews of Eritrea may have disappeared as a community, but they should not disappear from our collective memory.
Remembering them is about more than honoring the past. It is about understanding how fragile even the most vibrant communities can be.
