As Jewish community leaders in Nigeria, one of the biggest misconceptions about Jewish life my wife and I see is that people reduce the country almost entirely to security questions, even at the recent EMEA Chabad conference for leaders from 43 remote countries. “Is it dangerous?” “Are you able to leave the house?” are the most common questions we are asked when people hear we have a Chabad House in Abuja, the capital of Nigeria.
At a moment when conversations in every community across the globe are dominated by fears of religious division and instability, this misunderstanding matters more than ever. The reality on the ground challenges assumptions not only about the part of Africa, but about where Jewish life and coexistence can truly take root anywhere.
Of course, one must be honest: Nigeria faces real challenges. There is crime, tension in certain regions, a lack of infrastructure, very visible poverty, serious pollution in a number of areas and corruption that still slows the country’s development. From a distance, all of that can easily create the impression of a country with little future. But that is precisely where many people are mistaken.
Because Nigeria is not only a country of difficulties. It is also a country of immense potential, extraordinary human energy and a rapidly growing young population. Above all, it is a country where we have seen, sometimes in very surprising ways, a real relationship of trust develop between the Jewish community and the local population. That friendship and trust, in a place many assume would resist it, is the story that deserves far more attention.
Another common misconception concerns Jewish life itself. Because Nigeria is seen as a major Muslim and Christian country, many people assume that a visibly Jewish presence would naturally face distance, suspicion or hostility. Yet our experience on the ground is often the opposite. Despite religious differences, we have seen deep respect for Jewish values, Jewish tradition, and very often, for Israel and its security as well.
Of course, there are always exceptions, as everywhere. But broadly speaking, the overwhelming majority of the people we meet show consideration, warmth and genuine openness. In a time when headlines often highlight conflict between faiths, this reality complicates the dominant narrative.
Real interactions that reshape perceptions
That did not happen by itself. It was built. And it was built because we chose not to define ourselves only by our own needs, but also by what we could contribute to the society around us. We wanted to be a presence of light, dignity and responsibility.
In practical terms, that meant showing up consistently, establishing relationships and engaging beyond our immediate community. That is what made it possible, over the years, to build real bridges. We have seen this especially in interfaith relations, including at iftars and other encounters where leading Muslim dignitaries came to the synagogue, shared a meal with the community and expressed sincere respect. These are not symbolic gestures; they are real interactions that reshape perception on both sides.
Jewish life in Nigeria is very real. Today, it is based mainly on an expatriate community that developed from the 1960s onward around Israelis and other Jewish entrepreneurs involved in construction, infrastructure, agriculture, security and other key sectors of the country’s development. Since the COVID pandemic, the community has declined in numbers, but it remains alive. There are still nearly 800 Jews living in Nigeria throughout the year, along with hundreds of regular visitors for business, projects and partnerships. For a country rarely associated with Jewish continuity, this persistence itself is significant.
Currently, about 850 members comprise the general Jewish community in Nigeria (including expatriates), in addition to 40 million ethnic Igbo, out of the country’s population of more than 240 million people.
In Abuja, and in the communal development taking place in Lagos, the goal is not simply to preserve a symbolic presence but to build real Jewish life. In Abuja, we have a major synagogue; a community center; a Jewish school; a kosher grocery; services; Torah classes; and activities for women, families and young people.
In Lagos as well, beyond the programs already in place, there is now a genuine development project for a new community center currently under construction, meant to further strengthen Jewish presence, educational activity, prayer services and communal life in the city. These are not markers of survival, but of growth in an unexpected environment.
One of the strongest signs of this future is the work being done with youth. The CTeen movement has grown tremendously and has reached virtually the entire local Jewish youth population.
For many teenagers, it has been an inner turning point. They discovered that their Judaism is not something to hide, minimize or carry timidly, but a source of strength, pride and responsibility. Being able to join the major annual summit in New York, meet other Jewish teens from around the world, and realize that they themselves are part of the future of the Jewish people alongside millions of other young Jews profoundly changes how they see themselves.
At the same time, children who study in local schools know that they can rely on a warm and structured Jewish framework through CKids programs: Shabbat activities, sleepovers, after-school classes and regular educational experiences. Likewise, JLI (Jewish Learning Institute) classes and lectures provide serious, open and meaningful Jewish knowledge on issues that are essential for a community that sometimes lacks stable points of reference.
There is also another important local dimension. Many Nigerians, or local groups, see themselves as descendants of the Jewish people or of one of the tribes of Israel. Of course, from a halachic and historical standpoint, we have not been able to trace the sources needed to establish those claims with certainty. But that does not diminish the respect we have for them, nor the depth of the human and spiritual bond we often feel in those encounters.
Even when history cannot be formally verified, the closeness itself is very real. A powerful lesson for how different communities recognize one another in all locations across the globe.
This is exactly why so many people are wrong about the Jewish future. They often think that a Jewish future can only exist in places that are already established and have infrastructure already built in. But the vision of the Lubavitcher Rebbe teaches the opposite. It suggests that success, growth and sustainability are not dependent on comfort, but on commitment to one’s values.
Most importantly, that point was not only about our responsibility toward Jews. In the spirit of the Rebbe’s 1987 teaching to the Chabad-Lubavitch emissaries, the mission does not stop with the Jewish community: It also includes our responsibility to have a positive impact on the non-Jewish populations around us, to be attentive to the nations, to the vulnerable and to act beneficially within society as a whole. In today’s world, where many communities would prefer to keep inward-looking, this outward responsibility is critical.
That is exactly the spirit in which we developed ChabadAid. The organization’s own site explains clearly that it was born from the desire to do something “for all people of Nigeria, not only Jews,” and that it now works in clean water access, food assistance, education, medical support, infrastructure and other forms of concrete help. This work has not only provided assistance; it has reshaped how Jewish presence is perceived in a broader social context.
I believe this is one of the greatest lessons anyone can draw from the Nigerian experience: We should never underestimate a people, and we should never generalize differences. We live in a vast country with Muslim and Christian majorities, and yet we have seen that by choosing to lead through example, by bringing light and by being useful, respectful and engaged, it is possible to build deep trust between worlds that many people imagine as opposed. That lesson extends far beyond Nigeria.
In that sense, our humanitarian work has resonated far beyond what many would have expected. It has surprised, moved and inspired people, and it has shown that Jewish identity—when it is true to itself—is not an identity of withdrawal, but one of radiance, responsibility and positive impact. It offers a counterexample to the assumption that staying true to your identity must come at the expense of connection or integration. Nigeria is often seen as distant, unstable and maybe even irrelevant to the broader Jewish conversation. But that distance is exactly what makes its lesson so clear. When you strip away comfort, what remains is the essence: Jewish resilience is not built on perfect conditions; it is built on knowing who you are.
The more authentic and confident we are in our identity, the more we are able to give, to partner and to act as a light unto others. One does not come at the expense of the other. It comes from it.
That is the part people do not see. And that is why the story of Jewish life in Nigeria is not just about Nigeria. But how a Jewish future is built at all—from the inside out.
