NOSTALGIA; MEMORIES OF ISTANBUL

Rabbi Rifat Sonsino, Ph.D

As I get older, I yearn for my childhood experiences. I say to myself, if I could only revisit the places, listen to the music, taste the foods, and hear the sounds of my early adolescent years!!! I am now 81 years old, and, these days, in relative good health. Though retired from congregational life, I teach Ethics, part-time, at Framingham State University, and also regularly contribute to my blog (see, rsonsino.blogspot.com ), give public lectures  and keep in touch with my children and grandchildren. However, the memory of my early days keep me often awake at night. 

I vividly remember the street on which our 3^rd-floor apartment stood in Kuzguncuk, a small village by the Bosphorus in Istanbul, Turkey. It was right across from the old synagogue, which was located next to a bakery where we used to get our cakes and ice cream. (By the way, the old house is now a bank building).  Our neighbors and good friends, the Cohens, lived just behind us, in an old big house. In my teens, after we moved to the city proper, we lived in Kule Dibi, by the big tower. It was in close proximity to two large synagogues, Knesset Israel, just next to us, and, a few houses down, Neve Shalom, the largest temple in Istanbul, which was attacked by terrorists in 1986, resulting in the death of 22 congregants at prayer.  In those days, I attended the Mahazike Hatorah (a religious school for young adults), and, being a teen-age cantor in my temple, I was often sent to Neve Shalom, to sing the Song of Songs on Friday nights. Finally, I have good memories of the 5th floor apartment that my father, the engineer, built in Sisli (Siracevizler Cad.), a fancy neighborhood of Istanbul. It was from there that I used to go to the University of Istanbul, to study law, taking the bus all the way down to the entrance of the campus in the old city. Who could also forget, my classmates, the trips to the Heybeli island during the summers, our visits to the grand bazaar in the city proper, the boat trips down the Bosphorus as well as the kebabs we used to eat at our favorite restaurants! O tempora!

Those were good days, but I have also erased some of the negative memories of living in Turkey as a Jew, where we were at times discriminated against, and had to keep a low profile. 

All these reminiscences are called nostalgia, a sentimental longing for the past. The word comes from the Greek, nostos meaning “return,” and algos, meaning “pain.” It is indeed painful to go through nostalgia. Until the 1600s, it was even considered a disease of the mind. In reality, it is nothing but a sanitized version of the past, an idealized image of the years gone by, some happy and some sad.  

At times, I fancy about going back to Istanbul to visit my favorite places, but I am afraid that I will experience a disappointment. I realize, sadly, that you cannot recreate the past; you can only remember it, mostly in an idealized way. I will continue to do just that. I will be sustained by the wonderful images of my childhood, and review them in my mind, while listening to the music of my earlier years and perhaps eating a piece of baklava!!!

11/3/2019