In 1929 on the Calais-Dover packet, journalist Albert Londres, born in Vichy - his birthplace, (not far from the synagogue itself, built in 1933), almost did not survive the vicissitudes of time - met the Wandering Jew.
Fascinated by an unknown traveller in a black overcoat with a black hat and a long beard and peyot, who carried holy books, his tefilin and a talith, Albert Londres follows him to Whitechapel in London. He manages to get acquainted with him and many more Jewish emigrates from Russia settled in that part of London.
Then, moved by what he hears about the fate of the Jews of Eastern Europe, he embarks on a remarkable journey through places that have changed their names and borders a hundred times in history.
These names live on today in klezmer melodies handed down from generation to generation. Munkacs, Berdichev, Kishinev and so many others are also the names of pogroms, the names of the terror that Londres knows how to describe, soberly but also realistically, reminding us how misfortune and tragedy has often befallen the now disappeared Yiddishland. It is all the more heartbreaking because we know that all these populations were deported to extermination camps under Nazi rule.
In 1929, Albert Londres knew little about the diversity of Jewish communities. Immediately captivated by what he discovered, he digs deeper. His footsteps took him also to Łódź and Warsaw, the European Zion back then, with its colourful streetnames. Ulica Dzika, ulica Miła, ulica Gęsia... The neighbourhood of Nalewki, where he wonderfully described the rabbinic seminary and its students from all parts of the Yiddishland. Góra Kalwaria, ulica Pijarska and its tsadik, the Wunderrabbi.
This book is full of endearing characters - real persons, like Ben, Albert Londres' red-headed multilingual mentor, who said "Je suis un Juif qui se cherche (...) Aucun de nous ne se sent arrivé. Nous sommes encore tous en marche vers un pic inaccessible." Ben delivers a lucid description of the European Jewish world around him: "Savez-vous que les Juifs de ma catégorie sont les plus malheureux? Les religieux attendent le Messie. Les assimilés deviennent lords en Angleterre ou députés en France. Les sionistes marchent vivants dans leur rêve, mais nous les déserteurs du ghetto ? Nous sommes les vrais Juifs errants."
Then, de fil en aiguille, Londres went to Palestine, at that time under British Mandate, where hope was palpable, and here he delivers a comprehensive and realistic account of the concrete realisation - still underway - of the Zionist dream, however confronted with realities.
With its lively writing and a passionate style, this series of articles collected in a small book reminded me of my own steps in Tel Aviv, Bnei Brak and Jerusalem many, many decades later. I felt the same emotion and astonishment as did Albert Londres.
The book awakened not only collective memories, but also my own memories of the first populated neighbourhoods of Neve Tsedek and Neve Shalom, which I once visited, on the steps of the Wandering Jew. I thought back of the synagogue Ichud Shivat Tzion - long called "the synagogue of the Germans" where there were old and slightly worn out Hebrew-German prayer books available to everyone on the shelves in front of the benches, still there since the Yishuv times.
Reading Albert Londres' beautiful pages, I thought back of those who first arrived from the ghettos, the Carpathian mountains, or the impoverished neighbourhoods in Warsaw, the 'Hovevei Tzion, the Lovers of Zion.
"Ils arrivaient le feu à l'âme. Dix mille, vingt mille, cinquante, cent mille. (...) La foi les transportait, non dans le divin, mais dans le terrestre. Ils venaient conquérir le droit d'être ce qu'ils étaient."