The Jewish quarter in Damascus is almost deserted; only two of its 20 synagogues still open on Saturdays. The Syrian Jewish community can be traced back to Biblical times, at its height it numbered almost 100,000 and flourished in trading across the Middle East. Today, there are fewer than 100 Jews left in Syria, most of them living in the old city of Damascus. The community no longer has a rabbi. Every few months a rabbi flies in from Istanbul to supervise the preparation of kosher food.
"They call me `little rabbi' because I get the school children ready for their bar mitzvah," says the teacher, Kheder Kabariti, as he shows off the empty corridors of the Ben-Maimon School, the only Jewish school left in Syria. The school, a large four-storey building, had 1,000 students in 1991. Today 12 children are divided between two classrooms on the ground floor. While Kheder Kabariti runs his class through Hebrew readings from the Torah, across the corridor the other teacher begins on the English alphabet with the younger school children.
"We teach them Hebrew and English because we are preparing them to leave," says Kheder Kabariti of the few remaining students. "Most of them go to Brooklyn, some of them to . . ." He doesn't finish the sentence but raises his eyebrows and rolls his eyes westward to indicate Syria's enemy and neighbour Israel. The word Israel can only ever be pronounced with caution in Syria.
The Ben Maimon school is in the heart of the Jewish quarter, "Haret el Yehud" in Arabic. The quarter is a maze of lanes. But what distinguishes this quarter from the Christian and Islamic parts of the old city is that almost all the houses have been abandoned.
Through broken window panes, inside the padlocked homes, you can still see fridges standing in deserted kitchens. In the sitting rooms there is still furniture from the 1950s and '60s. These houses were deserted by Jewish families who fled Syria at a time when the regime imposed heavy restrictions on travel.
"People here feel the emptiness of the quarter and miss the business." Ahmed is from a Muslim family and has been living in the Jewish quarter for 20 years. His home is the former bath house of a wealthy Jewish Damascene family, the Sobrignados, who came to Syria from Spain in the 15th century and sold their house when they left for Europe in the 18th century. "Many people here used to work with Jewish people and many of them are now unemployed, the local economy has gone down now that the Jews have gone."
After 1946, when Syria became independent from France, the new government prohibited Jewish emigration to Palestine. Freedom of movement was severely restricted - Syrian Jews had to leave a bond of several hundred dollars behind them if they were given permission to travel abroad and there were penalties for those who attempted to leave without permission. Nevertheless, between 1948 and 1991 some 25,000 Syrian Jews managed to flee the country to the US and Israel.
In 1991 at the Madrid Peace conference, under pressure from the international community, the Syrian authorities agreed to let Syria's Jewish population leave freely. Since then the quarter has emptied from 5,000 in 1991 to 82 today.
Yousef Jajati is one of those who has stayed behind. He owns a large retail business "Jajati Grand Magasin" in central Damascus, three clothing factories in Syria and two outlets run by his sons in New York. Jajati is the head of the Syrian Jewish community.
"We feel we are part of the Syrian people and President Assad is like a father to us," he says. "We have good relations with other religious communities. We don't have sectarianism here - there's no anti-Semitism like you have in Europe."
Jajati's glossing over Syrian Jewish history is clearly influenced by the secret service agent who attends the interview.
Accounts told by Syrian Jews who fled reveal a very different story. In 1947 a pogrom in the northern Syrian city of Aleppo left many homes and synagogues in ruins and scores of Syrian Jews dead. After the founding of Israel in 1948, the community was constantly harassed by the authorities.
The Jewish quarter in Damascus was closely monitored by the "mukhabarat", the Syrian secret service. Agents attended all weddings, bar mitzvahs and family parties. Discrimination against Syrian Jews was common, they were not allowed to hold certain jobs or do practical administrative tasks such as getting a driving licence or a telephone connection. Speaking Hebrew was banned, except at school during prayer class and at the synagogue.
Ten o'clock on Saturday morning, and the brass engraved doors to the Ifrange synagogue are open. Inside, 11 men, including Yousef Jajati, recite the Saturday prayers. The beams on the ceiling are painted blue and the sunlight from the skylights reflects off the many chandeliers that fill the hall. Two boys from the Ben Maimon school play at the back on the marble inlaid floor. A secret service agent surveys everyone who goes in.
By 11 o clock, the prayers are over. The last Hebrew words the men say are "Shabat Shalom" (Good Sabbath) as they shake hands before they leave the synagogue. Outside they gather to padlock the doors and discuss business. Of the 11 men, all but one live part-time in the US, where their grown-up children and their businesses are based.
In the future, it seems likely that the community will grow smaller and more synagogues will close, as more people emigrate. But the community chief, Yousef Jajati, has optimistic words for a future peace deal between Israel and Syria. "We hope that there will be a just peace and then Jews from all over the world will come here to Damascus and we can reopen these synagogues."