Jewish odessa a midrash by the sea

JEWISH ODESSA — A MIDRASH BY THE SEA

In the Beginning…

There were six of them. Like the six days of Creation.

Six Jews living in Khadjibey — before the city itself even existed. One traded salt, another made boots, a third argued as if he were born in Tractate Brachot. They were like the first letters of a future text — not yet connected, but already full of meaning. Each of them became a prototype of one day of Creation: effort, survival, movement forward.

And then came the seventh day — the day of Shabbat, the day of rest, the day when the Creator filled the world with His presence. In 1795, there were 246 Jews. This wasn’t just population growth — it was the birth of Jewish life. A synagogue appeared, a chevra kadisha, a school, a spiritual center. It was the Shabbat of Odessa — the day when the Jewish soul found its voice in this city.

The Talmud says: “The purpose of Creation is not labor, but rest. Shabbat is not the end of the week, but its meaning.” So it was here: the six Jews were the beginning, but the true essence was revealed when the community became whole, when the city breathed Jewish breath — regular prayer, study, memory, holiness.

But even that wasn’t enough for the most important thing.
To conduct a communal prayer, you need a minyan — at least ten Jews.
Because only in a gathering of ten does the Shekhinah, the Divine Presence, dwell among the people. Only then does the voice of prayer carry weight, and only then do the words spoken on earth rise to heaven.

So Odessa traveled its path:
from six Jews — like the six days of Creation,
to the seventh day — Shabbat and spiritual awakening,
and further — to tens of thousands, so that the voice of the Jewish people would echo here as a true Tefillah, as prophecy, as a song by the sea.

Odessa became a midrash by the sea, a city where every stone carries dialogue, debate, blessing, and memory. And it all began with six souls carrying the light of the future.



The Creation of a City — in the Style of Torah

Every era of Odessa is like a weekly Torah portion.
In the beginning — Abraham: settlers from Lithuania, Volhynia, Podolia.
Then — Isaac: stability, a synagogue, a school, the first community.
Next — Jacob: diversity, struggle, dreams, wrestling with angels, encountering history.

From the start, Odessa was never uniform. It was a Jewish city in exile, in constant motion. Odessa grew like a living page of the Talmud: in the center — life, around it — commentary, disputes, allusions, footnotes, and jokes.

By the mid-19th century, the Jewish population exceeded 12,000. They spoke different languages, but prayed in one. That was the miracle: from dispersion — to unity.

As the Talmud says: “Where there are ten Jews — there the Shekhinah dwells.”
And Odessa had more. Much more.
Perhaps that’s why it became known as the smile of God.



Rumors that Illuminate

Odessa loves myths. Here they say that De Ribas, founder of the main street, was Jewish. That the Duke de Richelieu, the first governor, was of Sephardic descent. There are no documents. But there is an atmosphere. And in Jewish tradition we know: if a story inspires and unites — it’s already part of the midrash.

Because sometimes, a rumor is also a blessing.



The Talmud on Preobrazhenskaya Street

Jewish Odessa of the 19th century was an Oral Torah in real time.
On Moldavanka, debates echoed like in Rabbi Akiva’s academy.
Shops taught economics through the Chumash.
Newspapers argued with antisemites as if it were Tractate Avodah Zarah.

“Ha-Melitz,” then “Ha-Tzefirah,” and “Ha-Shahar” — the first Jewish publications in Russian — were born here. It was the modern-day Talmud — commentary on reality. And every Odessan was a living sage. Even the peddler. Even the porter. Even the thief.



The Brodsky Synagogue: Music as Prayer

In 1840, the Brodsky Choral Synagogue opened — the first of its kind in the Russian Empire. It became the spiritual heart of the city, its Tefillah and Niggun. There sang Novakowsky and Blumenthal — cantors whose voices were revelations. Their prayers sounded like operas — but not for the stage, for the heavens.

Odessa’s musical school influenced Jewish liturgy everywhere — from Warsaw to New York. In the 20th century, American cantors sang in the same spirit that once resounded on Preobrazhenskaya.

One of them, Moshe Ganchoff, was born in Odessa — a city with a profound cantorial tradition.
His mother came from a religious family, his father was a secular Bundist.
As a child, he heard the greatest cantors of Europe perform in Odessa, and this left an indelible mark on him.
But his talent blossomed in America, where he received all of his formal cantorial training. Among all the emigrant cantors in the U.S., he was the only one who truly developed his mastery on American soil.

He was called “The Cantor’s Cantor.”
Respected by colleagues, adored by connoisseurs.
But in his voice, Odessa always sang.
Even across the ocean, the city prayed through him.



Jabotinsky — The Prophet from the Seaside

In 1880, Ze’ev Jabotinsky was born — the greatest of Odessans.
He embodied everything: the spirit of freedom, irony, strength, and vision.
He was a journalist, poet, soldier, prophet — all because he was a student of Odessa.

He didn’t just study in gymnasium — he studied on the streets, where in a single block people discussed the price of the franc, global politics, and the weekly Torah portion. He rose from madrikh to the messiah of action — and became a prophet of Jewish national revival.

His ideas, his language, his charisma — all of it was shaped in a city where debate is a mitzvah, freedom is Torah, and dreams — are Israel.



Conclusion

Odessa is not just a city.
It is a midrash by the sea.
It is a Talmud infused with the smell of fish, jokes, and candles.
It is a spiritual experiment: what happens when Jews gather and begin living by their own intuition?

The answer: there will be light.
There will be Jabotinsky.
There will be the Brodsky Synagogue.
There will be song.
There will be Chesed.

And even if the Jews have left, even if the streets have been renamed, even if the names have been forgotten — the light remains.
Because where six Jews became a people — true creation began.


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