The tragedy of Iraq’s Jews

Walk into my grandmother’s living room in north-west London, and you could be forgiven for thinking you had suddenly stepped into the Middle East. The coffee table is laden with treats, from homemade date-filled flatbreads to baklawa and nuts. Al Jazeera plays on the flatscreen, reeling off the latest news about the Israel-Palestinian conflict. In the corner of the room is a darbuka drum and my late grandpa’s backgammon set for anyone who fancies a game. In the kitchen there are two pots brewing: one making slow-steamed tea laced with cardamon, the other Arabic coffee ready to be poured into miniature cups. Unsurprisingly, my family are often here – along with the rest of Iraq’s displaced Jewish community. 

At my grandmother’s home, different generations gather to share memories, sing songs, and discuss politics. People who were once neighbours in Baghdad – but who are now scattered across the world from New York to Tel Aviv – catch up, before going on to celebrate a wedding, bar or bat mitzvah in London.