- What’s On
Domenico Hierosolimitano led two lives, the earlier as a Jewish physician to Murat III, the later as a Catholic scholar in papal Rome. John Freely’s Lost Messiah made his own astonishing journey in the opposite direction. Sabbatai Sevi was the Izmir rabbi who in the 1650s followed his inner promptings and allowed himself to be acclaimed as God’s Anointed, sparking heated controversy throughout the diaspora. This learned man, in a community of the learned, was an inspired transgressor of ritual law. He brought women into his rites, turned the ritualised mourning ceremonies into jolly feasts to celebrate his birthday, broke taboos on food and observances, and sang popular songs like Mélisande in a mood of ecstasy. He also had sombre times when God hid his face from him.
Sevi travelled between Izmir, Salonica and Jerusalem, winning converts and scandalising the orthodox, while his prophet, Nathan, reached the Venice ghetto, where he soberly interpreted the avowedly bizarre behaviour and pronouncements of his chief.
Freely is good on the events that led to Sevi’s arrest by the Ottoman authorities. By 1666 he was living as a prisoner in Edirne, waited on hand and foot by eager followers, who expected some dazzling miracle to reunite the Lost Tribes and transform the Sultan, with whom he had a God-appointed rendezvous, to become his faithful servant. All around the world, as far as America, many Jews and even some Israelite Christians were preparing to sell up and follow him.
But at the fatal moment, Sabbatai knuckled under and converted to Islam. From a painful interview with Mehmed IV’s divan, he emerged as a royal gatekeeper. Sevi seems to have flunked the messianic test, as many of his former followers angrily realised, and the revolutionary movement was extinguished at that point.
‘Turning Turk’ involved a message too esoteric for most ordinary people. In spite of it, some Jews insisted on seeing Sabbatai’s apostasy as part of a grander plan. They supposed that he had chosen to enter the world of shards, the vessels that shattered when the divine light filled them, to make them whole through the defeat of evil. Observed with interest by European traders and diplomats recently arrived in the Ottoman Empire, Sabbatai and Nathan continued to insist on the reality of the Coming, through to Sabbatai’s exile to Albania where, it was thought, he would find no Jews at all. Their legacy was an esoteric sect (which splintered into sub-sects and has, it is believed, all but disappeared) of devotional Muslims who nonetheless quietly follow Sabbatai’s ritual instructions and await his promised return.
In the first of a series on the great wines of Turkey and its ancient dominions, Kevin Gould visits Gallipoli. A land of heroes from Homeric times to the First World War, the peninsula has also for 3,000 years prided itself on its wines.
Osman Streater recounts a remarkable piece of unrecorded history: the wartime friendship between the future Pope John XXIII and his great-uncle Numan Menemencioğlu, Turkey’s Foreign Minister from 1942 to 1944. The most important area of their joint work is one that is not mentioned in histories official or unofficial: they saved about 100,000 Jews from the Nazis
London’s Islamic Sales Week, Washington’s textile exhibitions, New York’s Mughal jewellery, Ara Güler’s Turkey in black and white and the Biennial in Istanbul
Home to the world’s oldest settlements, land of biblical prophets – the Tigris and Euphrates basin is a fabled but forgotten frontier. In a 30-page celebration, Manuel Çitac captures its splendour in photographs, while Min Hogg keeps a wry diary on her sortie to this hard-baked corner of Anatolia