Εγκυκλοπαίδεια Μείζονος Ελληνισμού, Κωνσταντινούπολη

1. Introduction

A student of the history of the Jewish community of Istanbul will usually obtain a picture of this community based on a contemporary perspective. By and large, it will be a history of a Sephardic community that has undergone a lengthy process of Ottoman Turkish and oriental acculturation. This paper¹will try to offer, albeit in a nutshell, a view of Istanbul Jewry in the Ottoman period from a Romaniot perspective, based on a variety of sources. The Romaniots were descendants of the Byzantine Greek-speaking Jews dwelling in the Ottoman Empire, who, in the course of some three hundred years since the settlement of Iberian Jews in Istanbul (1492-1560), were assimilated by the newcomers from Spain and Portugal.

2. The Jews of Constantinople on the eve, and in the aftermath, of the Ottoman Conquest

At the end of the Byzantine era, enclaves of Jewish settlement existed in areas in and around Constantinople, that later would become suburbs and neighbourhoods of Greater Ottoman Istanbul. The Jews of Palaeologian Constantinople lived in the area allocated for the Venetian colony, and possibly also within the compound allocated for the Genoese colony, near what was called at that time Porta Evreika (The Jewish Gate), and in Ottoman times Çifut Kapısı (The Jewish Gate, Çifut being a derogatory term for Jews).² Another enclave existed in Vlanga, on the shores of the Marmara Sea,³ and yet another in Picridion, on the northern shores of the Golden Horn – areas that would later include the Ottoman neighbourhoods of Hasköy, Kasım Paşa, Piri Paşa , and Galata.⁴ The Ottomans’ final attack on the walled city began in the afternoon of 28 May 1453, and St. Romanos Gate, leading to the Vlanga, was the first to be breached.⁵ Fierce fighting also took place near the Horaia Gate, not far from the Jewish Gate.⁶ Consequently, the Jewish population suffered the same fate as their Christian neighbours. After two days of carnage and pillage, the Ottomans rounded up the remainder of the population (an estimated 40,000 people)⁷ in their camp. Those who were considered members of eminent families were kept by the sultan, sent as gifts to Ottoman administrators within the empire, or delivered to his troops as slaves. Mehmed II, the Conqueror, attached great significance to the conquest of Constantinople, not only because of its strategic situation and its symbolic importance as the capital of the Byzantine Empire, but also because its capture constituted an important step toward his goal of turning the Ottoman Empire into a world power on a par with the former Great Alexander and Roman Empire. Wishing to turn Constantinople into a capital worthy of such an empire, he set in motion a series of actions designed to rebuild it as a capital.⁸ He requisitioned public buildings for his own use, and allocated the best houses to his outstanding commanders. He kept local Greeks captives for his own use, and the seamen among them were settled with their families along the Golden Horn.⁹ His wealthier subjects were ordered to settle with their families in the new capital.¹⁰ When this did not proceed as planned, he ordered the transfer of five thousand families from Rumelia and Anatolia, including Greeks, Muslims and Jews, from areas formerly conquered by the Ottomans, to the city.¹¹ The Greek Orthodox, Muslim, and Jewish populations transferred to the city were chosen by profession and income. The building professions were preferred, or, failing this, a strong business background.¹² The Jewish population that survived the conquest, and many of the Greek Christians, were allowed to resettle in the city (probably after paying a ransom)¹³ albeit not as willing settlers but as sürgün (deportees).¹⁴ They shared this sürgün status with other populations – Muslims, Christians and Jews from various places in the expanding Ottoman Empire – who were transferred to the newly conquered city. The former inhabitants who were allowed to return to the city, and the deportees and their descendants, were compelled to continue living in Istanbul unless a sultanic decree allowed them to move elsewhere.¹⁵ In the Jewish case at least, there is also evidence that a person, male or female, who married into a sürgün family, received the legal status of sürgün and was confined to the spouse’s residence in Istanbul.¹⁶

The congregation founded by the native Jewish polites was later called by the Iberian newcomers Poli, i.e. ‘The City’ – Constantinople’s traditional name among Graecophones.¹⁷ The Jews of Galata and Picridion (soon to become Hasköy and Kasım Paşa) seem to have survived the conquest relatively unscathed; they were not evicted from their homes, and may even have retained their properties.¹⁸

By 1455, many Jews of Asia Minor, and the majority of Rumelian Jews, had been transferred to Istanbul. According to Halil Inalcik’s study of the Ottoman survey conducted in December 1455, Jews from Edirne, Salonika, Zeitun (also called İzdin, now Lamia in central Greece), Filibe (Plovdiv, now in Bulgaria), and Niğbolu (Nicopol, on the Bulgarian shores of the Danube) were settled in the area between Çifut Kapısı and Zindan Kapı. Inalcik also claims that more Jews from Zeitun were settled in Samatia (also referred to as Psamathia or Ipsomadia in later Ottoman sources), namely, San Matias (St. Matthew) on the shores of the Marmara Sea, and more Jews from Filibe were settled in Tob Yiküğı.¹⁹ The Karaite sage Kalev Afendopoulo wrote in 1497 that in 1455, ‘Sultan Mehmed, son of Murad, expelled all Jews from his kingdom and settled them in Kostandina, from Edirnopoli (Adrianopol, Edirne), and Preveto (Preveza, in north-western Greece) and other places.’²⁰ The poll-tax registers of 1540 and 1544²¹ specify the origins of more deportees:²²Gelibolu ( the Greek Gallipoli,now in Turkey), Dimotika (Didymoteicho ,now in Thrace, Greece); Üsküb (Skopje,now in Fyrom); Ustrumca (Strumica, south-east Fyrom); Ohri (Ohrida, Fyrom); Fornoz (Samos, Greece); İzdin (Lamia, central Greece); Istefe (Istipol, Stip [Fyrom]); Livadia (Livadeia in Boetia, Greece); Selanik (Salonika); Tire (western Turkey); Siroz (Serres, Greece); Sofya (Sofia); Yanya (Ioannina, Epirus, western Greece); Pirlepe (Prilep, Fyrom); Kastorya (Kastoria, Northern Greece, west Macedonia); Tirhala (Trikala, north-western Thessaly, Greece); Kara Verya (Karaferia; Véroia, northern Greece); Edirne (Adrianopolis); Kastamoni (now Kastamonu, Black Sea region, Turkey); Provadi (north-east Bulgaria, near Varna); Çernovi (north-east Bulgaria near Varna); Tirnovi (Trnovo, north-central Bulgaria, the Bulgarian capital before the Ottoman conquest [1393]); Nikopoli (Nicopol, on the Bulgarian shore of the Danube); Lofça (Lovech, in north-central Bulgaria); Vidin (on the Bulgarian shore of the Danube); Filibe (Plovdiv, in Bulgaria); Avlonya (present-day Vlore, in Albania); Ayasoluğ (present-day Selçuk, near the ruins of Ephesos); Eğridir (north of Antalya, Hellenistic Akrotiri); Borlu (probably Uluborlu, north-west of Isparta, in Anatolia); Antalya (on the Mediterranean coast, Hellenistic Attalia) and Yanbolu (Yambol, in south-eastern Bulgaria). More Jews were transferred to Istanbul when the Ottomans further expanded their realm: Patras (1458) (in western Greece, on the estuary of the Corinthian Straits); Mistras (1460) (Myzistras, today an archaeological site near Sparta, Greece); Trebizond (1461) (Trabzon, Turkey); and Eğriboz (Chalkis, Greece).²³

3. How Greek were the Romaniots?

The Romaniot deportees were all Greek-speaking Jews, descendants of a long line of Jewish Hellenists, who, although increasingly isolated from their non-Jewish neighbours since the advent of Christianity as a state-religion, retained not only their ties to the Greek language but also to many aspects of the surrounding Greek culture. This included a somewhat liberal attitude toward women both inside and outside the private realm.²⁴ This liberal attitude was reflected in a long engagement period during which the couple could spend time together unchaperoned;²⁵ engagement presents that had the force of a legal betrothal (so that if the marriage failed to take place, a divorce was mandatory);²⁶a marriage feast that was reminiscent of the Greek one, during which the couple would be crowned with garlands;²⁷ inheritance laws enabling children to inherit half of their deceased mother’s legacy (similar laws pertained among the Jews in the Iberian peninsula, but were later amended by the Sephardic immigrants in Istanbul to grant the widowed husband the entire legacy of his deceased wife, even if she left offspring);²⁸ the wide-spread custom among Greek-speaking Jews, both Rabbanite and Karaite, of giving daughters Greek names, such as Panorea (Πανορέα = consummate beauty),²⁹ Irini (Ειρήνη=peace), ³⁰Anasta (from Αναστασία = resurrected),³¹Arkhondopoula (Αρχοντοπούλα = nobleman’s daughter),³² Manaka (Μανάκα = grandmother, probably to bless the baby with long life),³³ Khrisula, Khrisi, or Khursi (Χρυσή , Χρυσούλα = Golda),³⁴ Boula or Boulissa (Βούλα = elder sister),³⁵ Istamata (Σταμάτα =she who will stop [other girls from being born…]),³⁶ Kalomira (Καλομοίρα = good luck),³⁷ Kalo (good),³⁸ Kira (Κυρά = Lady),³⁹ Afedra (Αφέντρα = Lady [female form of the Turkish effendi]),⁴⁰ Filistra (from Φύλλα? = leafy, prolific?),⁴¹ Despina (Δέσποινα = unattached, maiden),⁴² Girasopoula (from γέρος = daughter of an alderman),⁴³ Qsati or Iqsati (from Ξανθιά? = blond),⁴⁴ Saropoula (Σαροπούλα=Sarah’s daughter?),⁴⁵ Miqri (Μικρή = small one),⁴⁶ Mouqali (Μουκαλί = my good one),⁴⁷ Arkhondissa (Αρχόντισσα = noblewoman),⁴⁸ Qostira or Qostra (from Κόστoς =precious),⁴⁹ Parthi (from Παρθένα? = virgin, pure),⁵⁰ Pustira (from Πουστίς = Viola),⁵¹ Kokona (Κοκόνα = sweetheart),⁵² and the like. Interestingly, until the late seventeenth century, the Romaniots in general – not only the Karaites – still tended to practice endogamy. Most women with Greek first names were married to Romaniots. At the end of this period, only a slight divergence from this rule could be discerned. The table⁵³ shows the number of ‘mixed’ Romaniot marriages among 1244 Jews whose were buried between 1583-1650 throughout Turkey – 90% in Istanbul’s oldest cemeteries, Egri Kapı, Hasköy, Ortaköy, and Kuzguncuk – and excluding the Karaites who generally kept to themselves.

The table⁵⁴ shows that, whereas in 1583-1591, Romaniot female names constituted 1.05% of all names in Sephardic and Ashkenazi families, in 1646-1656, they constituted 1.15% of such names. This situation remained constant until the end of the century. It would appear that the prevalence of some Romaniot names, especially Khursi and Kalo, in all Jewish cemeteries in Istanbul and, indeed, throughout Turkey, implies that these Greek names simply became fashionable among all Ottoman Jews. At the same time, we find male Biblical names among Romaniot Jews that were rather unusual in the Jewish Diaspora at large, such as Yoav,⁵⁵ Avishai,⁵⁶ Yaqtan,⁵⁷ Kalev,⁵⁸ Eliyah,⁵⁹ Yefet,⁶⁰ Yishai, and Bali (Ba‘ali? = my master, my God).⁶¹ All these names served both as first names and surnames, since for many generations the Greek-speaking Jews preferred to be identified by their patronymic, rather than by a surname. Some Romaniot males were given Greek names, such as Afendopoulo (Αφεντόπουλο = Turkish/Greek: lord’s son),⁶² Eliyaopoulo (Eliya’s son),⁶³ Polikhrono (Πολύχρονο = long live),⁶⁴ Papo (Παππού=grandfather)⁶⁵ and Papula (grandpa).⁶⁶ The surname, Istamati, appears frequently on late sixteenth-, early seventeenth-century tombstones in the Hasköy Cemetery, alluding, perhaps, less to the desire to cease having children than to the family’s origins in Samatia, on the shores of the Marmara Sea.⁶⁷ Be this as it may, these were either Romaniot Jews hailing from the pre-Ottoman neighbourhood who were forced to move to Hasköy, or simply Jews bearing a Greek name. Other Romaniot surnames are Igreki,⁶⁸ or Greki,⁶⁹ that are self-explanatory. Of special interest is one of the last vestiges of Romaniot identity, as reflected in the inscription on the tombstone of Luna Vida, wife of ‘Eliyah HaLevi, may God guard him and protect him, also known as Grego [the Greek]’,⁷⁰ who passed away on 1 December 1805. The most likely explanation of the epithet ‘Greek’ in its various forms is that it designated Romaniots who settled among Sephardim and who, for a while, continued to preserve their own customs. Other typical Romaniot surnames are: Kastoryano,⁷¹ Saloniqiou,⁷² Mizitrano,⁷³ Verioti,⁷⁴ Poliastro,⁷⁵ and the like.

In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, Greek-speaking Jews, both Rabbanite and Karaite, preserved a tradition of studying Greek philosophy. The Karaites, in particular, were interested in mathematics and its role in determining their calendar. In general, they began assimilating Rabbanite erudition even before their deportation from Edirne to Istanbul. Of great interest, both in terms of the rapprochement between the Karaites and Rabbanites in the Ottoman lands in this period, as well as in terms of Romaniot scholarship per se, is the career of Mordekhai Komitiano (erroneously spelled also Komtino) (1402- ca. 1482) from Edirne, and his relationship with the Karaite world. From his name, it is clear that he hailed from the city of Komotini in Eastern Macedonia, and was called Komitiano after moving, or being forced to move, to Edirne, where he spent a considerable part of his life. He was probably deported to Istanbul along with the Karaite community of Edirne.⁷⁶ Komitiano himself was a Rabbanite Jew, as indicated by his writings. At the same time, he was definitely a Romaniot, as evidenced by the fact that he designated himself: ‘Ha-Yevani’, namely, ‘the Greek’.⁷⁷ Already in Edirne, he became the nucleus of a group of young Karaite scholars, and his influence over the Karaite legal and spiritual world began even before his deportation to Istanbul. Once in Istanbul, the circle of scholars that formed around him grew to include Romaniot Rabbanite scholars, as well as by some Sephardim who found their way to the Ottoman capital before the Expulsion from Spain. Komitiano left behind a rich intellectual legacy in the form of his exegesis on the Pentateuch, commentaries on the works of Avraham Ibn ‘Ezra and Maimonides, and studies on arithmetic and astronomy and their practical role in calculating the calendar and in manufacturing navigation tools and clocks.⁷⁸ Komitiano was acquainted with Greek astronomers, and shared his knowledge with the Ottoman administration of his times.⁷⁹ His genuine Greek roots and his familiarity with Greek culture were reflected not only in his self-designation as ‘Greek,’ but in various discussions that are part of his rich intellectual heritage.⁸⁰ He had a great influence on the intellectual world of the Karaite scholars, with whom he conducted polemical debates, and was instrumental in their decision to write down the basics of their legal traditions. His disciples, Kalev Afedopoulo, and Eliyahu Bashaytzi, (or Başçı according to the correct pronunciation) introduced to the Karaite intellectual world both the Talmudic tradition and Jewish philosophy in its Aristotelian guise.⁸¹ With the arrival of Sephardic sages who were interested in astronomy and arithmetic and the Aristotelian school of Jewish philosophy, Istanbul became a centre of these disciplines for a while.⁸²

4. The Geographical Distribution of the Romaniot Congregationsin Istanbul

Apart from the Jewish congregation of Edirne (Karaites), which is described as being situated near the Orya Gate, i.e. in the Byzantine Jewish quarter, near the ‘Jewish Gate’,⁸³ there is no conclusive evidence connecting the neighbourhoods in which these deportees were located to their congregations as identified by their places of origin. The Ottoman registers of the Mehmed II and the Aya Sofya Mosque vakıfs testify that most of the deportees from Anatolia and the Balkans who were brought over to repopulate and rebuild the empty and devastated city, were settled in a trapezoid-shaped area formed by Eminönü, Sirkeci, Tahtakale and Mahmud Paşa (today the area between and around the Galata and Atatürk bridges). Some also settled to the north of Mahmud Paşa in Zeyrek. The existence of this settlement is corroborated by Hebrew, European and Ottoman sources.⁸⁴ The 1495 register of the Mehmed II vakıf refers not only to the Edirne (Karaite) quarter near present-day Eminönü, but also to other areas where Jews were living, such as Balık Pazarı (the fish market), to the north of the spice market (Misir Çarşısı); Zindan Hanı (the jail) in what is now a park, close to the Atatürk Bridge; Sarı Demir, on the way to Unkapanı (the Flour Gate); Tahtakale (the Wooden Castle), in the vicinity of the present day neighbourhood of the same name; the area behind Zindan Hanı near Edirne Kapı (Edirne Gate); Sirkeci, as well as areas in the opposite direction, from Eminönü toward Sarayburnu.⁸⁵

Apart from this clear nucleus of Jewish settlement, the registers of the two aforementioned vakıfs attest to the existence of Jewish dwellings in Balat.⁸⁶ Halil Inalcik’s list of Jewish Istanbuli merchants whose activities were recorded in the Bursa court registers (1479-1500) may give some indication as to where the Romaniot Jews lived in Istanbul. It includes Arslan (Aryeh = lion), son of Sha‘aban,⁸⁷ born in Kastoria, and residing in Balat. Also listed are: Mordehay, son of Süleyman (Mordekhai son of Shelomoh), and Ya‘aqub son of Samariyya (Ya‘aqov son of Shemaryah), also born in Kastoria and residing in Balat.⁸⁸ The presence of these Kastorian Jews in Balat may indicate that the Kastorian Jewish deportees were settled in Balat right from the start. Another Jewish merchant mentioned in this list is Musa, son of Süleyman, originally from Nicopol, who now resided in Azepler Hamamı in Istanbul, north of Unkapanı⁸⁹ – a possible clue to the location of the Nicopol congregation.
Jews owned shops and businesses in Kadirga Limanı (probably near Kumkapı),⁹⁰ near the Gate of Samatya (Psamatia, Saint Matthew),⁹¹ as well as in Galata.⁹² The case of Galata is of special interest. Jews who resided in Galata before the Ottoman conquest were allowed to retain their properties there, and also appear in the first census of 1455.⁹³ Studies of the 1478 tax registers of the Mehmed II vakıf show that Jews were no longer mentioned in Galata.⁹⁴ However, the 1489 tax register of the Aya Sofya vakıf, specifies two Jews, one called Samarya (Samariyya?) (Shemaryah), and the other Kaludi (?),⁹⁵ each of whom owned a mansion and a shop near the ‘Lemon Gate’. The Lemon Gate was identified by Ayverdi as being located on the Galata side of the Golden Horn.⁹⁶

The 1519 tax revenue register for the same vakıf mentions only one mansion belonging to a Jew in Galata,⁹⁷ whereas thirteen Jews are mentioned as shop owners in the eski lonca (the old guildhall, in old Genoese, loggia) in Galata, near the iskele (wharf).⁹⁸ The reason why only a few Jewish mansion-owners are mentioned is not because Jews did not own mansions on land belonging to the vakıf, but because after 1455, most, if not all, of them, were transferred across the Golden Horn to the main Jewish settlement described above. Those who appeared in the 1478 register were most probably voluntary newcomers to the Ottoman city. Jews are mentioned as residents of Galata again in 1540 and 1545,⁹⁹ and their presence in Galata became more and more conspicuous from the mid-sixteenth century on.¹⁰⁰ They were mainly newcomers from Christian Europe, who were used to living among Christians, and who had European trade connections. Until at least 1566-1567, Jewish merchants still sailed every morning from ‘the city’ to Galata for business, returning every evening. As R. Mosheh Almosnino put it: ‘….the city is enormous, and those who are shop owners or engage in a special trade, have to cross over to Galata’.¹⁰¹

5. The Economic Activities of the Romaniots

There is solid evidence indicating that, for a certain period, the deportees were resentful of their enforced displacement.¹⁰² Nevertheless, they also learnt to exploit their situation, using their ties with their former places of residence to set up new businesses, including domestic trade, and tax farming of Sultanic state assets in these, and other, places.¹⁰³ Some even obtained permission to leave Istanbul and settle elsewhere, in keeping with Ottoman interests, such as a group of deportees who settled in Gelibolu, although they continued to pay taxes to the Mehmed II vakıf in Istanbul.¹⁰⁴ Many Karaites who were deported from Edirne to Istanbul, later moved on to the Crimea, especially to Mangup and Çifutkale.¹⁰⁵ The kinds of economic activities specified above, which required a considerable infusion of cash, indicate that the average deportee enjoyed a more than comfortable standard of living.¹⁰⁶ The presence of Nicopol Jewish tax-farmers in the Danube region, who paid taxes in Istanbul,¹⁰⁷ and the existence of Jewish shops in the eski lonca which had import and export ties with Christian Europe, supports the conclusion that at least a certain stratum of Romaniot Jewry was affluent. In 1487, five Istanbuli Jews, as against 123 Muslims, are mentioned as resident merchants of the Bedestan (the covered bazaar) of Istanbul.¹⁰⁸ Istanbuli Jews were also involved in the textile trade with Kaffa (1478), which served as a distribution point for northern markets in the Crimea, the Dasht, Muscovy, the Caucasus and the Volga Basin.¹⁰⁹ Other ports with which Istanbuli Jews traded as cloth merchants prior to the Spanish Expulsion were the ports of Akkerman and Kilia.¹¹⁰ The list of sixteen Jewish Istanbuli merchants, gleaned from the Bursa court records of 1479-1500 and published by H. Inalcik is of special interest. All of them, without exception, were sürgün, i.e., Romaniot Jews. All of them, apart from one, were importers of foreign goods, that were subsequently transferred to, and sold in, Istanbul. Their merchandise was mainly: pepper, rosemarine, cloves, dyes, mastic, silk from the far east, and cloth from Venice and London.¹¹¹ In 1483, a Jew called Sabbetay (Shabetai), son of Avraham, outbid all competitors with a 1,200,000 akçe bid for the tax-farming franchise of the Thrace saltworks. In 1477, a Jew called Altina (Altın in Turkish = gold) and his two partners (a Muslim and an Italian), paid 20,400,000 akçe to farm customs duties in Istanbuli ports. In 1481, two Jewish partners, - Bruto,¹¹² son of Isaya (Yesh‘ayah), and Arslan, son of Süleyman-, paid 18,000,000 akçe for the mints of Istanbul, Gelibolu, and Edirne. The same year, the partners Afsalom, son of Eliya (Avshalom ben Eliyah), Haskye, son of Samariyya (Hizqiyah ben Shemaryah), David, son of Yako (Ya‘aqov), Sha‘aban, son of Ishaq, and Musa, son of Ya‘aqub, paid 23,400,000 akçe for the mints of Novabri (Turkish; Novo Brdo [Slavic]), Üsküb and Serres. All of the important mints in Rumelia were farmed by Jews in 1481.¹¹³

Other sources provide additional evidence that the Istanbuli Romaniots enjoyed wealth and power. Rabbi Eliyahu HaLevi was arbiter in a decision by Romaniot notables to cease acting as sarrafs (farmers of the Royal Mint) for a period of three years – a decision that resulted in the closure of the Royal Mint of Istanbul. His responsum indicates that, in the 1530s, the Romaniots still controlled the circulation of currency in the capital.¹¹⁴ Rabbi Tam Ibn Yahya was arbiter in a dispute between a Romaniot woman and her sons over an estate worth over a thousand ducats; her marriage contract (ketubah) was worth twenty-five thousand akçe, and her husband had left her property in the amount of one thousand ducats.¹¹⁵

The Karaites deserve a separate discussion. According to Rabbi Eliyahu Mizrahi, most of them were money-lenders,¹¹⁶ and were considered wealthier than their Romaniot compatriots, with the means to employ Romaniot maids in their houses.¹¹⁷ Generally speaking, Karaite women enjoyed a higher social standing than other Romaniot women, let alone Sephardic women. The reason for this was the Karaite law (based on the Torah) forbidding the transfer of immovable assets from one patrilineal family to another. This meant that Karaite women were free to do what they liked with the assets they brought into their marriages. Their husbands had no say in the matter, and could not inherit their assets, which reverted to the wife’s patrilineal family upon her decease. Since Karaite women, like most women the world over, wished to ensure the well-being of their own offspring, many of them founded Muslim trusts (as testified by the Istanbul Shari‘a court registers – sicil) to ensure that their biological offspring inherited their assets rather than their legal heirs (i.e., brothers, uncles or fathers). This kind of activity encouraged Karaite women to become involved in property development, rentals, and investments. Some of these women became real business women.¹¹⁸ A Karaite woman named Strongila, daughter of Eliyah Gibor, held an important position in the Sultan’s harem, rendering various services to the ladies of the harem. She was especially close to Hafsa Sultan, Sultan Süleyman the Magnificent’s mother.¹¹⁹ Strongila was also called Kira or Kiera – no doubt a nickname or title-derived from the Greek kira (lady).¹²⁰ Several other women who fulfilled similar functions in the harem were also known by that name. Evidently, the title became synonymous with the function.¹²¹

The services Strongila and others like her performed for the women of the harem were described vividly by Robert Withers in the seventeenth century. These included supplying cosmetics and medicines, and acting as agents for those who wished to sell the precious stones given to them by the Sultan.¹²² Eventually, particularly in the late sixteenth century, they became the harem’s agents in all its dealings with the outside world, acting as contacts for those aspiring to imperial posts or foreign diplomats pursuing the interests of their countries.¹²³

When Süleyman the Magnificent ascended to the throne, Strongila’s friend, now the valide sultan (the sultan’s mother), managed to arrange a tax exemption for Strongila and her descendants and permission to own non-Muslim slaves. The exemption, originally granted in 927 of the Hijri calendar (1520–1521), was reaffirmed in 1027 (1612),¹²⁴ 1034 (1624–1625), 1103 (1691–1692), 1206 (1791–1792), 1255 (1839–1840), and 1284 (1867–1868).¹²⁵ Strongila converted to Islam at the end of her life and received the title Fatma hanım (Lady Fatma). At least some of her children remained Jewish, appearing as a separate group in the Ottoman poll-tax registers under the designation ‘sons of Kürd’ (one of her grandsons).¹²⁶ Her conversion can be interpreted either as a token of her gratitude toward the valide sultan, her life-long friend, or as a way of ensuring that her wealth would not dissipate after her death.

The above portrait of the Romaniot community would be incomplete without some mention of ordinary Romaniots, both Rabbanite and Karaite. As far as I can judge, in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, they were mostly affluent Jews whose legal problems are discussed in the sicil (the Muslim court registers) or the Responsa of the Jewish sages. Not all Romaniots, however, were well-off, judging by the fact that some of their daughters served as maids in Karaite households. This conclusion is supported by the poll-tax registers.¹²⁷ This is about the extent of our knowledge of their economic activities.

If we take the poll-tax registers of the Ottoman administration as a reliable reflection of the distribution of wealth within the Jewish community, the picture changes. The data of the 1595-1597 register, analyzed only in general terms by S. Yerasimos, led him to the conclusion that the sürgün congregations comprised taxpayers in both the highest and lowest brackets.¹²⁸ A more detailed study of later registers substantiates his conclusion regarding the earlier data.

A caveat is required here.¹²⁹ While the poll-tax registers may serve us as an indication, they cannot be regarded as a true reflection of the economic profile of the community, since the results of the survey have always been a compromise between the Ottoman functionaries who conducted them and the representatives of the Jewish community. Moreover, the 1688 survey might have included Sephardim who belonged to Romaniot congregations, and vice versa, because of the migrations of the Jewish population of Istanbul following the 1660 fire in Eminönü.¹³⁰ The 1691 survey drew no distinction between the sürgün and kendi gelen and the census was based on the city’s various neighbourhoods.¹³¹
Later censuses made for the purpose of poll-tax levying are even less instructive, and refer only to the main areas of Greater Istanbul. The difference between sürgün and kendi gelen no longer seemed to interest the Treasury of Mehmed II’s Trust.¹³²

Be this as it may, the picture that emerges from the 1623 register shows that, at the dawn of the seventeenth century, the Romaniots still retained their superior economic status vis-à-vis other Jewish groups in Istanbul, and still outnumbered them. On the other hand, the number of average and poor households in both groups was almost identical, and comprised the majority of each group. The concentration of wealth in the hands of a small stratum of Jewish society in this period is an important observation emerging from a variety of sources describing Istanbuli Jewish society.

6. Organizational Paradigms

After their resettlement, the Greek-speaking Jews of Istanbul retained their affinity and psychological allegiance to their former places of residence. It should be emphasized that the piecemeal way in which these deportees were organized was not a function of their geographical distribution in the city. On the contrary, the majority of them lived close to each other in the Eminönü-Sirkeci-Tahtakale-Mahmud Paşa area. They were driven together by an inner urge common to all migrant societies who suffer from a sense of xeniteia (alienation) and nostalgia.¹³³ Herding together in the company of those who come from the same place has a therapeutic effect. It alleviates the pain of alienation and nostalgia for a lost world. Thus, the deportees founded various congregations, each based on their place of origin. Each congregation maintained its own synagogue, its own social aid system and sometimes even its own schooling system. Each congregation had its own leaders, who looked after the congregation’s lay affairs, and often also presided as a court of law. These leaders, known in Hebrew as parnasim, were in charge of all the congregation’s financial affairs, and its commitments toward the Ottoman authorities. They were also responsible for helping the poor and destitute, orphans, widows, and the elderly who had no children.¹³⁴ The Ottomans, at least until the Tanzimat, left their non-Muslim subjects alone, as long as they paid their taxes regularly, caused no disturbance, did not insult the true believers (i.e., the Muslims) or their religion, and caused no harm to the Muslim state.¹³⁵ However, the Ottomans, being very practical, preferred to deal with one representative rather than with a large group of congregational leaders. Thus, the Jews’ election of a representative to act on their behalf vis-à-vis the authorities was almost certainly an Ottoman initiative. The post of ‘Leading Rabbi’ was parallel to that of the Greek-Orthodox Patriarch. The only difference between the two was that the Ottomans knew exactly whom they wanted as the Greek Orthodox Patriarch, but did not care who the Jewish representative was, as long as the Jews obeyed him. The reason for this was obvious: The Greeks outnumbered the Muslim Ottomans, and could, under the ‘wrong’ leadership, constitute a real danger to their empire while the Jews posed no threat whatsoever. As long as there was peace, the Ottoman regime did not care what was happening among its non-Muslim subjects.¹³⁶ The first Leading Rabbi (in Hebrew - ha-rav ha-manhig or hahambaşı in Turkish] of the Greek-speaking Jews of Istanbul was Rabbi Mosheh Kapsali, a renowned scholar of Cretan origin, who presided over these congregations from 1453 until ca.1498-1500. Whereas in the first decades of his tenure he managed to lead the community with determination and authority, towards the end of the fifteenth century his power declined, despite state backing. This was probably due to a combination of factors: advancing years, the emergence of the Sephardic Jews on the Ottoman scene who refused to recognize his authority, the reluctance of the Ottomans to intervene in domestic conflicts of this kind, and, last but not least, the failure of the community at large to live up to its financial commitments toward the Ottomans.¹³⁷ The Ottoman authorities did not differentiate between the individual and the congregation. Thus, if an individual belonging to a certain religious group failed to live up to his commitments, the rest of the group were held responsible. Since tax-farming was a popular occupation of the Jewish financial elite, any inability to live up to agreed-upon commitments rebounded on the community as a whole. By mutual consent or by Ottoman decree, She’altiel (Salto in the Ottoman documents) was appointed kahya (Turkish for administrator, from the Persian kethüda)-, namely, a person who bore ultimate responsibility for all financial commitments, whether communal, congregational or private, by Jews toward the Ottoman authorities.¹³⁸ The Leading Rabbi who succeeded Kapsali was a great scholar, but unassuming in character, who did his best to assist the Sephardic refugees, avoided controversy of any kind, and made no attempt to enforce his authority on the newcomers.¹³⁹

Although a few Iberians arrived in Istanbul before the main emigration from the Iberian Peninsula, the immigration and settlement of the Iberian Jews in Istanbul began with the Expulsion from Spain (1492). The main influx of these refugees to the Ottoman Empire took place between 1492 and 1510, with a second wave of immigrants from 1536-1560. The first wave consisted of Spanish Jews who were expelled from Spain proper. The second wave consisted of Spanish Jews who managed to leave Portugal, their first stop on their flight from the Iberian Peninsula, before Manuel ‘the Fortunate’ promulgated the 1497 act enforcing their conversion. These refugees were followed by Spanish and Portuguese Jews who took advantage of the ‘period of grace’ offered all ‘New Christians’ who wished to leave Portugal, after bloody riots that erupted in 1506 against the New Christians in Lisbon convinced the king that holding them there by force would not benefit the state. This wave continued alongside the expulsion of Jews from the Kingdom of Naples (1496-1510). In 1536, when the New Christians of Portugal realized that their efforts to prevent the establishment of a national inquisition in Portugal had failed, a new wave of emigration began flowing from Portugal to Antwerp, Amsterdam, Venice, London, Southern France, the Portuguese colonies overseas, as well as to the Ottoman Empire and Istanbul. In the case of Istanbul, this wave lasted at least until 1560.¹⁴⁰ It was the Iberian immigrants to Istanbul who coined the term ‘Romaniot’ for the Greek-speaking Jews with whom they came into contact.¹⁴¹ Other terms were ‘Gregos’¹⁴² and ‘Toshavim’ (Hebrew for ‘natives’).¹⁴³
Assisted by their Romaniot brethren, the Iberian Jews soon founded their own congregations based upon the same principle as that of the Romaniots. Thus, soon enough their first congregation, Gerush Sepharad (Spanish Expulsion),¹⁴⁴ splintered into other congregations named after the refugees’ cities or places of origin. By 1555, there were ten such congregations.¹⁴⁵ By 1688, the list included: Gerush, Catalan, Aragon (also called Shalom), Messina, Little Sicilia, Great Sicilia, Portugal, Cordova, Calabria, Señora (founded by Doña Gracia Nasi), and Midrash Hamon also known as Mayor (founded by the Hamon family, whose members served for generations as physicians in the Sultan’s court). These congregations did not belong to the sürgün, but were designated by the Ottomans kendi gelen, i.e., voluntary settlers.¹⁴⁶ They were free to move around and settle wherever they wanted. Other congregations of Iberian Jews were: the congregation of Zeyrek, called after the Istanbuli neighbourhood in which it was located,¹⁴⁷ and Cana, originally a Romaniot congregation that ‘metamorphosed’ into a kendi gelen – a step that must have necessitated the authorities’ consent.¹⁴⁸ Apart from the Iberian congregations, two other congregations were considered kendi gelen: The congregation of Budon (i.e. Buda in Hungary), and the congregation of Alaman, i.e., the Ashkenazim hailing from central Europe.¹⁴⁹ Somewhere between 1545 and 1596, non-sürgün Jews ceased paying their taxes to the central Treasury as had been their custom, and began paying taxes to the Mehmed II vakıf, like their sürgün compatriots.

In the first half of the sixteenth century, the Jewish community of Istanbul underwent several changes. Fierce conflicts erupted around the post of kahya in general, and that of Kahya She’altiel in particular. Following accusations of corruption and embezzlement, he was excommunicated by the entire corpus of Jewish congregations, which imposed excommunication on anyone else who attempted to assume this post. Seeing, however, as he was indispensable for the smooth conduct of relations with the Ottoman authorities, he was subsequently reinstated (1519).¹⁵⁰ However, following him, the office of kahya was no longer specified in Hebrew sources. Indeed, from the second quarter of the sixteenth century, all sources indicate that a committee approved by the supra-congregational organization of all Ottoman Jews represented the community vis-à-vis the Ottomans. This change was the result of the need to strike a balance between the Ottoman demand for orderly representation, and the evolving Jewish political culture, that became increasingly fractured as more and more immigrants arrived in the city. These immigrants demanded not only the right to retain their traditional customs but also a certain say in who would represent them before the Ottomans. The general discontent with Kahya She’altiel, the demand for a more democratic way of representation, and the Iberian Jews’ loyalty to their own rabbinical leaders rather than to the Leading Rabbi of the Romaniots, resulted in the need for all Istanbul Jews, whether Romaniot or Iberian, to agree to a communal life that would still allow them to retain the unique identity of each of their congregations. We do not know whether this came about through a gradual process of development or through a specific decision made by the congregational leaders, although Jewish political cultural experience favours the first hypothesis.¹⁵¹
A striking example of supra-congregational cooperation and organization was the foundation circa 1529 of an entire complex in the central Jewish settlement around Eminönü. This complex included a courtyard surrounded by a three-storey building, two floors of which were inhabited by indigents who were supported by the congregations of Istanbul, and the third floor of which housed a school for the children of the poor. The plot was granted to the Jewish community as a whole by Sultan Sülyeman the Magnificent at their request.¹⁵² Another landmark was the foundation of a special communal court to adjudicate in cases pertaining to tenure and right of possession (in Hebrew hazaqah) between members of all the congregations, in order to avoid a situation whereby Jews would bid against each other for assets owned by non-Jews, thereby raising its value.¹⁵³ For at least a century after the settlement of Iberian Jews, Istanbul Jewry successfully maintained the following principles of organization: Each of the non-Romaniot congregations had its own congregational leaders, Hakham, court of law, and sometimes a house of study and even a school for younger children (four- to thirteen-year olds), called in Judaeo-Spanish meldar. Most congregations cared for their sick, orphans, widows and needy. While each of the Romaniot congregations had its own separate and parallel institutions, they all obeyed the Leading Rabbi in matters of Jewish law. Their lay leaders, the parnasim, sometimes sat as a court of law on financial matters. When questions arose that required the agreement of all Istanbul Jewry, the leaders of the Sephardim and the leaders of the Romaniots reached separate agreements, and then sent their representatives to negotiate a joint decision.¹⁵⁴ The reality was not always smooth: Disputes and conflicts arose. However, somewhat surprisingly, this method of decision-making evidently held the affluent and influential, such as the Nasi family, in check and forced them to bow before the will of the majority.¹⁵⁵

7. Where, when, and how, did the Romaniots disappear?

The obvious differences between the Romaniots and the Iberian Jews, the main one being their daily language, were not, evidently, sufficient to maintain the unique culture of each group. As soon as the first refugees arrived, Romaniot scholars, both Karaite and Rabbanite, homed in on their scholars, and a lively exchange of knowledge began to take place.¹⁵⁶ Mixed marriages followed, but on a limited scale, due to the fact that marriage into a sürgün family entailed the legal restrictions that applied to a sürgün.¹⁵⁷ At the same time, an interesting process was evolving in the capital. The Romaniots lived in a city in which almost 40% of the non-Jewish population spoke Greek,¹⁵⁸ which should, in itself, have served as a catalyst for preserving their unique culture. This, however, was not to be. Already at the end of the sixteenth century, the Leading Rabbi of the Romaniots, Rabbi Eliyahu Ibn Hayim, was a Sephardic Jew.¹⁵⁹ From this point on there was a steady rise in the number of Iberian Jews, and a corresponding drop in the number of Romaniots. Whereas, in 1623, the balance was about 40%-60% in favour of the Romaniots,¹⁶⁰ by the end of the seventeenth century the Iberians outnumbered the Romaniots (70% and less than 30% respectively, the remainder being Ashkenazim).¹⁶¹

This change was not due to the ongoing immigration of Iberian Jews to the city, which had ceased around the 1560s. Rather, it was due to a number of other factors, the first being the huge conflagrations that devastated the most important nucleus of Jewish settlement in the city, around present-day Eminönü. Three major fires took place in this area, in 1569, 1589, and 1660. The first and second triggered an internal migration of Jews who had lost their homes, to more remote neighbourhoods, where they had to join congregations that had no connection with their historical places of origin. Romaniots had to pray in Sephardic congregations and vice versa.¹⁶² They were not only cut off from their physical roots, but also had to change their mode of prayer. There is sufficient evidence to show that the Sephardic liturgical mode soon overtook all others. Already in the mid-sixteenth century, Romaniot sages experienced a strong Sephardic pressure to change their rites in favour of the Sephardic ones.¹⁶³ And if, in the late sixteenth century, Romaniot congregations did not hesitate to accept the Sephardic R. Eliyahu Ibn Hayim as their Leading Rabbi, by the mid-seventeenth century, Sephardic congregations had no qualms about accepting Romaniots as their rabbinical leaders. This meant that these Romaniot Rabbis were willing to adopt, or had already adopted, the Sephardic ways.¹⁶⁴ By the early eighteenth century, the Romaniot liturgical style began to disappear altogether, so much so that by the early nineteenth century, one could no longer be certain that a congregation that was ostensibly sürgün was truly so. It may have belonged to this category in name only, while its members actually prayed according to the Sephardic liturgy.¹⁶⁵ The first annual prayerbook based on the Romaniot liturgy, compiled by Eliah HaLevi, was published in Istanbul in 1510,¹⁶⁶ reprinted in Venice in 1574-1575, and reprinted again in abridged form in Venice in 1665.¹⁶⁷ In 1547, the Soncino Printing House published the Pentateuch with Greek and Spanish translations, ‘the two languages common among our people in this exile …who dwell in the kingdom of Togarma [the Ottoman Empire]’.¹⁶⁸ In 1576, an unknown printing house printed the Book of Jove in Greek and Hebrew characters.¹⁶⁹ In 1575-1578, the prayerbook for the High Holidays according to the Romaniot rite was printed in Istanbul by Eli‘ezer son of Yitzhaq Ashkenazi, together with David son of Eliya Qashti, not without financial difficulties. The work was completed in the Yosef Ya‘abetz printing house.¹⁷⁰ To the best of my knowledge, after 1665, no Romaniot prayerbooks or other books with Greek and Hebrew characters were printed in Istanbul.¹⁷¹ Data on the poll tax indicate that the prohibition on leaving the capital no longer applied at the end of the seventeenth century.¹⁷² Indeed, already in 1661 there was a rumour in the Ukraine that about ten well-established Karaite families from Istanbul had immigrated to the Crimea.¹⁷³ Before the eighteenth century, Jewish inter-ethnic marriages were infrequent,¹⁷⁴ and in most of these marriages, Sephardic culture superseded Romaniot culture.

Given the city’s Greek cultural background, the assimilation of the Romaniots into the Iberian society appears somewhat surprising. At least three factors help explain this phenomenon, the first being the overwhelming force of Jewish-Spanish culture.¹⁷⁵ Already Rabbi Eliyahu Mizrahi, the Leading Rabbi of the Romaniots (1498-1526), complained about the scarce regard for scholarship among the Romaniots,¹⁷⁶ while waves of Sephardic scholars were arriving in Istanbul.¹⁷⁷ Since the Judaeo-Spanish liturgy was by far the most beautiful of the various liturgical styles prevalent in the Jewish diaspora, the adoption of this style as well as many other Sephardic cultural assets, was not surprising. However, language is another matter. In the first half of the seventeenth century, there were still Romaniot Jews who communicated with their Sephardic neighbours in Turkish or Hebrew only, this meant that the Judeo Spanish had still not taken the place of the Greek among the first.¹⁷⁸ Greek became extinct among the Romaniots after their mass relocation from their traditional dwellings around Eminönü, to Hasköy. I found no written evidence on the use of spoken Greek among the Jews of Istanbul after the late seventeenth century. Although this, in itself, does not constitute clear proof that they never used the language in that period, it is certainly indicative. The geographical blend of the two groups however was not the only reason for the Romaniots’ disappearance. There is another reason that is common to Jewish diasporic culture in general. As a rule, Jews identified culturally with the winners, not the losers. In this case, the Greeks were the losers. By speaking Greek, the Romaniot Jews would be identified with a section of the population that was considered subjugated and vanquished. The Jews opted for Ottomanization. Although they spoke only a faltering Turkish, a certain command of the language was necessary to earn a living.¹⁷⁹ At the same time, they began to prefer Judaeo-Spanish over Greek or Turkish as their daily language. Judaeo-Spanish became their ‘secret’ language, the language they spoke at home. By speaking Judaeo-Spanish at home, they were also able to prevent their womenfolk from fraternizing with Muslim and Christian men.

The 1660 fire, that eventually sounded the death knell for the ancient Jewish intra muros settlement around Eminönü, may have served as a trigger for further changes in the community’s internal organization. During the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the Jews (both Romaniots and Sephardim) who settled in Istanbul, enjoyed two advantages: As foreigners to the city, they could offer it the know-how and skills it lacked.¹⁸⁰ Moreover, their settlement occurred during the heyday of the Ottoman Empire, and thus they, like everyone else who lived in the capital at the time, reaped the fruit of the economic boom resulting from the war loot that poured into the capital. This, in turn, led to increased consumption, an abundance of work opportunities, and a higher standard of living. Such conditions favoured the proliferation of separate congregational organizations with their own services. According to Ottoman estimates, the economic situation of Istanbuli Jews continued to improve even until 1623.¹⁸¹ After 1660, however, things were never quite the same as before.¹⁸²

Once the momentum of the Ottoman conquests subsided, various signs of stagnation within the government machinery began to emerge. Life was no longer a bed of roses. The rich, increasingly reluctant to pay the high taxes demanded of them by their congregations, tried to shift most of the community tax burden on to the poor, through indirect taxes on kosher meat, dairy products, wine, and unleavened bread (matzah) for Passover. By the mid eighteenth century, these taxes comprised as much as 45.15% of the community’s budget.¹⁸³ Some synagogues were forced to close down, while others survived as neighbourhood rather than as congregational synagogues. Advanced Torah study took place in private institutions that were still founded by the rich,¹⁸⁴ while elementary schooling became shallow and patently inadequate. It is not by chance that the issue of schooling is hardly mentioned in the sources from the late sixteenth century on. During the tenure of R. Eliyahu Ibn Hayim, as Leading Rabbi of the Romaniots, a dispute still existed regarding a building for a Talmud Torah. The plan was to house the Talmud Torah on the third floor of an old building, the grounds of which had been allocated during the reign of Sultan Sleyman the Magnificent. However, the poor people who lived in the first two floors of the building wanted the third floor for themselves, and so a new site had to be found for the Talmud Torah. The new site, bequeathed by Mosheh Zalman (obviously an Ashkenazi Jew), became the subject of a dispute between the administrators of the Talmud Torah and the congregation of Cordova.¹⁸⁵ By the eighteenth century, there was no sign of any organized schooling by the various congregations. Increasingly, the issue of schooling was left up to the parents, and was contingent on their economic resources.¹⁸⁶ The more fortunate children studied until their Bar Mitzvah (thirteenth year), while the children of the poor were given no more than four to six years of schooling, barely enough to learn to read the prayers and do basic sums.¹⁸⁷ In such circumstances, it became imperative to curtail communal expenditure. Apart from the general court for property rights, other legal matters were channelled into general courts, rather than congregational ones, which ceased to exist. At the dawn of the seventeenth century, another ultra-congregational court was established to adjudicate matters pertaining to the dietary laws, laws of personal status, and laws of purity (in Hebrew Dinei Issur ve-Heter).¹⁸⁸ At the beginning of the eighteenth century or even earlier, congregational judges no longer existed and the inhabitants of ‘Greater Istanbul’ had no choice but to turn to the nearest rabbinical authority instead. Consequently, the city was divided into several judicial chapters: Hasköy and Galata (one chapter), Balat, and Kuzguncuk. Above them was a higher instance that dealt with appeals and matters of importance to the entire community, presided over by The Supreme Rabbi ( in Hebrew Ha-Rav Ha-Kollel). When the post of hahambaşı was reinstated in 1835,¹⁸⁹ the question of whether he was the rabbi of the Sephardim or Romaniots no longer applied. The Romaniots had ceased to exist as a distinct group, except for certain inheritance laws.

As already stated, differences existed between the Romaniots and the Sephardim in certain aspects of marital and inheritance law. Generally speaking Jewish law gives priority to male offspring over female in matters of inheritance, since men are the ones who perpetuate the family’s name.¹⁹⁰ This created many problems for affluent fathers who were torn between the wish to provide adequately for their daughters and the knowledge that if their daughter died without issue, their entire ‘investment’ would go to her husband and his family. Moreover, even if she had live offspring, her husband, not her child, would inherit her wealth, and if he remarried and had children from his second wife, it would be his lawful right to split the assets he had inherited from his first wife as he saw fit. In thirteenth-century Spain, the regulations of Toledo and Molina pertained. According to these regulations, if a woman died with issue, her legacy was divided between her husband and children. If she died without issue, the inheritance was divided between her husband and her heirs. If the deceased’s mother had given her the dowry, she was entitled to half her daughter’s legacy. If the deceased mother had no other children, her heirs were entitled to split the remainder of her legacy among themselves.¹⁹¹

Because of the ethnic diversity of the Jewish community of Istanbul, at least until the late sixteenth century, two different customs regarding the inheritance of married women prevailed, and continued to prevail, well into the nineteenth century. Surprisingly, the Romaniots developed, independently, a similar regulation to the Toledo one. At the same time, the Iberians who settled in Istanbul diverged from the original Toledo regulations in a manner that discriminated against the wife’s family in case of her premature death. The differences between these regulations and the way they were applied in sixteenth-century Istanbul can be summed up as follows: (a) If a wife died with offspring, the Iberian Jews awarded the husband the entire legacy, while the Romaniots divided it equally between the husband and the offspring; (b) If the deceased wife had children, the Spanish Jews allowed the husband to keep the wedding presents along with any assets the bride brought with her to the marriage for her husband’s use ( in Hebrew nikhsei melog), whereas the Romaniots divided these assets equally between the husband and offspring; (c) If the wife died without issue, both groups divided the dowry equally between the husband and the wife’s heirs.

We see from the above that, for some reason, the inheritance regulations of the Iberian immigrants in Istanbul were tailored to favour husbands even more than in Spain, and more than was customary among their Romaniot or even Muslim compatriots. It its worth noting that the small Ashkenazi community in Istanbul tended, like the Sephardim, to favour the husband in this respect, abandoning the customs devised by their sages in Speyer, Worms, and Mainz in the thirteenth century that minimized the loss to the wife’s family in the case of her premature death. The Ashkenazim adopted the Romaniot custom, that was less favourable to the wife’s family than the Ashkenazi custom, in such cases.¹⁹² The above indicates that the premature death of a young Istanbuli woman represented a considerable financial loss to members of her father’s family. They could never enjoy the capital taken from the coffers of the male branch and now invested in the welfare and prosperity of another family.¹⁹³ By contracting a match between a girl and her paternal cousin or uncle, her father was able to give her a generous dowry, killing two birds with one stone: Ensuring her future, and ensuring that the family assets would not be diverted elsewhere. Since the deceased wife’s heirs fared better under Romaniot law, proving ones Romaniot origins was a matter of extreme economic consequence. As late as 1841, a lengthy entry in the Istanbul rabbinical court register explained all the minute differences between the inheritance laws of the various groups, and specified how the deceased wife’s legacy is divided in each case. This long explanation is followed by two columns, comprising a list of the sürgün congregations i.e., the Romaniots, (right-hand column) and a list of the kendi gelen, i.e., all others congregations (left-hand column). This list, drawn up by Judge Eli’ezer de Toledo,¹⁹⁴ did not signify that anyone claiming to belong to the Okhrida congregation in that year spoke Greek or prayed according to the Judaeo-Greek liturgy. Culturally, they were Sephardim. The rationale for preserving their roots as members of a Greek-speaking congregation that could be traced back to Byzantine times was simply economic. With the promulgation of the Tanzimat (the Reforms) in the Ottoman Empire, and especially the new family laws enacted by the ‘Young Turks’,¹⁹⁵ it became possible to settle these matters in a state court, thereby rendering even the economic rationale superfluous and erasing this ancient relic of the Romaniot past, too. It should be noted that the legal complexities of the inheritance law did not affect the Karaites at all, since they observed the ancient Biblical regulations that prohibited the transfer of immovable assets from one patrilineal family to another. Thus, when a Karaite woman died, all the immoveable assets she brought to the marriage reverted to her father’s house. The only way a Karaite woman could ensure that her children would inherit her assets was to set up a trust under Muslim law, and appoint her children trustees.¹⁹⁶

Another vestige of the Romaniot past that was evident even during the Republican era, was the long period of betrothal customary among the Romaniots. According to Jewish law, the formal union of a couple comprises at least three stages: (a) An engagement, at which a general agreement is drawn up between the two families, and sometimes even put in writing and signed by a legal authority; (b) a betrothal ceremony, at which the groom gives the bride an object of value (usually a ring) and pronounces the betrothal formula: ‘By this ring you are consecrated to be according to the Laws of Moses and Israel.’ in the presence of two adult, male witnesses. From this point on, until the wedding ceremony, the bride is legally forbidden to her betrothed as well as to any other man, and (c) the wedding ceremony, performed under the canopy, where the marriage blessings are recited and the marriage contract (ketubah) is read out. Only after these three stages can the marriage be consummated. Whereas the Ashkenazim and Sephardim conducted the betrothal and wedding ceremonies as one ceremony, thereby avoiding the situation of limbo triggered by the interval between the two ceremonies, the Romaniots, at least until the end of the seventeenth century, still conducted them as separate ceremonies. Moreover, the couple was permitted to spend time together between the two ceremonies, to get to know each other. In light of the above, and because Romaniot-Sephardi marriages became more prevalent from that period on, the Romaniots, as well as the Sephardim in Istanbul, considered the engagement presents that the groom gave the bride (in Hebrew, sivlonot, from the Greek συμβόλαιο, contract, deed),¹⁹⁷ even before the betrothal, as binding. This meant that a young woman, or rather, a young girl, who received presents from her groom-to-be, supposedly understood that they were given for her betrothal and consented to it. Such presents - in Istanbul were considered binding. After their receipt, the annulment of the match necessitated a formal divorce, even if the wedding ceremony itself had not taken place and the marriage had not been consummated. Echoes of this custom still existed among the Jews of Istanbul at least until the 1980s. A girl who accepted presents, such as jewellery, from her boyfriend was considered as formally engaged to him. Since this was not a true betrothal according to the letter of the law, a divorce was not called for in the event that one of the parties changed his/her mind. However, such a change of heart caused a huge scandal, and damaged the reputation of both bride and groom in a way inconceivable to any western, or westernized, Jewish community such as Istanbul community had been at that time.

Given the fact that, at least until the late seventeenth century, Romaniot-Sephardi marriages were rare, it is rather surprising to see that in the Issur ve-Heter Court registers for 1710-1903, only 10% of the names specified were Romaniot.¹⁹⁸ Furthermore, of 234 headstones in the Hasköy cemetery for the years 1961-1984, only five had Romaniot surnames and none had Romaniot first names. True, first names are influenced by fashion, but surnames are not. It is highly unlikely that the Jews changed their surnames prior to the nineteenth century, and even until 1923, changing ones surname was quite rare in Turkey. So what led to the disappearance of the Romaniots as a distinct group? A possible answer is that the 1660 fire that caused the Jewish population of old Istanbul to move to the suburbs, broke the old ban on the movement of the sürgün, and many of the Romaniots exploited this opportunity to try their luck elsewhere. If this were so, however, one would have expected them to resurface elsewhere, in or outside the Empire. This was hardly the case. The surname Politi, which first appeared in the mid-eighteenth century in Kuzguncuk, the Asiatic suburb of Istanbul,¹⁹⁹ and in the late eighteenth century in the cemeteries of Izmir (Gürçeşme and Burnova), may indicate sucha migration. However, whereas this name in Kuzguncuk could indicate the relocation of a member of the Poli congregation (probably a Romaniot) to another neighbourhood, this was not the case in Izmir, where the name Politi indicated a person who hailed from Istanbul (the capital city). In any case, of 61.000 tombstones throughout Turkey, only thirty-three bore this name. Of these only six were in Kuzguncuk and one in Hasköy, while the remainder were in Izmir. Therefore the emigration from the Poli would not appear to provide a convincing answer to the riddle of the Romaniots' disappearance. A more plausible explanation was genetic deterioration as a result of endogamous marriages over the generations, with the import of little new blood through immigration or marriage outside the group or even the family. Viewed from this perspective, the very same factor (endogamy) that might have acted as a catalyst for their continuation as a Greek-speaking group, led to their extinction. Indeed, after the seventeenth century, they became obsolete.
One should still take into account one important factor that might help explain the disappearance of the Romaniots from the Istanbuli landscape, namely the fact that several cemeteries, some of them very ancient, such as the Kasim Paşa cemetery, ceased to exist in the late sixteenth century. Two of these cemeteries, Eğri Kapı, and Edirne Kapı, that existed almost throughout the Ottoman period, may have been the final resting places of many Romaniots, whose existence can no longer be traced. Had these cemeteries not ceased to exist, we may have been able to assign the disappearance of the Romaniots to a later period, and might have ascribed them a much more conspicuous role within the Istanbuli community, at least well into the eighteenth century. At the same time, sources such as the Issur ve-Heter court registers, as well as the Istanbul marriage registers (1903-1922),²⁰⁰support the findings of the cemeteries to date.²⁰¹ This means that new material is unlikely to change the dating of the assimilation and even extinction of the Romaniots in Istanbul.

The situation among the Karaites is of special interest. Whereas female Greek names among the Karaites were rather fashionable in the fifteenth through seventeenth century, this tendency was less marked in the eighteenth century. From 1583-1697, 17% of female Karaite names were Greek. From 1700-1800, only 12% were. From 1800-1900, 4% were Greek, and from 1900-1989, the date on which I conducted my survey, this percentage (4%) remained constant. This is rather surprising in view of the fact that the Karaites seldom intermarried with Sephardic or Rabbanite Jews, simply because both sides considered it, and still consider it, inappropriate. In 1627, Greek was still the Karaites’ daily language, as attested by R. Eliyah Afeda Beghi, author of a Greek commentary to the Bible called Meirat ‘Einayim.²⁰² At the same time, there was ongoing emigration from the Crimea to Istanbul. The number of these Krimçak immigrants, is unknown. Their immigration to Istanbul was originally part of an ongoing connection between the Karaites, as well as the Rabbanites, of Istanbul, and the Crimea, which included migration in both directions.²⁰³ Evidently, sending young boys from the Crimea to study in Istanbul was not a rare occurrence. Thus, we find the tombstone of a young scholar, Simhah son of Mordekhai ‘learned and distinguished, from the city of Kaffa, who died an untimely death on 24 May 1662,’²⁰⁴ as well as that of Ye’udah son of Avraham, whose father was a rich and well-respected member of the Karaite community of Gozleve, who was sent to study in Istanbul and died prematurely on 6 June 1724.²⁰⁵ On the other hand, by the late seventeenth century, the Istanbuli Karaites argued that since all the Crimean Karaites were descendants of Istanbuli Karaites, and since the Istanbuli Karaite community had dwindled due to its enforced relocation from its old neigborhood near the ‘Jewish Gate’ to Hasköy as well as to massive emigration from Istanbul to the Crimea, the Crimean Karaites should help them financially.²⁰⁶ Irrespective of whether this argument was sound, it reflected the reality of an ongoing bi-directional migration, that continued into the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. In the mid-eighteenth century, especially, a large number of Istanbuli Karaites left for the Crimea.²⁰⁷ Conversely,the Karaite community absorbed immigrants from the Crimea, who migrated in the wake of the wars between the Ottomans and the Russians, especially after the Crimean Peninsula fell into the hands of Tsarist Russia (1783). This emigration from the Crimea might have been triggered by the new opportunities for trading between Russia and the Ottoman Empire.²⁰⁸ A later wave of Crimean emigrants arrived in Istanbul impelled by the hardships of the Crimean War (1854-1856) rather than by the economic prospects that the Ottoman capital offered them.²⁰⁹ Among these Crimean emigrants were some descendants of a Kipçak tribe who spoke a Turkic dialect.²¹⁰ Most of them, however, spoke a unique language of their own that was specific to the Crimean Karaites. Karaim, as this language was known, was a Turkic language that contained grammatical constructions peculiar to the Karaites that did not exist in any other Turkic language.²¹¹ The Karaim-speaking Karaites were probably descendants of Karaites who immigrated to the Crimea from Istanbul and the Middle East. Their arrival in Istanbul may have contributed to the growing use of Turkish among the Istanbuli Karaites. The size eighteenth-century, and even nineteenth-century, influx is hard to estimate. Studies on the Crimean Karaites do not refer to it in numerical terms, and the cemetery data alone does not support the assumption that this influx was the only reason for the turkification of the Karaites. Out of 414 stones dating from 1770 to 1880, thirty were clearly identified as those of Crimean Karaites, bearing the surname Kirimi, or Manguvi. They may have been even more numerous than their tombstones suggest, as indicated by the fact that a Pentateuch with a "Tatar" (in Hebrew ‘leshon Qedar’) commentary was published in 1833-1835.²¹² During the years 1831-1832, the Karaite scholar and traveller Avraham Firkovich (1787 Łuck, then Poland-Lithuania, 1873 Çufutkale, then Russia, both places currently in the Ukraine) stayed in Istanbul and apparently tried to convince the local Karaites that they, too, were descendants of a Turkic tribe. The publication of the Tatar Pentateuch may have been connected with his activities there, but not only. His teaching activities among Istanbuli Karaites brought home to them the need for a Pentateuch translation into what may already have been their main language, namely, the Istanbuli version of vernacular Turkish as spoken by non-Muslims, interspersed with special non-Turkish Karaim syntactical constructions. The fact that such a book would be purchased by the Crimean Karaites, as well as by East-European Karaites, made its production worthwhile. Eventually, Firkowicz fell out with the Istanbuli Karaites and returned to the Crimea. A. Danon’s suggestion that he was expelled from Istanbul because he tried to convince the local Karaites that they, too, were descendants of a Turkic tribe that should speak Turkish instead of Greek, is not borne out by the recently-discovered documentation. All his conflicts with the local Jews, Karaites and Rabbanites alike, were over issues of honor and money.²¹³ Change, however, was in the air before Firkowicz’s short stay in Istanbul. The Karaite female onomasticon changed radically already from the eighteenth century. The Karaites simply resorted to Hebrew biblical names, Sephardic names (such as Luna, Rosa or Perla), or Turkish names (such as Kadin or Sultana). However, here, too, one should bear in mind the enormous influence of fashion on all aspects of life, including the onomasticon. The issue of the Karaites’ use of Greek is far more complex. Although the publication of the ‘Tatar’ Pentateuch in 1832-1835 points strongly to their use of Turkish, this does not mean that Greek disappeared altogether. Some of their archives were destroyed, while the remainder are inaccessible. In 1984, a few elderly Karaites could still communicate in their ancient Byzantine dialect.²¹⁴ The younger generation speaks Turkish, just like their Rabbanite counterparts, marking the end of the Romaniot presence in Istanbul.

1. In this article, I refer to places by the names that were used in the period under discussion, followed by their current names, and the countries in which they exist today. The fieldwork for the Documentation Project of Turkish and Balkan Jewry, Goldstein-Goren Diaspora Research Centre, Computerized Database of Jewish Cemeteries in Turkey, Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, referred to in note 28 ff., was made possible thanks to the financial assistance of what was then The Annenberg Research Institute, Philadelphia (today, The Center for Advanced Judaic Studies [CAJS], University of Pennsylvania), and the Jewish Community of Istanbul.

2. On the Jewish settlement in this area, see Bowman, S.B., The Jews of Byzantium, 1204–1453 (Tuscaloosa, Alabama 1985), p. 20; Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 5–6.

3. Bowman, S.B., The Jews of Byzantium, 1204–1453 (Tuscaloosa, Alabama 1985), p. 55; Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 6–8.

4. Bowman, S.B., The Jews of Byzantium, 1204–1453 (Tuscaloosa, Alabama 1985), p. 55; Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), p. 6.

5. Bowman, S.B., The Jews of Byzantium, 1204–1453 (Tuscaloosa, Alabama 1985), p. 55; Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), p. 9.

6. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 9–10.

7. Cf. Kritovolous, History of Mehmed the Conqueror, trans. C.T. Riggs (Princeton NJ 1954), p. 76, with Tebaldi, G., The Siege of Constantinople 1453: Seven Contemporary Accounts, trans. J.R., Melville-Jones, (Amsterdam 1972), p. 4, and Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), p. 5 and the relevant references.

8. See especially Inalcik, H., ‘The Policy of Mehmed II toward the Greek Population and the Byzantine Buildings of the City’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 23 (1969–1970), pp. 229–249.

9. Kritovolous, History of Mehmed the Conqueror, trans. C.T. Riggs (Princeton NJ. 1954), p. 83.

10. Tursun Beg, The History of Mehmed the Conqueror II, trans. H. Inalcik - R. Murphey (Chicago, Minneapolis 1978), p. 55a.

11. Michael Ducas, ‘Byzantine History’, in: The Siege of Constantinople 1453: Seven Contemporary Accounts, trans. J.R. Melville-Jones (Amsterdam 1972), p. 112; Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), p. 45, note 1, and bibliography cited there.

12. Michael Ducas, ‘Byzantine History’, in: The Siege of Constantinople 1453: Seven Contemporary Accounts, trans. J.R. Melville-Jones (Amsterdam 1972), p. 112. Kritovoulos, History of Mehmed the Conqueror, trans. C.T. Riggs (Princeton NJ 1954), p.105.

13. See, for example, Kritovolus, History of Mehmed the Conqueror, trans. C.T. Riggs (Princeton NJ 1954), pp. 83, 93–94.

14. On the sürgün system, see Murphey, R., ‘Sürgün (lit. ‘expulsion’)’, in: P. Bearman, T. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs (eds.), Encyclopaedia of Islam (Leiden 2008), Inalcik, H., ‘The Policy of Mehmed II towards the Greek Population of Istanbul’, in: Dumbarton Oaks Papers, xxiii-xxiv (1969–1970), pp. 231–249.

15. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 45–46, and the bibliography in the respective notes.

16. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 326–327.

17. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 10–12.

18. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 12–15.

19. The data on this survey are garnered from Inalcik, H., ‘Istanbul’ EI, 2nd ed., Vol. 4 (Leiden-Paris 1978), p. 248; idem, ‘Ottoman Galata, 1453–1553’, in: Varia Turcica 13 (Colloque Galata), p. 43.

20. Danon, A., ‘Documents Relating to the History of the Karaites in European Turkey’, Jewish Quarterly Review, NS. 17 (1926), pp. 168–169.

21. Tapu ve-Tahrir defterleri, 210 and 240 respectively, at the Turkish Republic Prime Minister’s Office, Ottoman Archives in Istanbul.

22. The names are given as they appear in the Ottoman documents, together with the date of the Ottoman conquest where applicable, the present-day name and the geopolitical location of the place.

23. Yerasimos, S., ‘La fondation d’Istanbul ottoman’, in: N. Akin, A. Batur- S. Batur (eds.) Seven Centuries of Ottoman Architecture: A Supra-National Heritage (Istanbul 2001), pp. 207, 212.

24. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 111–179.

25. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 133–139, 326–328.

26. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 132–138,164, cf. Κωνσταντίνος Αρμενόπουλος, Εξάβιβλος (Athens 1971), book 4, title 1, “on contraction of betrothal,” title 3, “on donations during the betrothal.” And see below.

27. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), p. 139.

28. See below.

29. See, for example, Danon, A., ‘The Karaites in European Turkey’, Jewish Quarterly Review, NS, 15 (1924–1925), p. 327, and the tombstone of ‘Panorea, widow of the departed sage, Meir of Lirea’, d. 4 April 1730, Documentation Project of Turkish and Balkan Jewry, Goldstein-Goren Diaspora Research Centre, Computerized Database of Jewish Cemeteries in Turkey, Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University (hereafter DP), Kuzguncuk Cemetery, Lot C-3, Stone 187, Film #86 (12 April 1989); ‘The child, Panorea, daughter of Ya’aqov Gibor’, d. 20 November 1705, DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 15-1, Stone 14, Film #77 (3 November 1989); ‘Panorea, daughter of Shelomoh Beni, wife of Ye’udah Gibor’, d. 9 June 1638, DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 15 1, Stone 17, Film #77 (3 November 1989). Altogether, this name appears on fifteen out of 43,103 headstones in the Hasköy, Ortaköy, Kuzguncuk, Eğri Kapı and Karaite cemeteries of Istanbul. The latest inscription is dedicated to Panorea, wife of Ye’udah Leon, d. 8 November 1855, buried in Ortaköy Cemetery, Lot G-8, Stone 9, DP, Film #42 (9 February 1989). Cf. R. Yosef ben Mosheh Mi-Trani, Responsa (in Hebrew) (Lvov, 1861), Part 2, Even ha-‘Ezer, §11.

30. This name appears on twelve of the 43,103 headstones in the aforementioned cemeteries of Istanbul, the earliest inscribed to: ‘the pleasant girl Irini, daughter of Papula ben Mosheh’, d. 17 March 1604, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 2-1, Stone 72, DP, Film #71 (31 August 1988), and the latest inscribed to ‘Irini, daughter of Hayim Basso, wife of Yom-Tov Basso’, d. 14 January 1860, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 5-4, Stone 29MA, Film #20 (15 August 1988).

31. This name appears on five of the 43,103 headstones. Unusual because of its Christian connotation, it appears on a fragment of a headstone from the demolished cemetery of Eğri Kapı that was transferred to the new cemetery of Etiler. The inscription is dedicated to: ‘The beautiful girl Anasta, daughter of Yitzhaq HaKohen’. The headstone appears to be from the mid-eighteenth century, Lot A-1, Stone 2, DP, Film #14 (9 May 1989). Another example is the headstone of ‘Lady Anasta, wife of the illustrious and worthy Mosheh Nasi, and daughter of the worthy Shabetai Gerona’, who died in childbirth on 12 April 1656, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 6-4, Stone 17L, Film #6 (5 September 1987). An example of the hispanization of a Romaniot girl who married into a Sephardic family can be found on the headstone of ‘Anasta, also named Señoro, wife of Avraham Ibn Basat, and daughter of Nisim Katzavi, who died prematurely on 10 May 1710 from a serious illness’, DP., Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 1-2, Stone 177, Film #126 (16 September 1988).

32. On the Karaite name, Arkhondopoula, see my paper ‘The Trust of Lady Khrisula of Istanbul: Urban Reality and Dynastic Continuity’, Turkish Studies Association Journal (2004) 28.1-2: 29-80. There are eleven instances of this name in the aforementioned Istanbuli cemeteries, of which eight are in the Karaite Cemetery. The earliest tombstone bearing this name is inscribed to: ‘The pleasant maiden, Arkhondopoula, daughter of the honourable Avraham Meshulam’, d. September 1609, DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 2-4, Stone 116, Film #93 (5 September 1988); the latest is inscribed to: ‘The woman of valour, an only child to her mother, who died childless, the wife of the sage Eli‘ezer Puqi, and daughter of Ya‘aqov Gibor’, d. 31 March 1844, DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 15-1, Stone 15, Film #77 (3 November 1989).

33. There are five instances of this name in the Istanbuli cemeteries, the earliest inscribed to: ‘The worthy woman, beautiful and good, a diamond… a pure woman of valour contaminated [by the plague?], the glorious woman, Lady Manaka, may her soul walk in Paradise, wife of the honourable and illustrious Yitzhaq Bigi’. This lady, who was a descendant of the Yefet House, died on 6 March 1694, DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 14-2, Stone 8, Film #46 (31 October 1989). The latest stone bearing this name is inscribed to a Karaite woman (judging by her father’s name), who married a Sephardic Jew who was not an Ottoman subject (Franji), which may explain this irregularity: ‘Manaka, also named Vida, wife of Reuven Franji, and daughter of Eliya ben Aharon’, who passed away after delivering her first child, d. 16 April 1763, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 3-2, Stone 24MA, Film #55-56 (25 August 1988).

34. On the Karaites names Khrisula and Khrisulaki, see Rozen, M., ‘The Trust of Lady Khrisula of Istanbul: Urban Reality and Dynastic Continuity’, Turkish Studies Association Journal 28.1-2 (2004), pp. 29–80; there are seven instances of the name Khrisi, all in the Hasköy Cemetery, and all from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The earliest is that of Khrisikali (Golden and Good) the wife of Mordekhai Gerona, d. 29 December 1657, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 6-6, Stone 12MA, Film #10 (11 August 1988). A more common pronunciation of the name was Khursi. There are 180 instances of this name in the aforementioned Istanbuli cemeteries. Unlike all other Romaniot names, this name was found also in the Italian Cemetery in Şişli (six instances). The earliest occurrence of this name was ‘Khursi, honourable and chaste woman, widow of the illustrious venerable Shelomoh Benveneste’, d. 1 January 1641, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 4-2, Stone 67L, Film #47 (14 September 1987), and the latest: ‘The Karaite woman, Khursi, daughter of Eliyah Sinani, and wife of Yosef Tzadiq, who passed away at the ripe old age of 89’, d. 17 February 1952, DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 16-3, Stone 28, Film #104 (8 November 1989), and ‘Khursi, wife of Shabetai Bekhar’, d. 9 March 1954, (Kuzguncuk Cemetery, DP, Lot K1-1, Stone 12, Film #*350 (21 June 1989).

35. There are 29 instances of this name in Istanbul cemeteries (excluding the Italian), and 33 outside Istanbul. There are 236 instances of the name Boulissa, alone, or in conjunction with another name, in Istanbuli cemeteries, including the Italian cemetery, and in various other Jewish cemeteries throughout Turkey. A booklet compiled by Rabbi Avraham Mutal of Salonika, the Hakham of the Lisbon Congregation (d. 1658), gives a detailed rendering of the correct Hebrew transliteration of names, intended to assist Rabbis in writing accurate bills of divorcement. This booklet was cited several times by various rabbinical scholars, such as Hayim Yosef David Azulai, Mosheh Ibn Haviv, and the like. It is also cited by A. Rozanes, History of the Jews in the Ottoman Empire (in Hebrew) Vol. 1 (Tel Aviv 1930), pp. 209–212. Page 211 states: ‘Boula Khursi – a name given by the Gregos (Romaniots) to their daughters. The name is also found among the women of the gentile Greeks...I have heard that they write the name [that is the name Khursi] with a ‘Khaf’[χ]. Since this name is taken from the Greek gentiles, when written for a Jewish woman it should be written with a khaf....and Boula is an adjunct name while Khursi is the main name, and in a place where it is customary to write adjuncts [in the bill of divorcement], it makes no difference if the name Boula is written before the name Khursi or after it’ (i.e., the bill is still valid, my emphasis, M.R.). In short, the name Boula was originally added as a title to a Greek or Romaniot first name, and then became a name in itself. The name appears often simply as a first name, and sometimes as a title, mostly, but not always, in a Romaniot context. Examples of the name Boula in conjunction with other names are: Zimrah Boulissa, Leah Boulissa, Boula Menorah, and Boula Esteroula. Boulissa is a diminutive of Boula. I was unable to find this name in a Greek dictionary. However, Redhouse Dictionary (1968) states: Bula: elder sister, provincial, in other words, the equivalent of the Turkish abla. It was not uncommon in Ottoman Jewish society for an adjunct name to evolve into a first name. For example, the Greek adjunct Kira (Lady), which normally appears as Kira Esther, Kira Irini, Kira Anasta, etc., appears on some Jewish tombstones simply as a first name (see below). The last Boulissa I recorded was Boulissa Bekhar, who was born in 1882 and passed away on 12 June 1964, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 12-4, Stone 126, Film # 367 (16 November 1988).

36. There were only two instances of this name, both in Hasköy Cemetery, dating to the mid-seventeenth century (exact date unknown). Evidently, the wish to stop bearing children was not considered acceptable. One of the headstones was that of Lady Istamata, wife of Shelomoh Ashkenazi, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 6-4, Stone 39MA, Film #6 (10 August 1988), and the second was that of the girl Stamata (sic!), daughter of Yitzhaq de Sotil, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 6-4, Stone 34MA, Film #6 (10 August 1988).

37. Kalomira was one of the most popular Greek names to enter the Jewish-Ottoman onomasticon. There are 114 instances of this name in Istanbul (excluding the Italian Cemetery), and 38 throughout Turkey, especially in the Gürçeşme Cemetery in Izmir. The earliest headstone is that of the girl Kalomira, daughter of Ya’aqov Peretz (date unspecified); the style of the stone (a vertical half moon) and its material (limestone from the Köfeke quarry west of Istanbul), however, suggest the late sixteenth century (see Erentöz, C., ‘A General Review of the Geology of Turkey’), (http://www.mta.gov.tr/english/dergi/dergi_pdf/48/2.pdf), and Rozen, M., Hasköy Cemetery: Typology of Stones (Tel Aviv and Philadelphia 1994 ), Part 1, p.14; Part 2, p. 7, stone type 1Xb4. The latest instance of this name in Istanbul is on a headstone inscribed to Lady Kalomira, widow of ‘the great and illustrious sage’ Meir Tzontzin, d. 9 September 1880, DP, Ortaköy Cemetery, Lot D-5, Stone 4, Film #51 (3 February 1989), #121* (8 March 1989). On the Tzontzin family, which hailed from Italy and was one of the four most affluent families of the late seventeenth century, see Rozen, M., ”Metropolis and necropolis: the cultivation of social status among the Jews of Istanbul in the 17th and 18th centuries”, in V. Costantini and M. Koller (eds.), Living in the Ottoman Ecumenical Community. Essays in honour of Suraiya Faroqhi (Leiden-Boston 2008), pp. 89-114. The name Kalomira appears well into the twentieth century, in the Gürçeşme Cemetery in Izmir.

38. This is by far the most popular Greek name to appear in the Jewish cemeteries of Istanbul and the provinces (excluding the Italian Cemetery of Istanbul); 732 instances of this name were found.

39. There is only one instance of the Greek title Kira (Lady) in the database: Kira, daughter of Eliyau Hilel, wife of Eliyau Tzadiq, who died in childbirth. Although her burial date is illegible, the style of the headstone (a coffin-like stone decorated with a stylized frame, vases, tulips, a rosette and a floral decoration) and its material (Marmara marble) points to the mid-eighteenth century (see Rozen, M., Hasköy Cemetery: Typology of Stones (Tel Aviv and Philadelphia 1994 ), Part 1. pp. 34-47,70-78, Part 2, p.196, stone type 12Eb4, and see the types of the edge sides of these coffin-shaped stones on pp. 202-203) . DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 16-3, Stone 40, Film #105 (8 November 1989). See also below, notes 115-120.

40. There are thirteen instances of this name in the Istanbul cemeteries, excluding the Italian one. The earliest is that of Afedra, daughter of Avraham Ibn Shemaryah Ibn Hayim, who died on 31 March 1648. Afedra’s inscription reads: ‘The pleasant girl, graceful, a perfect beauty, an innocent dove, pure as the sun’ (DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 6-6, Stone 10L, Film #13 (7 September 1987). The lack of a surname points to a Romaniot family on both sides. The latest inscription with the name Afedra reads: ‘The precious woman, housewife, a good mother, worthy (kesherah in Hebrew), Lady Afedra, spouse of Barukh Yerushalmi, daughter of Aharon Gabai the elder, may he rest in peace’, d. 22 June 1966, DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 14-5, Stone 72, Film #26 (27 October 1989). Note the use of the term ‘spouse’ (zugah) instead of the more common ‘wife’ (eshet). Cf. R. Yosef ben Mosheh Mi-Trani, Responsa (in Hebrew) (Lvov, 1861), Part 2, Even ha-‘Ezer, §11.

41. I was unable to trace the origins of this supposedly Greek name which appears only once: ‘The honourable, venerable and modest Lady Filistra, widow of the illustrious sage, Mosheh ‘Anavi’, d. 11 December 1704, DP, Kuzguncuk Cemetery, Lot F-9, Stone 38, Film #196 (30 May 1989). The surname is also typical of Romaniot Jews.

42. This name occurs only once in all the Istanbul cemeteries: ‘Despina, wife of Eliyahu Hilel, daughter of Kalev Tzoref’ who died an untimely death in the plague on 4 March 1697, DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 15-1, Stone 10, Film #76 (2 November 1989).

43. This name appears in the Karaite Cemetery only (six instances). The earliest inscription is dedicated to: ‘The pleasant girl, the graceful Girasopoula, daughter of the precious and illustrious Menahem Polisoti’, who died an untimely death on 19 November 1671, DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 15-4, Stone 6, Film #98 (7 November 1989). The surname, Polisoti, alludes to the family’s origins in Istanbul (Poli = The City). The latest inscription is dedicated to: ‘The child orphaned from her father, Girasopoula, daughter of the wise and illustrious Eliyahu Tzadiq’. The material of the stone (Marmara marble), and the style of the inscription point to the second half of the eighteenth century. DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 14-5, Stone 19, Film #21 (27 October 1989). Cf. R. Yosef ben Mosheh Mi-Trani, Responsa (in Hebrew) (Lvov 1861), Part 2, Even ha-‘Ezer, §11.

44. There are eight instances of this name in Istanbul cemeteries, excluding the Italian one. The earliest headstone is inscribed to: Qsati, wife of Yeshu’ah Salti, daughter of the venerable and illustrious Yeshu‘ah Adim (sic!), d. July 1666, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 10-6, Stone 298, Film #395 (13 December 1988). The latest is inscribed to: ‘the venerable, modest, precious and honourable woman, Lady Iqsati, may her soul rest in Paradise, widow of the venerable, wise and illustrious Avraham Shami [from Damascus) may he rest in Paradise’, d. 27 July 1749, DP, Kuzguncuk Cemetery, Lot B-3, Stone 51, Film #63 (7 April 1989).

45. There are only two instances of this name, both in the Karaite Cemetery. The earlier inscription is dedicated to: ‘The modest, honourable lady Saropoula, wife of the venerable and honourable Mosheh Mahali, may he be remembered in the next world’, d. in 1620 (day and month illegible), DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 15-4, Stone 21, Film #99 (7 November 1989). The later inscription is dedicated to Saropoula, ‘the precious, wise, and gracious wife of the wise and illustrious Michael Yefet’, d. 14 April 1759, DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 16-3, Stone 66, Film #107 (8 November 1989). On the dispute concerning the origins of this name, see R. Yosef ben Mosheh Mi-Trani, Responsa (in Hebrew) (Lvov 1861), Part 2, Even ha-‘Ezer, §11.

46. There are only four instances of this Greek name in the Istanbuli cemeteries (excluding the Italian one), the earliest in an inscription to ‘the betrothed girl, gracious and of perfect beauty, Miqri, daughter of R. Shelomoh Yerushalmi’, d. 6 August 1618, DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 13-4, Stone 14, Film #14 (26 October 1989), and the latest, in an inscription to ‘the beautiful and wise woman, Miqri, wife of R. Hayim Avin’, d. 1 May 1747, DP, Ortaköy Cemetery, Lot D-10, Stone 32, Film #20* (2 February 1989).

47. ‘The God-fearing, modest and precious Lady Muqali, wife of the illustrious sage Ele’azar HaKohen, may God save him and redeem him’, d. 27 March 1601, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 5-6, Stone 18MA, Film #23 (16 August 1988); ‘The honourable woman …Muqali, daughter of R. Eliya Kvira, may God save him and redeem him, wife of R. Mosheh Hazan’, d. 1 September 1597, DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 15-4, Stone 14, Film #98 (7 November 1989).

48. The cibayet defteri (income registers) of the Aya Sofia vakıf for 1520, which contain the details of two former registers dating back to the Mehmet II period, refer to a woman named Arkhondissa as the owner of Hamam Nişancı Paşa. The reference can be found in the second of the two registers dating back to the Mehmet II period, entitled ‘Fatih 2’ by D. Akyalçın. The hamam was apparently leased from the Mehmet II vakıf (D. Akyalçın, The Jewish Communities in the Making of Istanbul Intra Muros: 1453–1520 (MA Thesis, Sabanci University, Istanbul, 2003), p. 47. An Arkhondissa is mentioned as an occupant of a property in the ‘Edirne quarter’, i.e., the Karaite quarter between the Bahçe Kapı and the Yildiz Hamamı, near the ‘Yahudi Kapısı’ (Akyalçın, 53) in the cibayet defteri of Aya Sofya for 1489 (Akyalçın, 48). Women of the same name (possibly the same woman) are mentioned several times as neighbours or property-owners in the same quarter in this defter, as well as in that of 1520, that cites earlier defters where she is mentioned as the owner of a single-storey mansion (see ibid, 100). The Arkhondissa of the Ottoman registers may be the Arkhondopoula of the aforementioned Hebrew epigraphic data.

49. This female name is mentioned only in the aforementioned Ottoman registers see. Akyalçın, D., The Jewish Communities in the Making of Istanbul Intra Muros: 1453–1520 (MA Thesis, Sabanci University, Istanbul, 2003), pp. 46, 48, 100, 101, 144.

50. The only instance of this name is the inscription to Parthi, widow of Shelomoh Istamati, d. 14 December 1583, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 1-2, Stone 92, Film #123 (15 September 1988).

51. There are thirteen instances of this name in the Hasköy, Karaite, and Kuzguncuk cemeteries. At least one of the Hasköy headstones is inscribed to a Karaite girl, Pustira, daughter of Avraham Tzadiq, d. early seventeenth century, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 6-6, Stone 22 MA, Film #44 (23 August 1988). Her stone was found among the debris of the bypass road that was built around Istanbul (çevre yolu), most probably thrown there by workers, who did not differentiate between the Rabbanite and Karaite plots. The latest inscription is to Pustira, wife of Yitzhaq Cirimi (the Crimean), daughter of Yitzhaq Yefet, d. 25 July 1915, DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 14-3, Stone 43, Film #36 (30 October 1989).

52. There are seven instances of this name (six in the Hasköy Cemetery and one in the Kuzguncuk Cemetery). The earliest inscription is dedicated to: ‘The God-fearing, honourable, and modest, lady Kokona, widow of the venerable, illustrious, and wealthy Ya‘aqov Finzi’, d. 30 October 1631, ibid., Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 6-2, Stone 42MA, Film #566 (18 January 1989). The latest inscription is dedicated to: ‘The gracious and benevolent Kokona, wife of Ye’udah Mizitrano’, d. 2 June 1749, ibid., Kuzguncuk Cemetery, Lot D-5, Stone 283, Film #*139 (25 April 1989).

53. See Auxiliary Chart 1.

54. See Auxiliary Chart 1.

55. Of 24 instances of this name in Istanbul, the earliest appears in an inscription to: ‘The delightful, precious and pleasant child’ who died before he reached his third birthday, Polokhrono, son of Avraham Yoav, d. 21 September 1671, DP Ortaköy Cemetery, Lot F-5, Stone 9, Film #109 (14 February 1989) and the latest appears in an inscription to the venerable man, Meir Bekhar Yoav, d. 25 February 1829, DP, Kuzguncuk Cemetery, Lot C-01, Stone 181, Film #16 (19 March 1989). All names have typical Romaniot features, i.e., a Greek first name, and a patronymic for a surname, testifying to the distribution of the Romaniots in the Hasköy, Ortaköy and Kuzguncuk suburbs of Greater Istanbul.

56. Of nine such names in Istanbul, eight are of Romaniot origin. Note especially the inscription: ‘A precious, wise woman, who stood firm as a wall to protect her house, her great deeds acclaimed by her brothers and reaffirmed vigorously by her daughters, her soul perfectly God-fearing, Bino, for her virtues shall shine in Paradise like an amethyst, all people from babe to old will praise her, and the Scriptures (in Hebrew ha-katuv) have already equated woman with man according to the greatness of her deeds, and she (this woman) will be given her reward as one of the men…. Bino, widow of Avishai Bekhar Eliyah’, d. April 1739, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 2-4, Stone 124, Film #93 (5 September 1988). The earliest inscription is that of Avishai Tzadiq, who died in the mid- seventeenth century, DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 14-4, Stone 32, Film #30 (30 October 1989), and the latest is that of Mosheh Avishai who died on 5 February 1940, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 4-14, Stone 5, Film #65A (5 December 1988).

57. There are ten instances of this name, nine of them in the Hasköy Cemetery. Five of the names belong to the same family, namely, that of Doctor Yaqtan Mizitrano (from Mezistra), who lost his first-born child Shemaryah, on 17 August 1725, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 1-4, Stone 220, Film #158 (23 September 1988). Several years later his second child, Ye’udah, passed away DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 1-6, Stone 564, Film #224 (11 October 1988). This was followed by the death of his first wife, Pola, on 20 April 1729, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 1-3, Stone 435, Film #145 (20 September1988), and the death of his second wife, on 17 September 1739, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 1 3, Stone 407, Film #144 (20 September 1988). Finally, his grandson Yaqtan, Shemaryah’s son, died of smallpox in the mid-eighteenth century, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 1-4, Stone 232, Film #158 (23 September 1988). The latest stone bearing this name is that of Sarah, wife of Yaqtan Furmon, who died on 3 April 1773, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 3-2, Stone 87L, Film #72 (17 September 1987).

58. This is one of the most popular Romaniot male names. There are 607 instances of this name throughout Turkey, of which about 90% in Istanbul. The earliest is that of the ‘venerable and honourable’ Kalev Bekhar David, who died on 16 January 1586, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 5-11, Stone 35MA, Film #63* (8 November 1988), and the latest is that of Vitali Kalev HaLevi who died on 8 November 1969 and was interred in the Italian Cemetery in Şişli neighborhood of Istanbul, DP, Lot 2, Stone 176, Film #18 (7 August 1987).

59. This is by far the most popular Romaniot name. There are no less than 2134 instances of this name, of which about 90% in Istanbul. Its popularity derives from the fact that the prophet Elias has a special place in the Greek Orthodox Church. Thus, by giving a child that name, one would ensure his acceptance in the ambient society, without transgressing Jewish tradition. The earliest headstone is probably that of Kalomira, daughter of Mosheh Meiria and widow of Elias Piece, d. 19 September 1587, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 4-11, Stone 169, Film #57* (11 April 1988), and the latest is that of Eliya HaLevi, d. 2 May 1975, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 12-11, Stone 95, Film #108* (20 November 1988).

60. Yefet was a popular surname among the Karaites as well as among other Romaniots. All in all, there are 424 occurrences of this name throughout Turkey, 90% in Istanbul (of these, 170 in the Karaite Cemetery). The name Yefet or Japheth was prevalent among the Karaites at least since the tenth century (Danon, A., ‘The Karaites in European Turkey’, Jewish Quarterly Review, NS. 15 (1924–1925), p. 290. The Karaite Yefet family can boast an uninterrupted chain in Istanbul since at least 1345 (Danon, A., ‘Documents Relating to the History of the Karaites in European Turkey’, Jewish Quarterly Review, NS. 17 (1926), p. 165. The last of the Yefets buried in the Karaite Cemetery is Avraham son of Shelomoh Yefet, who was eighty when he passed away on 13 December 1969, DP, Lot 15-3, Stone 79, Film #95 (7 November 1989). To the best of my knowledge, this name is prevalent only in one community of the Jewish diaspora, namely, among the Yemenite Jews.

61. There are 46 instances of this name in the Hasköy, Karaite, Ortaköy and Kuzguncuk cemeteries. The earliest inscription reads: ‘The handsome boy, the most charming of lads’, Mosheh son of Eliya Bali, d. 26 August 1678, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 4-5, Stone 74L, Film #262* (18 January 1989), and the latest is dedicated to Lea, widow of Avraham Bali and mother of Nisim Shabetai Bali, d. 8 December 1938, DP, Ortaköy Cemetery, Lot E-7, Stone 126, Film #101 (14 February 1989).

62. The most famous person of this name was Kalev son of Eliyahu Afendopoulo, author of the second part of the Karaite Sefer Ha-Mitzvot, also known as Aderet Eliyahu (Book of Commandments, or Elijah’s Mantle), printed in Istanbul ca. 1532 (Ya‘ari, Hebrew Printing, 88). A treatise written by him, and completed in 1497, was published by Danon, in Karaite Documents, 167–173; his preface to Yehudah Hadassi’s Eshkol Ha-Kofer, written in 1523, was published by Danon, ibid., 175. For fragments of his other works, attesting to his knowledge of Greek philosophy and its Arabic commentators, see ibid., 184–189. I found only one instance of this name in the Karaite Cemetery of Istanbul: ‘Pomia, daughter of Afedopulo (sic!) Ligi, widow of Shabetai Hilel’, d. 16 May 1656, DP, Lot 14-4, Stone 16, Film #28 (30 October 1989).

63. The vakıf register of the Mehmet II Mosque for 1495 mentions Elhapoulos (a Turkish distortion of Eliyapoulo), a Jew from Edirne, as the owner of a mansion comprising one storey and an attic room ( Akyalçın, D., The Jewish Communities in the Making of Istanbul Intra Muros: 1453–1520 (MA Thesis Sabanci University, Istanbul 2003), p. 46). Five tombstones were found in the Karaite Cemetery, all connected to Eliaupoulo Tzadiq: ‘The child...daughter of Eliaupoulo Tzadiq’, d. 8 January 1651, DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 14-5, Stone 4, Film #19 (17 October 1989); the boy Ye’udah, son of Eliaupoulo Tzadiq, d. 15 June 1660, DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 14-5, Stone 5, Film #19 (17 October 1989); Mordekhai, son of Eliaupoulo Tzadiq, d. 3 February 1705, DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 13-4, Stone 21, Film #14 (26 October 1989); Manaka, daughter of Eliaupoulo Tzadiq, wife of Ya‘aqov Avraham, who died in childbirth on 3 March 1710, DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 13-4, Stone 23, Film #14 (27 October 1710); Fustira, daughter of Yehudah Yefet and wife of the venerable and illustrious Eliaupoulo Tzadiq, d. 9 January 1737, DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 13-4, Stone 16, Film #14 (16 October 1989).

64. There are twelve instances of this name in Hasköy, Ortaköy and Kuzguncuk. The earliest inscription is dedicated to the student Ya‘aqov, son of Yitzhaq Polikhrono, d. 8 September 1583, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 5-4, Stone 4 MA, Film #19 (14 August 1988), and the latest to Refael Polikhron Carmona, d. 18 August 1899, DP, Ortaköy Cemetery, Lot N-10, Stone 47, Film #182 (1 March 1989). The fact that this Greek name was adopted by this famous Sephardic family may not indicate Greek blood in the family, but simply the wish to bless the child with a long life.

65. There are 37 instances of this name in the Hasköy, Ortaköy, Kuzguncuk and Italian cemeteries. The earliest inscription is dedicated to Kokona, widow of Yitzhaq Papo, d. 12 September 1658, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 4-5, Stone 73L, Film #59 (16 January 1989), and the latest, to Jamila, wife of Nisim Papo, d. 4 April 1964, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 12-5, Stone 98, Film #373 (17 November 1988).

66. This name appears both as a male name (two instances) and as a surname (ten instances), in the Hasköy, Karaite, and Kuzguncuk cemeteries. The earliest inscription is dedicated to: ’Ezra, son of Avraham Papula, who died of a snake bite on 20 September 1726, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 4-12, Stone 48, Film #52A (1 December 1988), and the latest, to: Rivqah, wife of Ezra Menahem Papula, d. 4 August 1865, ibid., Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 9-4, Stone 114, Film #299 (31 October 1988).

67. Inalcik, H., ‘Istanbul’ EI, 2nd ed., Vol. 4 (Leiden-Paris 1978), p. 248; idem, ‘Ottoman Galata, 1453–1553’, in: Varia Turcica 13 (Colloque Galata), p. 43. All in all, there are 27 instances of this name in the Istanbul cemeteries. Note in particular the group of ancient tombstones in the Hasköy Cemetery, dedicated to: Parthi, widow of Shelomoh Istamati, d. 14 December 1583, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 1-2, Stone 92, Film #123 (15 September 1988); the child David, son of Shelomoh Istamati, d. early seventeenth century, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 5-4, Stone 13MA, Film #20 (15 August 1988); ‘The honourable and esteemed David Istamati’, d. early seventeenth century, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 5-4, Stone 16MA, Film #20 (15 August 1989); the student Eliya, son of Shelomoh Istamati, d. early seventeenth century, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 2-14, Stone 59, Film #482 (6 January 1989); ---- wife of Shelomoh Istamati, d.1 January 1752, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 2-14, Stone 54, Film #482 (6 January 1989). Note the incredible monument dedicated to Esther, wife of Shelomoh Istamati ‘from the house of Mosheh Tzontzin’(apparently an emancipated slave) by her loving husband, d. 11 November 1738, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 1-11, Stone131, Film #536 (15 January 1989). The last of the Istamatis was Esther Estamati (sic!), whose epitaph was inscribed in Judaeo-Spanish in Latin characters, d. 13 December 1960, DP, Kuzguncuk Cemetery, Lot K1-1, Stone 1, Film #*350 (21 June 1989).

68. There are ten instances of this name in the Hasköy and Kuzguncuk cemeteries. The earliest is that of Yitzhaq, son of Asher Igreki, d. 24 October 1740, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 6-11, Stone 112MA, Film #77* (13 November 1988). The latest is that of Clara, wife of Yitzhaq Igreki, whose tombstone was inscribed in Judaeo-Spanish, and who passed away on 29 May 1936, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 11-5, Stone 64, Film #349 (10 November 1988).

69. There are nine instances of this name in the Hasköy and Kuzguncuk cemeteries. The earliest inscription is dedicated to: ‘The venerable and honourable Tzadiq, son of Mordekhai Greki’, d. 6 August 1586, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 6-11, Stone 120MA, Film #77* (13 November 1988), and the latest, to: Asher Greki, who was murdered on his way home from work on 10 March 1752, DP, Kuzguncuk Cemetery, Lot E-6, Stone 15, Film #*170 (2 May 1989).

70. DP, Kuzguncuk Cemetery, Lot H-8, Stone 2, Film #*329 (16 June 1989).

71. There are fifteen instances of this name in the Karaite, Hasköy and Kuzguncuk cemeteries, the earliest in an inscription dedicated to: Yitzhaq Kastoryano, d. 16 February 1686, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 1-2, Stone 134, Film #125 (16 September 1988), and the latest in an inscription dedicated to: Dulca, widow of Nisim Kastoryano, d. 20 January 1801, DP, Kuzguncuk Cemetery, Lot G-11, Stone 90, Film #231 (2 June 1989).

72. There are only five instances of this name in the Hasköy Cemetery, and one in the Kuzguncuk Cemetery. The earliest inscription is dedicated to: ‘The sweet, betrothed lad’, Shabetai, son of Avraham Saloniqiou, d. 18 May 1662, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 1-5, Stone 704, Film #201 (6 October 1988), and the latest to: Hayim Shabetai Saloniqiou, who died at a ripe old age on 11 June 1795, DP, Kuzguncuk Cemetery, Lot E-7, Stone 40, Film #*214 (15 May 1989).

73. There were 31 instances of the surname Mizitrano (hailing from Mezistra), 21 in Istanbul, and 10 in Gelibolu. The Gelibolu branch of this family were undoubtedly scions of the Romaniot families who were permitted to leave Istanbul despite their sürgün status, and settle in Gelibolu (which was to the Empire’s advantage) shortly after their transfer to the capital (see below note 101). The latest tombstone is dedicated to: Kali, wife of Shelomoh Mizitrano, d. 31 March 1644, DP, Gelibolu Cemetery, Lot A-1, Stone 25, Film # 2 (27 July 1989). Nineteen of the Istanbul headstones are located in the Hasköy Cemetery, and two in the Kuzguncuk Cemetery. The earliest of these was probably the first person to be buried in the Hasköy Cemetery, namely, the student Shelomoh, son of Yosef Miztrano, d. 8 August 1582, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 4-6, Stone 4MA, Film #48 (24 August 1988). The latest headstone, the inscription of which was, naturally, in Judaeo-Spanish, is dedicated to: Leah, widow of Avraham Albert Mizitrano, d. 22 August 1975, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 4-4, Stone 57MA, Film #40 (22 August 1988).

74. There are only four instances of this name, three in the Hasköy Cemetery and one in the Kuzguncuk Cemetery. The earliest inscription is dedicated to: ‘The modest, delightful, important, betrothed Aharon, son of Shabetai Verioti’, d. 17 February 1647, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 4-4, Stone 57MA, Film #40 (22 August 1988). The latest inscription is dedicated to the youngster Eli‘ezer Verioti, d. 21 June 1778, DP, Kuzguncuk Cemetery, Lot B-4, Stone 113, Film #77 (11 April 1989).

75. There are 29 instances of this name in the Hasköy and Kuzguncuk cemeteries, the earliest in an inscription dedicated to: ‘The young, gentle lad who resembles a cedar tree, and is strong as an oak’, Yitzhaq, son of Avraham Poliastro, d. 2 August 1637, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 5-7, Stone 16L, Film #39 (11 September 1987).

76. On his life and work in Edirne, see: Attias, J.C., Le commentaire biblique Mordekhai Komtino ou l’herméneutique du dialogue (in Hebrew) (Jerusalem 2007), pp. 12-14. Attias’ discussion of the hypothesis that he arrived in Constantinople in the years preceding the siege, and escaped to Edirne during the siege, is superfluous, since there is no evidence to that effect.

77. Attias, J.C., Le commentaire biblique Mordekhai Komtino ou l’herméneutique du dialogue (in Hebrew) (Jerusalem 2007), pp. 13.

78. Attias, J.C., Le commentaire biblique Mordekhai Komtino ou l’herméneutique du dialogue (in Hebrew) (Jerusalem 2007), pp. 14-18.

79. Gourland, H., Judischen Literatur in St. Petersburg (in Hebrew, German title-page) (St. Petersburg 1866), pp. 1–13.

80. Attias, J.C., Le commentaire biblique Mordekhai Komtino ou l’herméneutique du dialogue (in Hebrew) (Jerusalem 2007), pp. 23-24.

81. Gourland, H., Judischen Literatur in St. Petersburg (in Hebrew, German title-page) (St. Petersburg 1866), pp., 13–27; Attias, J.C., Le commentaire biblique Mordekhai Komtino ou l’herméneutique du dialogue (in Hebrew) (Jerusalem 2007), pp. 32-40.

82. See Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 72–73, 246–252, 254, 280, and 339–355.

83. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp 56–57; Akyalçın, D., The Jewish Communities in the Making of Istanbul Intra Muros: 1453–1520 (MA Thesis Sabanci University, Istanbul 2003), pp. 36,39. Akyalçın’s detailed study of the early registers of the Mehmed II and Aya Sofia Vakfiyes for the years 1478–1520, mentions only the Jews of Edirne as being identifiable by their origin.

84. For traditions on the existence of this settlement, see Inalcik, H., ‘Jews in the Ottoman Economy and Finances, 1450–1500’, in: C.E. Bosworth, C. Issawi, R. Savory, A.L. Udovitch (eds.), The Islamic World from Classical to Modern Times: Essays in Honour of Bernard Lewis (Princeton NJ 1991), pp. 513; Heyd, U., “The Jewish Communities of Istanbul in the Seventeenth Century”,Oriens 6/2 (1953), p. 311.

85. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp 56–57, and notes 6–7.

86. Akyalçın, D., The Jewish Communities in the Making of Istanbul Intra Muros: 1453–1520 (MA Thesis Sabanci University, Istanbul 2003), pp. 35, 43, 54–55.

87. While Arslan might well be a translation of the Hebrew Aryeh, the name Sha‘aban is the name of a Muslim month, and is usually given to someone born in that month. It has no Hebrew equivalent or translation, and suggests a certain degree of Turkish acculturation among these people.

88. Inalcik, H., ‘Jews in the Ottoman Economy and Finances, 1450–1500’, in: C.E. Bosworth, C. Issawi, R. Savory, A.L. Udovitch (eds.), The Islamic World from Classical to Modern Times: Essays in Honour of Bernard Lewis (Princeton NJ 1991), pp. 534–535.

89. Inalcik, H., ‘Jews in the Ottoman Economy and Finances, 1450–1500’, in: C.E. Bosworth, C. Issawi, R. Savory, A.L. Udovitch (eds.), The Islamic World from Classical to Modern Times: Essays in Honour of Bernard Lewis (Princeton NJ 1991), pp. 535; cf Akyalçın, D., The Jewish Communities in the Making of Istanbul Intra Muros: 1453–1520 (MA Thesis Sabanci University, Istanbul 2003), pp. 34–36.

90. Akyalçın, D., The Jewish Communities in the Making of Istanbul Intra Muros: 1453–1520 (MA Thesis Sabanci University, Istanbul 2003), pp. 37.

91. Akyalçın, D., The Jewish Communities in the Making of Istanbul Intra Muros: 1453–1520 (MA Thesis Sabanci University, Istanbul 2003), pp. 42, 47, 65, 79.

92. Inalcik, H., ‘Ottoman Galata, 1453–1553’, in: Varia Turcica 13 (Colloque Galata) (Istanbul-Paris 1991), pp. 43, 47, 56.

93. Inalcik, H., ‘Ottoman Galata, 1453–1553’, in: Varia Turcica 13 (Colloque Galata) (Istanbul-Paris 1991), pp. 43, 47, 56.; see Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp 12–15.

94. Topkapı Palace Archives N.D. 9524, cited by Inalcik, H., Ottoman Galata 1453-1553 (İstanbul 1991), pp. 96–97; Epstein, M.A., Ottoman Jewish Communities and their Role in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries (Freiburg 1980), p. 105.

95. This rare name occurs once as a surname on the tombstone of Eliya Kaludi, d.19 August 1654, DP, Hasköy Cemetery, Lot 1-6, Stone 605, Film #226 (12 October 1988). It is most probably a Romaniot name (Eliya was one of the most popular Romaniot names). I could not find any meaning for this name, except for the Byzantine Καλώδιον, a nautical term for rope. Καλώδι could then be the rope handler on a ship, or a supplier of such ropes. See Kahane, H. R. - A. Tietze, The Lingua Franca in the Levant: Turkish Nautical Terms of Italian and Greek Origin (Istanbul 1988), §777, p. 518.

96. Akyalçın, D., The Jewish Communities in the Making of Istanbul Intra Muros: 1453–1520 (MA Thesis Sabanci University, Istanbul 2003), pp. 39, 54,76, cf. Ayverdi, E. H., Fatih Devri Sonlarında İstanbul Mahalleri, Şehrin İskanı ve Nüfüsü (Ankara 1958), p. 68.

97. Akyalçın, D., The Jewish Communities in the Making of Istanbul Intra Muros: 1453–1520 (MA Thesis Sabanci University, Istanbul 2003), p. 79.

98. Akyalçın, D., The Jewish Communities in the Making of Istanbul Intra Muros: 1453–1520 (MA Thesis Sabanci University, Istanbul 2003), pp. 141–142.

99. Epstein, M.A., Ottoman Jewish Communities and their Role in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries (Freiburg1980), pp. 178–180.

100. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp 60–61.

101. Mosheh Almosnino, A History of the Ottoman Kings (in Judaeo-Spanish with Hebrew characters), No. 126 (SUP) (35) (Microfilm, Institute for the Photography of Hebrew Manuscripts, National and University Library, Jerusalem, Israel, No. 12037), p. 178.

102. Hacker, J., ‘Ottoman Policy toward the Jews and Jewish Attitudes towards the Ottomans during the Fifteenth Century’, in: B. Braude, B. Lewis (eds.), Christians and Jews in the Ottoman Empire, Vol. 1, The Central Lands, (New York 1982), pp. 117–125.

103. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 226–227.

104. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 46–47.

105. Akhiezer, G., ‘The History of the Crimean Karaites during the Sixteenth to Eighteenth Centuries’, in: M. Polliack, (ed.), Karaite Judaism: A guide to its History and Literary Sources (Leiden 2003), pp. 732, 745-746.

106. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002) and cf. table and graph in Audiovisual and in Auxiliary Chart 2.

107. Epstein, M.A., Ottoman Jewish Communities and their Role in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries (Freiburg1980), pp. 111.

108. Inalcik, H., ‘Jews in the Ottoman Economy and Finances, 1450–1500’, in: E. Bosworth, C. Issawi, R. Savory, A.L. Udovitch (eds.), The Islamic World from Classical to Modern Times: Essays in Honour of Bernard Lewis (Princeton NJ 1991), p. 520.

109. Inalcik, H., ‘Jews in the Ottoman Economy and Finances, 1450–1500’, in: E. Bosworth, C. Issawi, R. Savory, A.L. Udovitch (eds.), The Islamic World from Classical to Modern Times: Essays in Honour of Bernard Lewis (Princeton NJ 1991), p. 517–518.

110. Inalcik, H., ‘Jews in the Ottoman Economy and Finances, 1450–1500’, in: E. Bosworth, C. Issawi, R. Savory, A.L. Udovitch (eds.), The Islamic World from Classical to Modern Times: Essays in Honour of Bernard Lewis (Princeton NJ 1991), p. 518; Inalcik, H., Sources and Studies on the Ottoman Black Sea: I. The Customs Register of Caffa, 1487–1490 (Cambridge 1995), pp. 70–74, 117, 136.

111. Inalcik, H., ‘Jews in the Ottoman Economy and Finances, 1450–1500’, in: E. Bosworth, C. Issawi, R. Savory, A.L. Udovitch (eds.), The Islamic World from Classical to Modern Times: Essays in Honour of Bernard Lewis (Princeton NJ 1991), Table II, pp. 534–536.

112. I was unable to make sense of this name.

113. Inalcik, H., ‘Jews in the Ottoman Economy and Finances, 1450–1500’, in: E. Bosworth, C. Issawi, R. Savory, A.L. Udovitch (eds.), The Islamic World from Classical to Modern Times: Essays in Honour of Bernard Lewis (Princeton NJ 1991), pp. 524–526, Table X, pp. 349–350; Epstein, M.A., Ottoman Jewish Communities and their Role in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries (Freiburg1980), pp. 107–120.

114. Eliyahu HaLevi, R., Responsa Zeqan Aharon (in Hebrew), (Istanbul 1734), §158 p. 81a (Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002) doc. 2, pp. 311–312).

115. R. Tam Ibn Yahya, Responsa Tumat Yesharim (in Hebrew) (Venice 1622), §128 pp. 60b–61a.

116. R. Eliyahu Mizrahi, Responsa Tumat Yesharim (in Hebrew) (Jerusalem, 1959), §57. See also Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002) doc. 12, p. 354.

117. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), p. 72.

118. See Rozen, M., ‘The Trust of Lady Khrisula of Istanbul: Urban Reality and Dynastic Continuity’, Turkish Studies Association Journal, 28.1-2 (2004), p. 29-80.

119. On Hafsa Sultan, and her status in the harem and in Ottoman politics, see: Peirce, L.P., The Imperial Harem: Women and Sovereignty in the Ottoman Empire (Oxford 1993), pp. 18, 40, 59, 121, 126, 62–63, 78–79, 230, 277.

120. See: Peirce, L.P., The Imperial Harem: Women and Sovereignty in the Ottoman Empire (Oxford 1993), note 38.

121. The name Kira as a female first name appears on the tombstone of a certain Kira, daughter of Eliyaיu Hilel, wife of Eliyahu Tzadiq, who died around the mid-eighteenth century in childbirth at the age of sixteen, and is buried in the Karaite Cemetery of Hasköy, DP, Lot 14–4, Stone 4, Film #105 (8 November 1989). On the etymological derivations of the name, see Galante, A., ‘Esther Kyra d’après de nouveaux documents’, in A., Galante, Histoire des juifs de Turquie, Vol. 9, (Istanbul 1985), p. 16–18; Rozanes, A., History of the Jews in the Ottoman Empire (in Hebrew) Vol. 1 (Tel Aviv 1930) Vol. 3, 364; Mordtmann, J.H., ‘Die judischen Kira im Serai der Sultane’, Miteillungen des Seminars für orientalischen Sprachen zu Berlin, 32/II (1929): 1–38.

122. Withers, R., ‘The Grand Signiors Seraglio’, in S. Purchas, His Pilgrims (Glasgow 1905), Vol. 9, pp. 346–347. Cited also by Roth, C., The House of Nasi: Doña Gracia (Philadelphia 1947), p. 104.

123. See Peirce, L.P., The Imperial Harem: Women and Sovereignty in the Ottoman Empire (Oxford 1993), pp. 223, 225–26.

124. Galante, A., ‘Rapports de grands juifs avec le palais’, in Histoire des juifs de Turquie, Vol. 5 (Istanbul 1985), p. 145–147; Galante, A., ‘Esther Kyra d’après de nouveaux documents’, in Histoire des juifs de Turquie, Vol. 9 (Istanbul 1985), p. 16–18.

125. Danon, A., ‘The Karaites in European Turkey’, Jewish Quarterly Review, NS, 15 (1924–1925), p. 245–246. Danon was uncertain about Strongila’s father’s name, but the Gibors have a family burial plot in Hasköy’s Karaite Cemetery with nine recorded burials between 1638 and 1822. The males are named Ye’udah, Ya‘aqov, Yosef, and David; while the females all bear the notably Greek name Panorea (perfect beauty), apart from two (Sultana and Mercada). The nine are: Panorea, wife of Ye’udah Gibor, daughter of Shelomoh Beni, d. 9 June 1638, DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 15–1, Stone17, Film #77 (3 November 1989); Ye’udah ben Ya‘aqov Gibor, d. 21 September 1649, DP, Karaite Cemetery Lot 15–1, Stone 13, Film #77 (3 November 1989); a female child, daughter of Ya‘aqov ben Ye’udah Gibor, d. 30 September 1666, Lot 15–1, Stone 16, Film #78 (3 November 1989); Mercada, wife of David Gibor, d. 7 September 1738, Lot 14–11, Stone 45, Film #62 (1 November 1989); Panorea, wife of Ye’udah Gibor, d. 15 November 1801, Lot 15–1, Stone 4, Film #76 (2 November 1989); Panorea, daughter of Ya‘aqov Gibor, d. 20 November 1705, Lot 15–1, Stone 14, Film #77 (3 November 1989); Sultanah, wife of Yosef Gibor, d. 1 January. 1793, Lot 15–1, Stone 44, Film #79 (3 November 1989); Ye’udah Gibor, d. 30 August 1822, Lot 15–1, Stone 50, Film #80 (3 November 1989).

126. Danon, A., ‘The Karaites in European Turkey’, Jewish Quarterly Review, NS, 15 (1924–1925), p. 245, cf. TCBA, Maliyeden Mudevver 286 (1032/1623): ‘Cema ‘at Yahudyan Evladi Kürd: Evla:3’ (Congregation of Jews, Sons of Kürd: Rich: 3). A second census based on this one in an unknown year, designated five people as ‘rich’ .

127. Their status must have changed from the fifteenth century. However, in the poll-tax register of 1623, the breakdown of the congregation of Edirne was as follows: nine household heads were taxed as rich, fourteen were taxed as medium, and 47 were taxed as poor (TCBA, Maliyeden Mudevver, 286, p. 20).

128. Yerasimos, S., ‘La communauté juive d’Istanbul à la fin du XVIe siècle’, Turcica 27 (1995), pp. 117–118.

129. See Auxiliary Chart 2.

130. TCBA, Maliyeden Mudevver, 4036.

131. TCBA, Maliyeden Mudevver, 3661.

132. See, for example, the 1708 census, TCBA, Maliyeden Mudevver, 3324; the 1713 census, TCBA, Maliyeden Mudevver, 936; the 1749 census, TCBA, Maliyeden Mudevver, 2529: ‘Defter cizye-i ….. Cemaat Yahudiyan Istanbul ve Galata ve Üsküdar ve Hasköy ve tevabii’ (Poll-tax register of the Jewish community of Istanbul, and Galata, Üsküdar and Hasköy, and their environs).

133. See Rozen, M., ‘People of the Book, People of the Sea: Mirror Images of the Soul’, in M. Rozen (ed.), Homelands and Diasporas: Greeks, Jews, and Their Migrations (London 2008), pp. 35–81.

134. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 64–77.

135. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 16–34.

136. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 30–33, 69.

137. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 70–76.

138. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 74–76, 204, 318–322.

139. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 68, 76–77, 83–85,133–134.

140. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 47–49.

141. See, for example, R. Shelomoh HaKohen, Responsa (in Hebrew), Part 2 (Venice 1592), §82; R. Eliyahu Ibn Hayim, Responsa (Jerusalem 1960) (in Hebrew), §49; idem, Responsa Mayim Ámuqim (in Hebrew),Vol. 2 (Venice, 1657), §3.

142. R. Benyamin ben Matatyah, Responsa Benyamin Ze’ev (in Hebrew), (Venice 1539), §303; R. Shemuel de Medina, Responsa (in Hebrew), Orah Hayim (Lvov 1868) §36.

143. R. Mosheh ben Yosef Mi-Trani, Responsa (in Hebrew), Part 3, (Lvov, 1862) §161; R. Shemuel de Medina, Responsa, Yoreh De‘ah (Lvov, 1868), §189. See also above, the surname Grego and Greko, note 67.

144. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 78–81.

145. R. Yehoshu‘a Tzontzin, Responsa Nahalah Li-Yoshu‘a (in Hebrew) (Istanbul 1734), §40.

146. R. Yehoshu‘a Tzontzin, Responsa Nahalah Li-Yoshu‘a (in Hebrew) (Istanbul 1734), §40.

147. This congregation is mentioned throughout the fifteenth to seventeenth centuries. It was a very small congregation with very few taxpayers in the lower tax brackets (see, for example, the poll tax registers for 1596/1597 (TCBA, Maliyeden Mudevver 14393) 1609, (TCBA 14937, p.15), 1623 (TCBA 286, p. 41).

148. Their ‘transition’ from sürgün to kendi gelen status is noted in the list R. Eli‘ezer de Toledo compiled in 1841 in order to clarify the status of the husband’s entitlement to his deceased wife’s legacy, which differed according to Romaniot or Sephardic custom. See, also, below. The Cana congregation appears among the kendi gelen already in 1595/7 (TCBA, Maliyeden Mudevver 14393, cited also by Yerasimos, S., ‘La communauté juive d’Istanbul à la fin du XVIe siècle’, Turcica 27 (1995), p. 111. It is mentioned again in 1623 as ‘living in Balat’ among the kendi gelen (TCBA 286, p. 10).

149. See, for example, the registers from 1603 (TCBA 2060), pp.10, 22; 1623 (TCBA 284), p.31 (in this register, the Budun congregation no longer appears).

150. See Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 74–76, 318–322.

151. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 75–86.

152. R. Betzalel Ashkenazi, Responsa (Venice 1595 ) (in Hebrew) §13; Rabbi Eliyahu Ibn Hayim, Responsa (in Hebrew), §84.See also Rozen, M. - Arbel, B., ‘Great Fire in the Metropolis: The Case of the Istanbul Conflagration of 1569 and its Description by Marcantonio Barbaro’, in: David Wasserstein - Ami Ayalon (eds.), Mamluk and Ottoman Societies: Studies in Honour of Michael Winter (New York 2005), p. 146.

153. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), p. 86.

154. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 75–86.

155. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 97–98.

156. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 244–264.

157. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), note 15.

158. Mantran, R., Istanbul dans la seconde moitié du XVIIe siècle (Paris 1962), pp. 44–47; Panzac, D., La peste dans l’empire ottoman, 1700–1850 (Louvain 1985), p. 276.

159. R. Eliyahu Ibn Hayim, Responsa (in Hebrew), (Jerusalem 1960) §2, 49; idem, Responsa Mayim ‘Amuqim, (in Hebrew),Vol. 2 (Venice, 1657), §59.

160. See Auxiliary Chart 2 and Audiovisual.

161. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 51, 53.

162. Rozen, M.- Arbel, B. ‘Great Fire in the Metropolis: The Case of the Istanbul Conflagration of 1569 and its Description by Marcantonio Barbaro’, in: David Wasserstein- Ami Ayalon (eds.), Mamluk and Ottoman Societies: Studies in Honour of Michael Winter (New York 2005), pp. 134–165.

163. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 87–92.

164. Bornstein-Makovetzky, L., ‘The Jewish Community in Istanbul in the mid-Seventeenth Century – its Sephardi and Romaniote Personalities and Sages’, (in Hebrew) in Michael 9 (1985), p. 40.

165. For example, in my 1988 investigation of the Genizah of the Okhrida congregation of Balat, whose members, judging by their names, belonged to the sürgün, I found no sign of Romaniot prayer books.

166. Ya‘ari, Hebrew Printing, p. 68.

167. Ya‘ari, Hebrew Printing, p. 68.

168. Ya‘ari, Hebrew Printing, p. 102.

169. Ya‘ari, Hebrew Printing, p. 126.

170. Ya‘ari, Hebrew Printing, p. 124.

171. Goldsmith, D., ‘The Mahzor Romania’ (in Hebrew), Sefunot 8 (1964), pp. 205–236.

172. The last seventeenth-century survey for poll-tax purposes was conducted on a geographical basis only, as were subsequent surveys see TCBA, Maliyeden Mudevver, 3661.

173. Heilperin, Y., ‘Some Notes about the Karaite Diaspora in the Mid-Seventeenth Century’, (in Hebrew), in: Y. Kloizner et al., (eds.), N. M. Gelber Festschrift (Tel Aviv 1961), p. 37.

174. See Auxiliary Chart 1.

175. Hacker, J. R., ‘Pride and Depression: Polarity of the Spiritual and Social Experience of the Iberian Exiles in the Ottoman Empire’ (in Hebrew) in: M. Ben-Sasson, R. Bonfil, J.R. Hacker (eds.), Culture and Society in Medieval Jewry: Studies Dedicated to the Memory of Haim Hillel Ben Sasson (Jerusalem 1989), pp. 541–586.

176. See his responsum regarding members of his flock who held that they were permitted to open shops they co-owned with gentiles on the Sabbath, Responsa (Jerusalem, 1960) (in Hebrew), §85:270. See also Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 369–371. Regarding his students’ level, see his Responsa, §56:175 .

177. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 88, 244–263.

178. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 227–228, 281.

179. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 281-283.

180. Rozen, M., A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden 2002), pp. 222-242.

181. This can be deduced from a comparison between the proportion of rich taxpayers versus the proportion of poor ones (6% and 63% respectively, according to Yerasimos) in poll-tax censuses conducted in 1595/7 (Yerasimos, S., ‘La communauté juive d’Istanbul à la fin du XVIe siècle’, Turcica 27 (1995), p. 117) and in later censuses: In 1623 (TCBA Maliyeden Mudevver, 286) there were 12% rich taxpayers, 41% medium ones, and 41% poor ones.

182. In the census conducted in 1691/1692, the proportion of rich taxpayers dropped to 5%, of medium taxpayers to 19%, while the proportion of poor taxpayers rose to 76% (TCBA, Maliyeden Mudevver, 3661).

183. Rozen, M., ‘A Pound of Flesh: The Meat Trade and Social Conflict among the Jews of Istanbul, 1700–1923’, in: Surayia Faroqhi - Rendi Deguilhem (eds.), Crafts and Craftsmen in the Ottoman Empire (London 2005), p. 216.

184. Bornstein-Makovetzky, L., ‘The Jewish Community in Istanbul in the mid-Seventeenth Century – its Sephardi and Romaniote Personalities and Sages’, (in Hebrew) in Michael 9 (1985), p. 37; idem, , The Istanbul Court Records on Matters of Ritual and Ethics 1710–1903 (in Hebrew), (Lod 1999), p. 15.

185. R. Eliyahu Ibn Hayim, Responsa (in Hebrew), (Jerusalem 1960), §84, and an unnumbered responsum identified as §60 by the editors of the Computerized Database of Responsa Literature, Bar Ilan University.

186. Bornstein-Makovetzky, L., The Istanbul Court Records on Matters of Ritual and Ethics 1710–1903 (in Hebrew), (Lod 1999) pp. 25, 95, 213.

187. See, for example, Baudin, P., Les Israélites de Constantinople (Istanbul 1989), pp. 54–56.

188. Bornstein-Makovetzky, L., The Istanbul Court Records on Matters of Ritual and Ethics 1710–1903 (in Hebrew), (Lod 1999), p. 16.

189. Levi, A., ‘Millet Politics: The Appointment of a Chief Rabbi in 1835’, in idem, (ed.), The Jews of the Ottoman Empire (Princeton 1994), pp. 425–438.

190. On the laws of inheritance, see Numbers 27:8–11; Mishnah, Bava Batra, 8:a-b, Maimonides, Hilkhot NahaLot, chap. 1; Gulak, A., The Elements of Hebrew Law (in Hebrew) (Jerusalem 1923), Vol. 2, Section 3, pp. 81–83; Assaf, S., ‘On a Daughter’s Inheritance’, (in Hebrew) in: Emet le-Ya‘aqov: Ya‘aqov Freimann Jubilee Book (Berlin 1973), pp. 8–13.

191. On a husband’s entitlement to his wife’s legacy, see Mishnah, Bava Batra, 8:a; Mishnah, Ketubot, 9:a; Shulhan ‘Arukh, Even ha-‘Ezer, Ketubot, 90:a. For a discussion on the legal sources of these entitlements, see Friedman, Jewish Marriage in Palestine, 391, ref. 2. On the various legal customs concerning the husband’s entitlement to his wife’s legacy, see Assaf, S., ‘The Various Regulations and Customs on a Husband’s Entitlement to his Wife’s Legacy’, (in Hebrew), Mada‘ei ha-Yahadut (1926), pp. 79–94; Cohen, Y., ‘Congregational Regulations on a Husband’s Entitlement to his Wife’s Legacy’, (in Hebrew), Shenaton ha-Mishpat ha-‘Ivri 6–7 (1979–1980), pp. 134–175.

192. On these regulations, see Finkelstein, L., Jewish Self-Government in the Middle Ages (New York 1964), pp. 59–63, 218; cf. Elon, M., Jewish Law, History, Sources, Principles (in Hebrew) (Jerusalem 1987) Vol. 1, pp. 632–640, and rich bibliography in the references.

193. For an exhaustive study of inheritance regulations in Istanbul, see L. Bornstein-Makovetzky, ‘The Istanbul Regulations of Inheritance and their Expression in Social Life in the Ottoman Period’ (in Hebrew), in: A. Haim (ed.), Society and Community: Proceedings of the Second International Congress on Sephardi and Oriental Jewish Heritage, 1984 (Jerusalem 1991), pp. 3–23, and cf. Ibn Lev, Responsa, Vol. 4 (Benei Beraq 1988), pp. 30:73, 67:105.

194. Istanbul Rabbinical Court Register, No. 2 (1841–1847), p. 5.

195. Ortaylı, İ., ‘Ottoman Family Law and the State in the Nineteenth Century’, in Osmanlı Tarıhı Araştırma ve Ugulama Merkezi Dergisi (Ankara 1990), pp. 321–332; idem, ‘The Family in Ottoman Society’, in The Family in Turkish Society (Ankara 1985), pp. 93–104.

196. Rozen, M., ‘The Trust of Lady Khrisula of Istanbul: Urban Reality and Dynastic Continuity’, Turkish Studies Association Journal 28:1–2 (2004), pp. 29–80.

197. R. Eliyahu Mizrahi, Responsa (in Hebrew) (Jerusalem 1959), §16: ‘and [the word] sivlonot is derived from the language of Greece, the language of their palaces [i.e. formal language, M.R.] sinovoli’. Variants of this word, denoting betrothal gifts, appear also in Judaeo-Babylonian Aramaic (Sokkolof, s.v.) and have even earlier roots in Acadian (Šūbultu = gift) (Chicago Assyrian Dictionary, s.v.), and in Sumerian (Su-bu = to give a present) (J. A. Halloran, Sumerian Dictionary, s.v. ‘su’), (http://www.sumerian.org/sumerlex.htm).

198. Bornstein-Makovetzky L., (ed.), The Istanbul Court Records on Matters of Ritual and Ethics 1710–1903 (in Hebrew), (Lod 1999).

199. Yitzhaq Politi, d. 13 October 1745, DP, Kuzguncuk Cemetery, Lot C-4, Stone 112, Film #96 (13 April 1989).

200. Available to me, as yet unpublished.

201. See Bornstein-Makovetzky L., (ed.), The Istanbul Court Records on Matters of Ritual and Ethics 1710–1903 (in Hebrew), (Lod 1999) note 184.

202. Danon, A., ‘The Karaites in European Turkey’, Jewish Quarterly Review, NS, 15 (1924–1925), p. 338.

203. Danon, A., ‘The Karaites in European Turkey’, Jewish Quarterly Review, NS, 15 (1924–1925).

204. DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 17-1, Stone 37, Film #126 (9 November 1989).

205. DP, Karaite Cemetery, Lot 17-1, Stone 26, Film #125 (9 November 1989).

206. Mann, J., Texts and Studies, Vol. 2 (Karaitica) (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1935), 743; Shapira, D., Avraham Firkowicz in Istanbul (1830–1832). Paving the Way for Turkic Nationalism (Ankara: KaraM, 2003), 3.

207. Mann, J., Texts and Studies, Vol. 2 (Karaitica) (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1935), 743

208. Shapira, D., Avraham Firkowicz in Istanbul (1830–1832). Paving the Way for Turkic Nationalism (Ankara: KaraM, 2003), 5-6.

209. Shapira, D., Avraham Firkowicz in Istanbul (1830–1832). Paving the Way for Turkic Nationalism (Ankara: KaraM, 2003), 75-76.

210. On the Crimean Karaites and their origins, see Shapira, D., ‘The Beginning of the Karaite Communities of the Crimea Prior to the Sixteenth Century’, in M. Polliack (ed.) Karaite Judaism: A guide to its History and Literary Sources (Leiden 2003), pp. 709-728; idem, ‘ The Turkic Languages and Literature of the East European Karaites’, , in M. Polliack (ed.), Karaite Judaism: A guide to its History and Literary Sources (Leiden 2003), pp. 657-708.

211. Shapira, D., Avraham Firkowicz in Istanbul (1830–1832). Paving the Way for Turkic Nationalism (Ankara: KaraM, 2003), 31-34.

212. The Pentateuch ‘with translation into the Ishmaelite language of our brothers, the Karaites’ was printed in Istanbul in the printing press of Araboğlu in Ortaköy. Some of the proofs were prepared in Gozlow, Crimea (Ya‘ari, Hebrew Printing), p. 234.

213. Shapira, D., Avraham Firkowicz in Istanbul (1830–1832). Paving the Way for Turkic Nationalism (Ankara 2003).

214. Trevisan-Semi, E., ‘Gli ebrei caraiti tra etnia e religione (Roma, 1984), pp. 192–194; idem, ‘Les Caraïtes de nos jours’, Yod 20 (1984), pp. 33–55.