Next Year, Anywhere But in Grim Baghdad

On Sunday night, the eve of Yom Kippur, Levy prepared to begin his fast by nibbling on some cake and watermelon. After the ritual butcher left a few years ago, Levy purchased lambs himself and slaughtered them according to Jewish law. But now he can't buy the animals, because he fears for his life if the merchants in the market spot him and tell others that he is a Jew. Wine is also unobtainable, so on certain holidays he settles for grapes squeezed into water.

Baghdad's power grid, Levy joked, also decided to fast. The electricity cut out on Sunday afternoon and still hadn't come back on more than 30 hours later. On Monday night, after the holiday ended, he struggled to get his generator back up.

None of the city's problems could spoil his Yom Kippur, though.

"I have my God and I have my prayers," Levy said. "This is all that is important to me."

He cradled an old Hebrew prayer book in his arms, standing in his bedroom and occasionally sitting on the light green sheets covering his bed, he recalled. Ritual white fringes hung from his body, and a 25-year-old yarmulke adorned his head. All the Jewish yarmulke makers have fled Iraq, so there is nowhere for him to buy a new one.

"What should I do?" he shrugged. "Of course this is not the way Yom Kippur should be. When you are alone, it is very different than when you do it in the synagogue or with a lot of people. It is sad."

He paused. "This is why I must leave for the Holy Land."

Not every Iraqi Jew feels that way. Sameer, 40, a construction contractor, said he could not quit his homeland, even though that might mean he never finds a Jewish woman to marry.

"This is my destiny. I am Iraqi. I am part of Iraq," he said. "It is okay for me to stay without a wife."

Sameer spoke on the condition that his last name not be printed because he fears for his life. His 33-year-old brother was kidnapped 10 months ago -- although it was not clear whether his religion played a role in his targeting -- and Sameer spends every day searching for him. He has fled his Baghdad home and lives outside the capital in a location he will not disclose for security reasons.

A tightly wound bundle of nerves, Sameer frantically fiddled with a pencil during a conversation with a reporter as his eyes darted around the room. He sat balanced precariously on the edge of a dusty couch.

"I must go now!" he said every few moments during a 20-minute interview. "It is very dangerous for me."