The assertion, then, that diaspora is the same as transnationalism, and Jews specifically are always transnational by virtue of being diasporic , is clearly incorrect. At the same time, strict, homeland-based, insularity-dependent definitions like Safran’s and Cohen’s do not include contemporary transnational social fields, or even all Jewish communities in all places and times. People, states, and organizations are aware of the blurry lines between diasporic people and transnational communities, and use these differing definitions rhetorically to achieve practical political and economic ends. Individual communities and individual people may identify more closely with a strict definition that privileges an insular, self-identified community with strong feelings about a homeland, while others feel that their transnational practices make them diasporic—or not. Safran’s and Cohen’s definitions, which privilege strong intra-group identities shaped by prejudice and longing, make a far more convincing argument for why a member of the diaspora might wish to return to a homeland, if possible, than a looser Reis-style description of what is essentially a transnational community staying in touch via Skype. What is interesting about the case of Iquitos and Israel, and what is important to understand about diaspora-transnational rhetorical relationships generally, is that a definition that emphasizes intra-community integrity at the expense of multiple intra- and extra-community ties is far more useful in encouraging transnational activity if diaspora is to be actively and knowingly used as a tool. The modern-day myth of “return” to Israel relies on such a Safran-like definition,low round pots wherein the Jewish diaspora must be in a miserable, alienated situation and “coming home” must be the final fulfillment of a true Jewish identity.

In general, emphasizing the importance of the homeland, the possibility of return, the separateness of the diasporic people from the host people, and the desirable nature of return or rebuilding can make transnational activity to that end more appealing to a transnational community that might not otherwise engage in such activities. Regardless, these definitions and the identities linked to them are changeable and usable because of, not despite, the way in which they each flow into one another. In the Iquitos case study, a diaspora that through its own words fits the assumption of being a people apart is also a transnational social field maintained over WhatsApp. In the wider field, communities anywhere on this spectrum can and do shift in their self-identification, and when they do, their activities shift with them, with major consequences. Diasporic history and transnational behavior have been actively conflated to achieve political and/or economic aims, especially pan-Jewish and Zionist activism, religious philanthropy, and Jewish education, since the earliest days of the existence of nation-states. In particular, Jewish philanthropy that calls on a diasporic identity to solicit transnational donations has a long history. A particularly useful example is that of the early modern pekidim, or emissaries who traveled about the Ottoman Empire and Europe in the 17th and 18th centuries soliciting charitable donations from the Jewish communities in cities such as London, Amsterdam, and then-Constantinople for Jews living in Eretz Yisrael. This is a period early on in the development of nation-states that took advantage of an existing, thriving population of Jews living outside a “homeland” — that is, it is clear in this example that the Jewish diaspora existed before transnationalism was possible, but that each affected the other.

As pekidim sold the idea of a country which had not existed in centuries to wealthy, influential Jews in the diaspora, they engaged in transnational movement and encouraged other Jews to operate transnationally by sending money to change the material conditions of people living elsewhere. If they did so, these individuals also bought the idea that they were somehow connected to Jews living thousands of miles away, speaking different colloquial languages and practicing Judaism in a different way. This interlocking network of traveling pekidim, as well as other activities like the redemption of Jewish slaves from bondage, in the early modern period helped construct both the idea and, to an extent, a reality of a pan-Jewish people hood across new nations. The phenomenon of far-flung Jewish communities identifying strongly with each other as Jews did not always exist and was certainly not over determined to exist. It took dedicated efforts, such as those of the pekidim, and for many centuries any active transnational Jewish activity was largely a practice of the elite. This historicizes and destabilizes modern assumptions that the diaspora has always been practically connected as well as spiritually and emotionally invested in its supposed unity. This is not the case — as Raanan Rein argues, too many assumptions are made in the present day about indelible pan-Jewish unity instead of acknowledging important community, regional, and national differences. Far from cementing those assumptions, Lehmann purposely focuses on the way in which any unified pan-Jewish identity had to be actively constructed and then maintained over and through ethnic, geographic, and linguistic divisions. In Lehmann’s words, these emissaries encountered a Jewish so-called community that was “imagined as unified but experienced as fragmented” , even as their own travels and myth-making increased that imagined unification. In tacitly agreeing that Jews in the diaspora should help maintain the well being of Jews elsewhere, wealthy Jews influenced their own communities and their peers, making the idea of Jewish unity relied upon by pekidim more realistic.

That is to say, the real connections between and across Jewish communities fostered by pekidim themselves, the home communities they came from, and the Jews living in Eretz Yisrael that they collected for helped create a genuine sense of pan-Jewishness and universal Jewish identity, a process that was begun by utilizing the rhetoric of diaspora. Similarly,plastic pots 30 liters the centrality of the “Holy Land”/Eretz Yisrael in the discourse of the early modern pekidim prefigures a modern assumption that the land that is now Israel has always been central to spiritual and religious imaginings of Jewish identity and should be a central practical concern to which diasporic Jews should bend their attention and pocketbooks. This is an assumption that should not be taken for granted. Lehmann defines these pekidim-enabled connections as a network, by which he means a delicate web made out of actively sought and maintained interactions, not institutionalized, official, or extant outside of the actions of individuals. Importantly, there was no formal center, although there were certain cities where the web was thicker or where more people tended to circulate, especially in the Ottoman world: Jerusalem, although the beneficiary, was not the center of Jewish wealth, bureaucracy, or attention. Early modern Jewish emissaries therefore provide an example of how transnational activities can be inspired by calling upon rhetorical ideals of an interconnected diaspora and a deserving homeland. Even further, they demonstrate how that very engagement can build or reinforce the same sense of pan-Jewish, cross-diasporic belonging that is rhetoricized to encourage such behaviors in the first place. The development of Iquitos’ Jewish community’s transnational relationship with Israel is a more modern example of similar philanthropic forces. As described in the previous chapter, the Jewish community of Iquitos is at least twice removed from the “homeland”. Its founders migrated from Morocco to Iquitos in the mid-19th century—an “expansion” diaspora, as Cohen would have it. Despite a brief period of wealth and high connectivity associated with the rubber boom and the importance of South American river transport, the Jews of Iquitos were effectively cut off from other Jews between 1910 and 1990, with no or very little transnational activity in any form. Nonetheless, several families maintained their Jewish identities. In the 1990s, the connection of the Iquitos community with other Jewish communities, which began with a letter to a congregation in Lima, was enacted almost entirely through the efforts of transnational philanthropic organizations. U.S.-based Venezuelan academic Ariel Segal Freilich, the Jewish Agency for Israel, Debora Frank of the Federación Sionista del Perú, and Argentinian rabbi Guillermo Bronstein all provided resources in the form of international attention, money, educational and religious supplies, bureaucratic aid, and religious services with the explicit intent of linking together Jews pan-diasporically. All of these organizations and individuals also had the aim of connecting Iquiteño Jews with Israel specifically. As discussed in the previous chapter, these individuals, the education they provided, and the organizations they connected with all actively placed migration to Israel at the center of the Jewish experience they presented as desirable.

Through their own transnational activities, mainly philanthropic in nature, they did in a very straightforward sense make cross-diasporic connections themselves and encourage others. Interviews with Iquiteño Jews also show that many individuals feel a strong sense of solidarity with other Jews, and, in direct contravention to Rein and Lesser, often feel more Jewish than Peruvian, and the vast majority of the original Jewish population of Iquitos has, of course, migrated to Israel under the auspices of a law designed to encourage precisely this kind of transnational action. Those who have relatives in Israel engage in almost all of the common practices associated with transnational social fields between a sending and receiving country—on which more later. Meanwhile, those who are left in Iquitos remain transnationally linked to a very high degree. Iquitos is dependent on U.S. and Argentina rabbis for rabbinical services and freely invites and enjoys educational exchange programs with other Latin American Jewish organizations such as the Masorti Movement-run youth program NOAM. These are all recent developments that show a dramatic shift from a diasporic community with no recent history of transnational practice to one where transnational practice has become a necessary component of individuals’ self-reported diasporas identities, in both practical and ideological senses. This evidence strongly supports Luis Roniger’s assertions about the contingency of Jewish-national identities. It also supports my argument that rhetoric about diasporic solidarity can a component in changing individuals’ and communities’ behaviors with respect to other subgroups within their same classical-style diasporas. To return to the reference to Iquiteño migration practices in the previous section, it is important to note that those who have migrated to Israel and their friends, relatives, and fellow community members who have remained behind engage in many, but not all, of the most common transnational practices usually associated with bilocal transnational social fields. Migrants and those still in Iquitos keep in touch with their families via technological means and visiting, when possible. A small number maintain properties and businesses in Iquitos, while others send money across both borders as gifts, aid with expenses, and payments. However, these interactions cannot be a Portes-style intensive and sustained transnationalism, for the simple fact that these relationships last only so long as people remain on both sides of the Atlantic. As already discussed, it appears these transnational contacts last until those left in Iquitos themselves make aliyah, which is all but sure to happen in most cases. It is still early to predict with confidence that Iquitos’ Jewish community will be lost entirely or almost entirely to out-migration , but it is possible to say that, since 2003, circular, seasonal, and one-way return migration have been almost unknown. These three kinds of people movement are often considered key transnational practices when bilocal communities are involved, and are contrasted to migration for settlement. In particular, circular and seasonal migration imply that migrants may leave, but they come back in predictable, if irregular, patterns, following the demands of labor. Indeed, these practices are considered hallmarks of the late 20th/early 21st century transmigrant, and something that distinguishes contemporary migration from pre-WWII migration. It is notable, then, that such practices very rarely appear in the accounts of Iquiteño Jews. In 2016 and 2019, my interview subjects overwhelmingly declared their intent to leave and not come back, following after family members and friends who had done the same, some as long ago as twenty five years before, plenty of time to change a mind, change a living situation, change an ideology, and enter into the circularity and constant flow that supposedly characterizes 21st century movement. What is keeping the Jews of Iquitos in Israel, then? Is it simply the fact that being a citizen from entry thanks to the Law of Return eliminates or overcomes other hardships?