In a world increasingly marked by conflict and polarization, Jewish life in Tbilisi offers a remarkable counterexample. For centuries, Georgia has been home to one of the oldest continuous Jewish communities in the world – a history characterized not by persecution, but by coexistence.
By Mikheil Khachidze
A narrow courtyard in the old quarter of Tbilisi. Voices mingle with the faint echo of footsteps on stone. The air smells of history – and of the present. Here, where cultures have intersected for centuries, every wall tells a story of a coexistence that today seems almost an exception.
Anyone who wants to understand Tbilisi (Georgian: Tiflis) must speak with Irine Bibileishvili. The director of the "Roots" research center is the guardian of Georgian-Jewish memory. For her, the multicultural DNA of the Georgian capital is no accident, but the result of a deeply rooted humanism. "Tbilisi is a unique multicultural city," she explains. "As a native of Tbilisi, I know exactly where the vital artery of this uniqueness runs – in human relationships characterized by tolerance, warmth, hospitality, empathy, and a high degree of humanism."
The presence of Jews in Georgia dates back at least 2,700 years. This long history represents both a heritage and an obligation for the current generation. A striking example from the Soviet era illustrates the strength of this historical foundation. In the 1930s, the anti-religious regime planned the destruction of the synagogue in the western Georgian city of Oni.
When the machines arrived, they found the courtyard full of mothers who had brought their newborns in cradles to block the way. But there were more cradles than there were Jewish families in the town: Georgian mothers had also joined in, forming a "living wall" together with their Jewish neighbors. "When you live with such a heritage, you don't have the right to behave unworthily," Bibileishvili emphasizes. "The Georgian-Jewish relationship is not just history—it is a living ethical standard."
The Georgian capital is over 1,500 years old. But its significance is not limited to numbers. "Here, different religions and cultures haven't just coexisted," says Bibileishvili, "they've understood each other." In her view, Tbilisi deserves international recognition: "If it were up to me, I would declare Tbilisi an international city of transcultural dialogue—a kind of city museum whose historical memory should become a focus of global research."
Between two worlds
A few streets away, Dani Biniashvili speaks about identity. Young, religious, and clear in his words, for him the past is not a burden, but a guide. "My roots lie at the crossroads of two cultures," he says. "I am a Georgian Jew." While many Jewish communities in Europe grapple with questions of identity, the young generation in Georgia appears remarkably secure.
The 26-year-old embodies this type of modern, self-assured Georgian Jew. “My roots lie at the crossroads of two bold and noble cultures,” says Biniashvili, who bears the name of his great-grandfather, a prominent rabbi. For him, Judaism in Georgia is not an import, but an organic union: “The Georgian spirit gave us a love for the land and freedom, while the Jewish faith established the steadfastness of tradition. Our coexistence was a spiritual synthesis.”
Three Sefer Torahs for eternity
A faint buzz fills the air as Dani Biniashvili leads us into the Great Synagogue of Tbilisi. Here, in the heart of the community, two of the three Torah scrolls (Sefer Torah) donated by his family are kept – the third found its place in Gori, the hometown of his father and grandfather. It is the ceremonial culmination of a project that has been in the planning stages for over 18 years.
Dani approaches the Torah ark, carefully brings out the scrolls, and pauses for a moment in prayer. It is an image of profound connection, which he readily captures for the camera. "The Torah is our tree of life," he explains, explaining the symbolism. "When a family donates a Torah, their name becomes intertwined with eternity. It is an act of deep gratitude for the security and warmth we have experienced here for 26 centuries." The choice of Gori as the location particularly underscores this regional connection. For Dani, it is a tribute to his ancestors: "Gori is the cradle of my family. The Torah there is a living bridge between our past and our future."
As he leads us through the lofty halls, it becomes clear that this building is far more than a religious site to him. “This isn’t ordinary architecture,” Dani says, gazing at the intricate decorations. “This is our center, our fortress.” For generations, the synagogue has been the place where everything was preserved—the language, the prayers, and the unwavering identity of Georgian Jews.
Two homelands, one identity
Despite the large waves of immigration to Israel, the connection to Georgia remains unbreakable. Biniashvili describes it as an identity with two centers: "We are one nation with two homelands – one where the graves of our ancestors lie, and one that is our spiritual center."
For Irina Bibileishvili, this model is an export hub for world peace. At a time when Judaism is once again coming under increasing pressure worldwide, the Tbilisi model sends a clear message: living together as equals is not a myth, but – as in Georgia for 2700 years – a lived reality.
First published on April 30, 2026 at: www.audiatur-online.ch
This article appeared in our newspaper "Israelaktuell," issue 145. You can order the newspaper here . We would also be happy to send you several copies for distribution.
