Producer & International Distributor
eBookPro Publishing
They called him a Gangster
Zali de Toledo
Copyright 2020 Zali de Toledo
All rights reserved; No parts of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information retrieval system, without the permission, in writing, of the author.
Contact:
Email:
Contents
INTRODUCTION
My Dear Readers:
The road to reaching the decision to write this book has been a long and angst-ridden path. To begin with, I knew that bringing up these old memories, some excruciatingly painful and some gloriously ecstatic, might take more of a toll on my emotions than I could bear. And, indeed, reliving it all has been quite an experience. For the first time in my life, I am revealing stories and events as to a friend (you, the reader), some of which I have never shared before, not even with my family, but instead, have worked hard to bury in the back of my mind.
But, finally, I realized that this man, whom I loved and respected and to whom I owe so much, was deserving of a personal legacy that showed a side of him rarely viewed by the public. The media thrived on blaming him for all the sins of the world. Yet, the man I knew was the antithesis of this character defamation. For his trial in Israel, the attorney, Gabriel Bach demanded that all of the Meyer Lansky FBI files be brought to Israel .
Years later those files were in the possession of the distinguished Tel Aviv University Professor of Jewish history, Robert A. Rockaway, being used for his research on Lansky.
In one of our telephone conversations he told me: Nothing was there to bring Meyer Lansky to justice. All hearsay; we think he was responsible, we believe he did it etc.
The Meyer that I knew was multi-faceted and went by a moral code that he strongly believed would help fight injustice. His handshake was of more value than any written agreement.
I really have to thank so many of my devoted friends, who helped keep our secret from being exposed and made sure our names never reached the gossip columns. Plus, I do want to single out the very nice postman who always delivered Meyers express letters with a smile, sometimes daily, knowing how I was anxiously awaiting their arrival.
While it may sound strange and hypocritical, I honestly never wanted to cause problems for his family.
I sincerely thank the two lovely ladies, JD and FJ who worked tirelessly with me for over a year to bring Meyer to life, not like a beautifully written novel with poetic words and scenarios but with simple sentences and facts. At the end of our collaboration, it meant a great deal to me when they said: Thank you for introducing us to Meyer.
I sincerely hope that the words of encouragement, advice and wisdom Meyer gave to me, as I share them here with you, will serve as an inspiration to those who are now in need of them, as was I back then.
CHAPTER ONE
Is there such a thing as destiny? Do the stars actually map out the course our lives will take? We enter the world with no earthly idea of what awaits us or what will be expected of us. To be sure, our parents have ideas and plans for our future, such as marriage, children, and what careers we might have. But when those plans invariably fail to come about, our parents are left nonplussed and confused and we are often left on the defensive and, in my case, fending for myself from the early age of seventeen.
Im sure neither my parents, nor anyone else, ever envisioned me rubbing elbows with rich and powerful people who, for better or worse, would make their mark on history and on my life.
They never thought the little girl from Istanbul would one day be setting policy in cultural, political, and religious affairs between Judaism and Islam, and between my homeland of Turkey and Israel where I settled, like a good Zionist by push and by pull, in April of 1960, taking the first flight of Turkish Airlines to Tel Aviv.
Many factors shape our lives and determine the person we eventually become. The eldest of four children, my early years were lived in relative poverty. My father was a very intelligent, hard-working man, but for him and for so many others in his situation, earning a decent wage was challenging, particularly for those not of the Muslim faith.
It was a time of war and the Varlik Vergisi tax, levied in Turkey in 1942, officially to raise funds for the treasury of the country, but its true purpose was essentially to financially cripple Turkeys non-Muslim citizens. Food was rationed and the purchase of even a loaf of bread required a stamp on our identity booklets, even on mine.
At that time, it was customary for newlywed couples to live with their in-laws and my family resided with my paternal grandparents and my fathers brother, Niso, in the crowded quarter of Kasimpasa, a low-lying area in the Beyoglu district of Istanbul.
Part of its grandeur was the wooden chalet, where I was born and which, to this day, is protected as a second class antiquity after it was rebuilt following its collapse several years earlier.
With the arrival of a new child every two years or so, the atmosphere at home was often tense and unpleasant with unavoidable friction causing tempers to flare frequently. Very often I stayed at the home of my maternal grandmother, Luna.
Luna lived in the Jewish quarter called La Kula, so named because of the prominent Venetian tower looming over the neighbourhood. This intelligent, warm, and wonderful woman became a beacon, guiding me through the trials and angst of my early years. I absolutely adored her.
Lunas brother was a very well-known Chazan and rabbi in Ruschuk, Bulgaria, and it is said that King Boris would go to the synagogue to hear him sing. I had a record of him which, to my regret, has been lost throughout my many moves.
The neighborhood in which we lived was predominantly populated by gypsies and Luna would create dresses for them in vibrant colors. She also sewed bridal gowns for many of them and I loved to watch her crafting these garments. I would often accompany her on deliveries and sometimes even attended the weddings to which she was invited.
It was a joyous experience for me to witness the colors and loud music of those people who, despite their economic hardship, could boisterously celebrate life and love. I was also riveted by the belly dances they performed and, when alone, would try them myself.
My mother was also proficient at dancing and years later, my own daughter, Simona, would study this art and take it to a new level, teaching it and organizing dance festivals around the world.
Lunas history fascinates me. It is unclear to me whether her family came to Istanbul from Ruschuk, Bulgaria, or whether her family went to live there. With the departure of her family, Luna was left alone at an age when most women were married.
