\n<\/p>\n
In the eyes of the state, at least publicly, neither community\u2019s approach was necessarily more correct than the other, and for the first few years not a single official raised a red flag or published any complaints. Just 466 applications were logged in 2015, the first year of the program. By 2020, though, that number hit 34,876. The Sephardim had been the world\u2019s first truly global Jewish community, ending up everywhere, from Libya to London, Hamburg to Mexico City. Folders filled with multilingual marriage certificates and photo albums flooded in from all corners.<\/p>\n
By far the largest surviving number of Sephardim can be found in Israel. A bustling avenue to Portuguese citizenship rapidly developed there, with several corporations springing up to service the interest. \u201cIt was like a factory: 100 clerks, telephones,\u201d recalls Leon Amiras, the vice president of the Israeli Bar Association, who was initially skeptical about having non-lawyers involved. He had personally helped a couple hundred Sephardim apply, following word-of-mouth referrals, from his office opposite the Waldorf Astoria in Jerusalem. But the more he saw of the larger operators, the more he grew to admire their seriousness and professionalism. They were, he says, \u201c\u2018tak, tak, tak,\u2019 first stage, second stage.\u2026\u201d He trails off to pull out his phone and show me several slick commercials produced by one such firm, called Portugalis.<\/p>\n
Like Litvak, Amiras was born in Argentina. His grandparents had fled Turkey during an early 20th-century conflict with Greece, and he successfully gained Spanish and Portuguese citizenship thanks to Sephardic ancestors in both his parents\u2019 families. But he told me his Portuguese certification from the community in Porto required far less documentation than the endless back-and-forth with the designated Jewish community in Spain. \u201cThe difference between the Portuguese procedure and the Spanish procedure is like when you have two girlfriends,\u201d he explained with a hint of mischief. \u201cOne says \u2018I really love, love<\/em> you, want to be with you.\u2019 The other says, \u2018I\u2019m not sure if I want you, if you want to be with me, I want flowers, I want a Rolex, I want this, I want this, I want this.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n The subsequent deluge of citizenship and passport requests\u2014the latter as proof of the former\u2014began to outpace Portugal\u2019s poorly staffed civil service, and delays mounted. By June 2020, foreign minister Augusto Santos Silva appeared before Parliament to ask for change. \u201cThere are an increasing number of people who come to that consulate,\u201d he said, quoting a telegram from Portugal\u2019s ambassador to Israel, \u201cboth to prepare applications and to collect their citizen cards or passports, who manifest complete ignorance about Portugal, its culture and history, even declaring they have no intention of visiting our country.\u201d Israeli firms, he told lawmakers, had been advertising Portuguese citizenship applications during Black Friday sales. Such \u201cprostitution,\u201d he called it, of the country\u2019s nationality \u201cdamaged Portugal\u2019s international reputation.\u201d Another lawmaker proposed adding a two-year residency requirement. Various Jewish communities began to worry that the right of return wouldn\u2019t last much longer.<\/p>\n On July 16, 2020,<\/strong> an applicant with the Hebrew name of \u201cNachman ben Aharon\u201d emailed the Porto community. \u201cDear Community,\u201d he wrote in English. \u201cI am a Sephardic Jew member of Sephardic community. Rabbi Boroda interviewed me and attested my Sephardic origin. Thank you, Roman.\u201d Attachments included a birth certificate, a PDF file entitled \u201cLetter from the Rabbi,\u201d copies of Russian and Israeli passports, and a Microsoft Word document entitled \u201cRoman Abaramovich [sic<\/em>] Family tree.\u201d It included two parents, Irina and Arkadiy, born in the USSR, and four grandparents, born in the \u201cRussian Impire [sic<\/em>].\u201d One hour and 53 minutes later someone responded, \u201cShalom. Approved\u201d and requested some information be sent in a different format.<\/p>\n Four days later, a SWIFT payment receipt shows Abramovich instructed his bankers at UBS in Switzerland to pay a \u201ccharitable contribution\u201d of 250 euros to the Jewish Community of Porto\u2019s account at the local subsidiary of Spanish banking giant Santander. It was the standard processing fee, which, multiplied across tens of thousands of applicants over several years, has helped Porto\u2019s Jewish community accomplish a great deal, including feature films about Judaic history in Portugal, a moving Holocaust museum, and tours for schoolchildren. A few weeks later, Abramovich supplied the reformatted information and proof of payment. He also wrote, \u201cI plan to donate you [sic<\/em>] on the permanent basis for the long term.\u201d His application was immediately passed to the Porto community\u2019s back office. Gabriel Senderowicz, the community\u2019s current president\u2014using the pseudonym Berel Rosenstein, as he commonly did to avoid hassle from pushier applicants, he explained to me\u2014alerted other members of the \u201csupport committee.\u201d He suggested the group send an email of thanks, which was duly written and dispatched. (\u201cThose who doubt Abramovich\u2019s Sephardic origins do not know the law, do not know the case, or do not know both,\u201d Senderowicz told VF.<\/em>)<\/p>\n