Creating a Home for Their Heritage : North Hollywood: Growing Orthodox Jewish enclave has become virtually self-sufficient in the service of preserving a culture.

Two men with dark beards hanging against their long, white prayer shawls amble down Chandler Boulevard in North Hollywood, one holding the hand of a small boy in a suit, the other looking down protectively at a girl in a flowered dress.

Down the street, four stroller-pushing women in bright suits and dotted dresses move more briskly but still chat. Even a band of teen-agers in their Saturday best maintain a leisurely gait, with small, self-conscious steps and darting glances.

It is the Sabbath here, and life’s pace slows.

Like religious Jews throughout the world, thousands of people who have created an Orthodox enclave in this east San Fernando Valley neighborhood fill the sidewalks each Shabbos because the Bible tells them they may not ride on the Sabbath.

The population of religious Jews in this neighborhood has surged over the last five years, with hundreds of newcomers and no fewer than five additional synagogues. A distinct rhythm has taken hold.

“The amount of people who pray at synagogue on a Saturday, you can see the increase,” said Rabbi Avrohom Stulberger, principal of Valley Torah High School, an Orthodox institution. “Years ago, you were lucky to find one [kosher] bakery. Now there are four.”

Orthodox Jews create enclaves out of necessity. Dietary law holds that meat must be obtained from a rabbi-certified butcher. Likewise baked goods. They may not eat in a non-kosher home, one that does not adhere to the food restrictions.

They must live near a synagogue because they must be able to walk there on the Sabbath and on Jewish holidays, when they may not ride, use electricity, write, shop, conduct business or many other activities that resemble normal workaday life.

They must live near other Jews because they must pray in groups. And they must send their children to Jewish schools because their prayer schedule, holiday observances and strict rules against unrelated males and females touching make public school all but impossible.

On Shabbos, they are only allowed to push strollers and carry keys within a rabbinically encircled area--bordered, in this case, by the Ventura Freeway on the south, the San Diego Freeway on the west, Sherman Way on the north and the Golden State Freeway on the east.

“We are exclusive as a nation, not as individuals,” explained Esther Kaduri, a Sephardic Jew--a descendant of those who settled in Spain and Portugal--who has lived in the area for six years. “We separate ourselves from Gentiles in an effort to keep our heritage ongoing and intact. But we don’t keep to ourselves. You won’t find one Jew in the mountains and one in town. They need other Jews.”

The Sephardim constitute the fastest-growing segment of the community, coming from other parts of Los Angeles as well as Israel, Morocco or elsewhere in the Mediterranean region.

Rabbi Amram Gabay, who proudly shows visitors around the new peach-hued building housing his Adat Yeshurun Sephardic congregation, said that four new Sephardic temples have popped up over the past few years, each with 80 to 100 families.

The Jewish high school, Stulberger said, conducts two prayer sessions each morning, one in the Ashkenazi, or Eastern European, tradition, the other following Sephardic ways.

Schools offer some of the best evidence of the community’s growth: Emek Hebrew Academy, the day school, was founded in 1959 with six students and grew to 400 by 1980. Today, it boasts 600 boys and girls attending gender-segregated classes. Similarly, Valley Torah High School has grown from 38 students in 1986 to 200 boys and girls today.

Adding to the neighborhood’s appeal was the creation of a mikvah, or ritual cleansing pool. Later, religious leaders established an eruv , the rabbinically approved roped-off area that bounds the neighborhood.

“For years we were considered a stepchild to the [Westside] Orthodox community,” said Rabbi Marvin Sugarman of the Ashkenazic Shaarey Zedek synagogue. “Now we are on equal par with the city. We are a fully self-contained Orthodox community. We don’t really need to go to the city for anything.”

Yet their world meets the secular one in dozens of ways, most obviously in the mishmash of Jewish and non-Jewish establishments along Burbank Boulevard, Whitsett Avenue and Oxnard Street. A sign for Hannah’s Travel--in English and Hebrew letters--hangs in a mini-mall just down the street from Rico’s Tacos.

The Jews enter the public arena when they find it necessary. And they vote, usually as a bloc. As they do in regard to many important decisions, the religious often adhere to their rabbi’s recommendations at the ballot box.

Rabbis and other leaders persuaded city officials to search for a spot other than Chandler Boulevard for their Metro Rail line. They also lobbied for a zoning change to build Adat Yeshurun, calling in representatives from Councilman Joel Wachs’ office to mediate when a group of residents objected to the proposal, citing worries about increased traffic and parking problems. Once it was explained that Orthodox Jews don’t drive on religious occasions and that an underground garage would prevent parking problems at other times, the residents were mollified.

“I often talk to the Orthodox community about the important role they play,” Wachs said, noting that he makes regular stops at Jewish community meetings.

Their integration into the mostly Anglo and Latino area has not been seamless. Non-Orthodox neighbors have complained occasionally about noise from the synagogues during festivals and celebrations. But when more extreme signs of conflict appear--swastikas drawn on cars, pellets shot through synagogue windows--Sugarman maintains that the troublemakers do not come from the neighborhood. “No question it’s from outside,” he said.

When the people here talk about their community and their separateness, they inevitably talk about the dwindling number of Jews in America. Studies have shown that at least 40% of Jews marry outside the faith and that a greater number are not affiliated with any Jewish organization.

Jews in this neighborhood want their children to be different. Orthodox Jews, they claim, are the ones who preserve and perpetuate traditional Judaism, which dates back 5,000 years.

“There are millions of Jews who live like Gentiles,” Kaduri said. “We have to worry about our offspring. What Hitler didn’t do to finish us off, assimilation can do. If my children are going to marry non-Jews, I didn’t do my job.”

Teen-agers here go to youth groups for meetings, functions and social events. But these are mostly gender-segregated and, compared to other teen-age gatherings, sedate. “Our youth are kept in a framework that is compatible with our life,” Kaduri said.

As a trade-off, she and others say they have fewer, if any, modern problems such as divorce, teen-age pregnancy, drug and alcohol abuse. A good time here is not a raging party, but a wedding with men and women dancing on separate sides of a partition or a festive Sabbath dinner.

So sacred is the concept of a joyous Shabbos that Fridays in North Hollywood are frenetic, as residents scurry to close their businesses and shop, clean and cook before sundown.

Sam’s Kosher Bakery on Burbank Boulevard puts out extra racks for the loaves upon loaves of challah, the braided egg bread that will be snapped up for holiday meals. Valley Glatt Kosher butcher shop down the street is all commotion as a yarmulke-wearing counterman tries to take care of customers.

Women disappear into their kitchens to prepare meals for both Friday evening and Saturday, when they may not light fires or use electricity.

Rabbi Sugarman looks on this scene with pride.

“We have sown the seeds for religious revival in this area and we are now enjoying the fruits,” Sugarman said. “We’ve seen the seeds blossom.”