Last year, a member of the Jewish community in this city finally received home Internet service for the first time. Considering that only about 7 percent of Turkmenistan’s 5 million residents have Internet access, the woman and her teenage daughter were thrilled.

Then came a visit by the state intelligence services — still referred to by locals as the KGB.

“They had a list of sites that were not allowed,” said the mother, who, like others interviewed for this story, preferred to remain anonymous.

The state intelligence services would be monitoring her traffic, she was told, and any illegal surfing would cause a problem for her and her daughter.

In Turkmenistan, where foreigners are barred from walking the streets after 11 p.m. and surveillance cameras are required in all public places, it was just another day for the pair.

They are members of Turkmenistan’s small Jewish community, which numbers no more than 1,200. Under a regime that has relegated all non-Turkmen to the status of second-class citizens, their story is not exceptional.

On Nov. 10, 2003, Turkmenistan’s eccentric dictator, the late Saparmurat Niyazov, signed a law barring all unregistered religious groups from operating in the country.

As only Russian Orthodox and Sunni Muslim groups were permitted to register, a de facto ban on Judaism went into effect, making Turkmenistan the only country of the former Soviet Union to practice state-sponsored anti-Semitism.

Until his sudden death from a heart attack last Dec. 21, Niyazov ruled this Central Asian republic for 21 years with an iron fist and an almost comical flare, fostering one of the most elaborate personality cults in the world.

On the ultra-modern and virtually empty streets of central Ashgabat, gold statues and billboards bearing Niyazov’s likeness are ubiquitous. Even the tumbledown Soviet apartment blocks ringing the city are adorned with his fawnin! g image.

The country’s new president, Gurbanguly Berdimuhammedov, elected in Februrary, has promised some changes, but has made it clear that no plan to purge Niyazov is in the works.

Niyazov’s rule created a tiered society in which only those at the top, the ethnic Turkmens, can hope to achieve prosperity. Although the country has the second largest natural gas reserves in the former Soviet Union, endemic corruption and massive public works projects dedicated to Niyazov have left little money to go around.

For Turkmenistan Jews, primarily the descendants of Soviet Jews from Russia and Ukraine who came to rebuild the capital after a devastating 1948 earthquake that killed 80 percent of the population, the sole option is to bide their time while getting the money and documentation needed to reach Israel.

But while they wait, sometimes for years, Turkmenistan Jews have defied the odds to form a tightly knit family.

There are no legally registered Jewish organizations in Turkmenistan, but a small group of committed individuals has defied the risks and come together in an effort to help their own. They operate in relative secrecy, with no rabbi or house of worship. Niyazov tore down the only synagogue in the country to build a fountain featuring a traditional Turkmen hero.

While Jews in Turkmenistan insist that traditional forms of anti-Semitism do not exist in their country, the punishing effects of a virtual economic apartheid are visible everywhere.

In the Caspian Sea city of Turkmenbashi, the country’s second largest city, the woman who distributes funds from abroad to local Jews spoke about the challenges members of the community face.

“What can the youth do?” asked the youthful, blond-haired grandmother, speaking from behind a cloud of cigarette smoke. “There’s nothing for them here, so they just sit at home all day doing nothing.”

This is true of her son, who hasn’t been able to find a job in four years, and th! e sons o f thousands of ethnic minorities, including Russians.

Everywhere one goes outside of the center of Ashgabat, young men and women mill about the streets, in some cases changing money on the black market and in others simply sitting on their hands.

According to a 2004 estimate, the CIA World Factbook places Turkmenistan’s unemployment rate at 60 percent.

The economic injustice, coupled with a repressive security apparatus, has had a chilling effect on the Jewish community. Pressed for their opinions on the regime, several people were too afraid to speak, especially on the phone, which is widely believed to be monitored.

But a group of 10 young Jews talked with JTA about the problems facing their community.

They were unanimous: Israel is the only way out. The 1989 Soviet census counted 2,500 Jews in Turkmenistan, which means that about half have left since then.

One 17-year-old said his dreams of becoming an architect are on hold, since his family cannot afford the $1,000 payoff necessary to place him in university.

“As long as I can remember, I’ve been interested in building things, but ” he said with a resigned sigh as his voice trailed off.

What about the future of the regime?

A show of hands showed that nine of the 10 did not believe that media controls would ease under Berdimuhammedov. Despite the president’s promises, only one person in the group had Internet access.

“As long as we’re quiet,” said a 22-year-old woman with fiery red hair, “it will last forever.”

“But once you open your mouth, someone will close it for you,” a community leader was quick to point out.

“The problem is that half the world doesn’t even know we exist,” the first young woman replied.

This may partially explain why the poorest country in the FSU, a country where Jews live under more repressive conditions than any other in the region, receives almost no charitable donations.

! The situ ation is direst for the Turkmenistan’s elderly Jews. The state pays pensions only to former state employees, so they’re forced to live on the intermittent charity and medical help sent by friends and concerned Jews abroad.

For this forgotten community, their isolation from world Jewry feels like a slap in the face.

“Just tell them that we exist” was the common refrain at the end of every conversation. “Tell them that we’re here.”