Faced with rising anti-Semitism in some places, Jews are moving back to unlikely cities like Yangon and Oporto.

The ornate colonial building on a bustling alleyway fits right in with the neighborhood. To enter, visitors don’t need to pass through any security checks or barriers — increasingly commonplace around the world, given rising attacks. The Musmeah Yeshua is the only synagogue in Yangon, Myanmar, and its doors are open, which is a source of pride for the city’s Jews and the majority Buddhist community.

That sense of security hasn’t always been afforded to the Jewish community in Yangon. Back in 1910, the community even boasted the city’s first Jewish mayor. But the Japanese, after their 1941 invasion, suspected Jews of spying for the British and sent some to concentration camps. Many Jews fled then, and most others left when the post-independence government nationalized private businesses in the 1960s. But with the country’s then–military rulers opening Myanmar up to the world seven years ago, at least 80 expat Jews have moved there to help rebuild the country and return it to the international fold while also reinvigorating Yangon’s tiny Jewish community of just about 10 people. The number of these returning Jews, though small, is emblematic of an unlikely pattern emerging across multiple cities.

Francisca Linconao embodies the struggle of Chile’s indigenous minority.

Fire and outrage shattered the small-town tranquility of Vilcún in the early hours of Jan. 4, 2013. In the end, ranch owners Werner Luchsinger and Vivan Mackay, aging mainstays of a sleepy town in the south of Chile, were dead and their home destroyed by arson. Eventually, 11 suspects were charged, all indigenous Mapuche activists. The face of that group? A petite spiritual healer and grandmother, thrust into her country’s spotlight and branded a terrorist.

Medieval legend says Satan selected the violin as an unholy weapon for enticing people to dance

The audience should have been filled with hushed excitement that spring night in 1831 at London’s King’s Theatre as they awaited the debut of a renowned violinist. Instead, the air was marked by nervousness and fear. Ladies fanned themselves and glanced over their shoulders, while gentlemen stared fixedly ahead, crossing and uncrossing their legs. Their anxiety was born of rumors that had been spreading throughout Europe: Niccolò Paganini, the virtuoso violinist about to perform, was possessed by the devil.