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What a forgotten synagogue dedication in 1825 Philadelphia can teach us today
On a winter morning in 1825, Congregation Mikveh Israel in Philadelphia opened its doors for a consecration few in the city would forget.
The sanctuary filled not only with Jews but with the city’s civic and religious leaders. Bishop William White, the Episcopal bishop of Pennsylvania, was there. So too were the chief justice and associate judges of the state Supreme Court, along with ministers from other Christian churches and “many other distinguished citizens.”
The newspaper that covered the event could hardly contain its admiration. It called the ceremony “one of the most gratifying spectacles we have ever witnessed,” praising it as evidence of “the happy equality of our religious rights, and the prevailing harmony among our religious sects.”
For Europeans in attendance, the sight was almost inconceivable. They remarked that such a scene could not be witnessed “in any other part of the world” — Jews worshiping openly, honored by civic leaders, regarded as full equals. They urged that the moment be noticed abroad “for the instruction and edification of Europe.”
This long-forgotten consecration reveals something about Jewish life in America that is too often overlooked. Alongside well-known stories of antisemitism and exclusion, there have long been moments when Jewish life was welcomed as part of the civic square — when synagogue dedications became community milestones, not private affairs.
Just three years earlier, when Mikveh Israel laid the cornerstone for its building, its members placed into the foundation a copy of the U.S. Constitution, the constitutions of several states, and American coinage. Embedding the nation’s founding charter into the walls of a synagogue was both symbolic and aspirational.
In Europe, the picture was far more precarious. In Wiesbaden in 1826, Jews converted a garden hall into a synagogue. The community’s rabbi, Salomon Herxheimer, preached a sermon heard by neighbors “without distinction of worship.” Yet this was a fragile moment of recognition. For centuries, Wiesbaden’s Jews had lived as Schutzjuden — “protected Jews” — dependent on the goodwill of local nobles, barred from land ownership, and restricted in their trades. Only in 1819 were they granted theoretical freedom of commerce, and even then, their rights remained uncertain.
Similar stories unfolded later in Munich in 1869, where the King of Bavaria donated land for a synagogue, or in Berlin in 1866, where thousands, including Otto von Bismarck, gathered in a new sanctuary that newspapers as far away as Australia described with awe. These were real milestones, but they were fragile. Within living memory, those very synagogues would be destroyed on Kristallnacht in 1938.
The contrast is telling. In Philadelphia, non-Jews filled a synagogue in 1825 to celebrate Jews as civic equals. In Central Europe, recognition also came, but less often — and it was never secure.
Jewish history is often told as a story of persecution — expulsions, pogroms, restrictions. That history is real, but it is not the whole story. There have also been times, often little remembered, when Jews were embraced as neighbors and citizens. Ancient Judaism was visible far beyond the Land of Israel — in places like Adiabene (in northern Iraq) and Himyar (in Yemen) — and its theology helped shape the rise of both Christianity and Islam. In medieval Spain, convivencia — imperfect but real — allowed Jewish culture to flourish alongside Muslim and Christian communities. For generations in small towns across America, non-Jews sometimes contributed money, labor, or land to help build synagogues.
These histories matter because they remind us that belonging is never preordained. It is chosen in every generation — and it is possible.
Today, that lesson feels urgent. Antisemitism is again on the rise, from violent attacks like the one on Yom Kippur in Manchester to the spread of conspiracy theories online. Debates over Zionism and the future of Diaspora life have also become more polarized, often framed in absolutes: either Jews can only be safe in a sovereign state, or Diaspora life is doomed to fade away.
The 1825 consecration in Philadelphia tells another story. It shows that Jewish life in the Diaspora has not only survived but, especially in places like the United States, thrived in public — long embraced as part of the civic fabric. It also shows how precious those moments can be: roots of belonging that must be tended, not assumed.
As Europeans present that day observed, America’s pluralism was something worth sharing with the world. Nearly two centuries later, the challenge remains the same. Do we remember these paths of belonging, or do we forget them and leave only the stories of hatred to define our past?
I first began asking these questions while researching small-town Jewish communities in Ohio and New York. In many of those places, the synagogues are gone and the Jewish population has dwindled, yet I found records of interfaith choirs singing, neighbors contributing to building funds, and civic leaders marching alongside rabbis.
Those memories could easily vanish. In Lancaster, Ohio, my hometown, the synagogue closed in 1993, its building later sold. Yet the remaining members created a Jewish book fund that allowed me, years later, to discover a volume of Jewish learning in the local library — a spark that shaped my own path into Judaism.
Who tells these stories when the buildings are gone and the communities have disappeared? Who remembers the moments of belonging as well as the moments of exclusion?
The consecration of Mikveh Israel in 1825 was, for its witnesses, proof that something remarkable was possible: Jews and non-Jews together, celebrating equality, showing Europe another way. We should remember that moment not as a quaint curiosity but as a challenge. Belonging is not guaranteed. It must be chosen in each generation, in every place.
The people who filled that sanctuary in 1825 knew this. They saw in Philadelphia something they believed could not be found elsewhere — a vision of belonging worth teaching the world.
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The post What a forgotten synagogue dedication in 1825 Philadelphia can teach us today appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Praise for soccer star Leo Messi in new album of Yiddish songs for kids
Jordan Wax, a Santa Fe-based performer and composer of Yiddish and New Mexican regional music, has just released a record of original secular Yiddish children’s songs. When asked why, he didn’t skip a beat: “My day job is doing kids’ music,” he said.
It started eight years ago when Wax, who’s a vocalist and multi-instrumentalist, took a job singing bilingual Spanish-English songs for toddlers across the three branches of the Santa Fe public library. The repertoire included traditional songs from New Mexico and Mexico, as well as his own adaptations of traditional songs to make them bilingual and participatory.
Now, he’s a regular feature at the local Jewish preschool, in Temple Beth Shalom. The songs are still bilingual — but this time, they’re in Yiddish and English.
In his new album Pantakozak and Other New Yiddish Songs for Kids, some of the songs were actually written in collaboration with these very preschoolers. “The Polar Bear song came from one of them who was kind of grumpy that day, and just wanted to roar and be ferocious and express rage,” he said.
The album was released by the Yiddish specialist label Borscht Beat in late November of this year.
Wax’s background with children’s music might seem surprising if you’ve heard his other album, the recently-released Taytsh [The Heart Deciphers], which features heavy subject matter like the bloodlust of power, the loss of culture, perpetual war and the fallout of late-stage capitalism, all sung in Yiddish.
At the same time, he’s very comfortable with being silly, and wants people to know that Yiddish culture is, too. “Yiddish music does have a lot of seriousness. It does have a lot of political commentary. It has a lot of spiritual commentary. But it also has fun and goofiness.” For example, “Bulbes,” a nonsense song about eating potatoes everyday, is part of the traditional Yiddish canon.
Along with light humor, Pantakozak is deeply infused with stories and musical references to prewar Jewish Eastern Europe — material that Wax started recording in earnest during a visit to Moldova in 2023. He took a special interest in the traditional Romani Lăutari music of the Bessarabian region, which was once closely entwined with local klezmer music, and befriended the Lăutari band Taraf de Chișinău. They feature on several tracks, including the Hanukkah song Khanike iz Freylekh / Spin Around Like a Dreydl, where Vladislav Tanas’ cimbalom drives the pulsating rhythm.
The album reflects a deep Jewish connection to the Old World. Wax’s late friend, Misha Limanovitch, was a storyteller who grew up in a Yiddish-speaking home in Olechnowicze, formerly Poland, now part of Belarus. Limanovitch made the old world that felt nearly mythical to Wax feel close at hand until he passed away in 2023.
Limanovitch described a resident of the village called Itshke the Klezmer, a recording of which later became the introductory part of Wax’s song, “Itshke the Klezmer.” “He remembered this character in his village who would come around, who was a kind of itinerant musician, a klezmer,” Wax said. “That made a big impression on me after studying klezmer music.” Wax had heard a lot about the village musicians in Eastern Europe, and before hearing about Itshke the klezmer, it all felt “like a million light years away.”
Limanovich also told Wax the story of Pantakozak, the Cossack-like figure who threatened children that he would go into their cradles if they didn’t lay quiet — a story which his sister used to tell him before going to bed. Wax wasn’t sure if this young girl made up the story or not, since he couldn’t find any reference to this creature anywhere.
Wax also looked through the Yiddish Book Center’s OCR (optical character recognition) for phrases that Limanovich had told him about Pantakozak, like “ikh hob dray lange nezer, ikh trink fun draytsn glezer,” (I have three long noses, I drink from 13 glasses) and other absurd rhymes. He found the phrases in the 1917 Antologye, 500 yor yidishe poezye, an anthology of 500 years of Yiddish poetry, in a verse written by the compiler himself, Morris Bassin. Bassin called Pantakozak, the Cossack-monster, by a different name: Gonte Kozak.
Wax was enthused to see that his preschoolers enjoyed the resulting song he composed from the story. One of the preschool teachers sent him a phone video showing a group of four-year-olds sitting around a table during snack time, reciting lines from his song about Pantakozak: “My name is Panta Kozak! I blow up like a blozak! I put on stripey pants, I do my Panta dance!”
The structure of the album is designed not only for kids, but also for their parents and caretakers. The album begins with music aimed at motivating kids to move their bodies and wiggle. One is a Yiddish counting song, “Di hent af di fis un di fis af di hent” (“Your hands on your feet and your feet on your hands”). While it resembles the contemporary English children’s song “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes,” it contains references to a traditional Jewish “patsh-tants,” a hand-clapping dance.
Afterwards, the album settles into storytime legends old and new, featuring Limanovich’s tales and a ballad dedicated to Argentinian soccer star Leo Messi. (“There was a kid who wouldn’t sing about anything if it wasn’t Leo Messi,” Wax explained.) The songs then adopt a slower pace until they lead into the peaceful, moving lullaby, “Khayeles Viglid” (Little Chaya’s lullaby).
But when the kids are asleep, the album isn’t over. A more somber adult-oriented piece appears: “Yugnt-Himen” (“Anthem of the Young,” written in 1943 by Shmerke Kaczerginski, the Vilna Ghetto cultural organizer and member of the “Paper Brigade,” the group that smuggled important cultural materials into the ghetto. The melody was composed by Basye Rubin, a contemporary of Kaczerginski’s.
In an archival recording excerpted at the beginning of the track, Kaczerginski recalls the need to give courage to the younger generation through song. “Those times demanded, more than any other time, courage and spirit in the face of despair; I taught this song in the ghetto to children,” he says.
Wax sings the original along with adaptations of his own in English. Its stirring message is meant for everyone: “Yung iz yeder, yeder, yeder ver es vil nor,” anyone who wants to be young is indeed young.
Pantakozak’s lyrics, its embrace of intergenerational bonding and its meaningful historical references — as well as its high quality production and performances — are unusual in children’s music. The care that Wax put into this record comes from his idea that we should respect our children’s intelligence, just as Kaczeginski implied in his introduction to the song.
“They deserve to be given something that has the same integrity as what I would want to be given,” Wax said.
The post Praise for soccer star Leo Messi in new album of Yiddish songs for kids appeared first on The Forward.
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Israeli Druze Leader Seeks US Security Guarantees for Syrian Minority
Leader of the Druze community in Israel, Sheikh Mowafaq Tarif, speaks with Reuters at his house in Julis, northern Israel, July 28, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Ali Sawafta
Israeli Druze leader Sheikh Mowafaq Tarif urged the United States to guarantee the security of the Druze community in Syria to prevent a recurrence of intense violence earlier this year in Sweida, a Druze-majority province in Sunni-dominated Syria.
Washington needed to fulfill its “duty” to safeguard the rights of Syria’s minorities in order to encourage stability, Tarif told Reuters on Tuesday during an official visit to the UN in Geneva, adding that US support would also remove the need for Israeli intervention in Syria’s south.
“We hope that the United States, President Trump, and America as a great power, we want it to guarantee the rights of all minorities in Syria … preventing any further massacres,” he said.
US President Donald Trump vowed in November to do everything he can to make Syria successful after landmark talks with Syrian President Ahmed al-Sharaa.
BLOODY CLASHES IN JULY
The Druze are a minority group whose faith is an offshoot of Islam and have followers in Israel, Syria, and Lebanon.
In July, clashes between Druze and Bedouin residents broke out in Sweida after tit-for-tat kidnappings, leading to a week of bloodletting that shattered generations of fragile coexistence.
The violence worsened when government forces dispatched to restore order clashed with Druze militiamen, with widespread reports of looting, summary killings, and other abuses.
Israel entered the fray with encouragement from its Druze minority, attacking government forces with the stated aims of protecting Syrian Druze and keeping its borders free from militants.
Tens of thousands of people from both communities were uprooted, with the unrest all but ending the Bedouins’ presence across much of Sweida.
In the aftermath, Druze leaders called for a humanitarian corridor from the Golan to Sweida and demanded self-determination, which the government rejects.
‘NEED TO REBUILD TRUST’
Asked about proposals by influential Druze Sheikh Hikmat al-Hajari to separate Sweida from Syria, Tarif took a different stance, stressing the need for internal autonomy or self-governance within Syria as a way of protecting minorities and their rights and pointing to federal systems in Switzerland and Germany as examples.
It was inconceivable to ask the Druze to surrender their weapons, he said. Talks to bring Sweida’s former police force onto Damascus‘ payroll — while allowing the Druze to retain wide local autonomy — had been making steady progress until July’s bloodshed derailed them.
Al-Sharaa, a former al Qaeda commander who led rebel factions that ousted former long-time leader Bashar al-Assad last December, has vowed to protect the Druze. However, Hajari insists he poses an existential threat to his community and in September rejected a 13-point, US-brokered roadmap to resolve the conflict.
Asked if talks should be revived, Tarif said trust had to be rebuilt by allowing residents to return to their homes, and permitting full humanitarian access to Sweida.
“There is no trust today … Trust must be rebuilt,” he said.
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Lebanon Foreign Minister Declines Tehran Visit, Proposes Talks in Neutral Country
Lebanese President Joseph Aoun, Lebanese Prime Minister Nawaf Salam, and members of the Lebanese cabinet meet to discuss efforts to bring all weapons in the country under the control of the state, at the Presidential Palace in Baabda, Lebanon, Aug. 5, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Emilie Madi
Lebanon‘s foreign minister Youssef Raji said on Wednesday he had declined an invitation to visit Tehran for now, proposing instead talks with Iran in a mutually agreed neutral third country, Lebanese state news agency NNA reported.
Raji cited “current conditions” for the decision not to go to Iran, without elaborating, and stressed that the move did not mean rejection of dialogue with Iran. He did not immediately respond to a request from Reuters for additional comment.
Iran’s Foreign Minister Abbas Araqchi had extended the invitation last week, seeking talks on bilateral ties.
Raji said Lebanon stood ready to open a new phase of constructive relations with Iran, on the condition that ties be based strictly on mutual respect, full recognition of each country‘s independence and sovereignty, and non-interference in internal affairs under any pretext.
In an apparent reference to calls to disarm Iran-backed Hezbollah, the Lebanese terrorist group, Raji added that no strong state could be built unless the government held the exclusive right to hold weapons.
Hezbollah, once a dominant political force with wide influence over the Lebanese state, was severely weakened by Israeli strikes last year that ended with a US-brokered ceasefire. It has been under mounting domestic and international pressure to surrender its weapons and place all arms under state control.
In August, Iran’s top security official Ali Larijani visited Beirut, warning Lebanon not to “confuse its enemies with its friends.” In June, Foreign Minister Araqchi said Tehran sought a “new page” in ties.
