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Should synagogues remove the Israeli flag from bimahs now?

After the last of the living hostages in Gaza were released last week, a prominent New York synagogue faced a complicated question: Should it remove the Israeli flag on its bimah?

Central Synagogue in Manhattan had displayed the Israeli flag on an empty chair since the attacks of Oct. 7, 2023, along with a count of the days since Hamas killed 1,200 people in Israel and took about 250 hostage.

The Reform synagogue had committed to keeping the flag up “until they all came home,” Rabbi Angela Buchdahl told CBS News.

But after the living hostages had all been reunited with their families, the congregation faced a delicate choice: Is it time to take down that flag? Hamas had not returned the bodies of all deceased hostages, some of whom the group said it is unable to locate. And the Israeli flag’s place on the bimah continued to divide congregants who disagree about the role of the Jewish state in religious services — a debate intensified by Israel’s military campaign in Gaza the past two years.

During last week’s Shabbat service, Buchdahl explained the synagogue’s decision: The flag would be removed from the chair on the bimah — and placed in the Torah ark.

“We must mark this moment ritually,” Buchdahl told the congregation. “We must offer gratitude and celebrate this moment with joy.”

Buchdahl said that in making the decision she drew on customs surrounding Acheinu, the ancient Jewish prayer for the release of hostages, which traditionally is said only for living hostages. “Our tradition is giving us some guidance in this moment,” she said, “that now that our living hostages are returned we must mark this moment ritually.”

After the congregation said the prayer for hostages, Cantor Daniel Mutlu sang “Coming Home” as news clips of hostages reuniting with their families played on screen. Congregants rose to their feet while Dagan Shimoni, the synagogue’s Israeli shaliach or emissary, and Buchdahl folded the flag and the rabbi placed it in the ark alongside the Torah scrolls.

A different symbol would honor the deceased hostages whose bodies have not been returned. Among them is 19-year-old Itay Chen, who was serving in the Israel Defense Forces when he was killed by Hamas on Oct. 7. Chen’s father, Ruby, had spoken at Central and gifted Buchdahl a dog tag necklace in the aftermath of the attacks.

In honor of Chen and the other deceased hostages, Buchdahl and the clergy placed their dog tag necklaces on a Torah scroll. The necklaces will remain in the Ark until all of the bodies are returned, Buchdahl said.

“We know that there has been so much celebration and joy we saw in that video,” Buchdahl said. “But also so much healing that still needs to happen, for all of those returning, for those who are not returning.”

The flag on the bimah

In her Rosh Hashanah sermon, Buchdahl acknowledged how polarizing symbols like the Israeli flag had become.

“There are members of our own congregation who are disturbed by our weekly prayer for Israel,” she said. “Or who object to the Israeli flag on our bimah, even though the empty chair it covers stands for the 48 remaining hostages whose families still await their return.”

In some ways, Central Synagogue was unusual in its choice not to display an Israeli flag before Oct. 7.

In many U.S. synagogues, the bimah is flanked by both Israeli and American flags. The trend dates back to a wave of patriotism during World War I, when the American flag became common in synagogues and churches, according to Perry Dane, a member of the North American Vexillological Association, which studies flags.

The presence of the U.S. flag inspired some congregations to also display what was then the Zionist flag, Dane said. After Israel’s founding in 1948 — and again after the Six-Day War in 1967 — more synagogues added what became the Israeli flag.

But the presence of the Israeli flag on the bimah has long been debated, sparking discussion among Reform and Orthodox rabbis alike.

A 2015 Forward opinion piece by Alex Kane argued that flags “tether a diverse and opinionated Jewish community to nationalistic sentiments some members don’t agree with: support for the state of Israel and the U.S. government.” A response by Menachem Freedman argued for the Israeli flag, countering that the “political wellbeing of the state has a well-established place in the synagogue.”

Israel’s military campaign in Gaza over the past two years have made those discussions even more fraught.

This month, on the subreddit Jews of Conscience, which describes itself as “progressive, leftist” and “anti-Zionist,” members discussed whether an Israeli flag on the bimah would be a deterrent for attending a synagogue — and whether to confront a rabbi about removing it.

“This is not hypothetical for me. It’s why I left my synagogue,” one user wrote.

“Huge dealbreaker,” commented another.

Yet congregations that display the Israeli flag on the bimah may have different reasons for doing so.

Congregation Beth Shalom of the Woodlands in Texas explained in a June statement that the Reform synagogue displayed both American and Israeli flags “to express our gratitude and love for both countries,” quipping that, “We also love Texas, but there is not enough room on the bimah for another flag.”

In an April 2023 sermon titled “To a Non-Zionist Gen Z-er,” Rabbi Elliot Cosgrove of the Conservative Park Avenue Synagogue in New York City spoke about the Israeli flag as core to Judaism.

“Supporting Israel is, in my mind, fundamental to what it means to be a Jew today,” he said. “It is why we have the flag on the bimah, it is why we recite the prayer for Israel, it is why I am a proud Zionist, it is why I am politically engaged on behalf of Israel and why I ask that my congregants be as well.”

For Rabbi Hannah Goldstein of Temple Sinai, a Reform synagogue in Washington, D.C., the Israeli flag can have multiple meanings.

“Some of you have told us that when you see this flag, you see the flag of a modern country, a country that is responsible for the nightmare in Gaza, you see an occupation that has dragged on for 58 years,” Goldstein, who declined to comment to the Forward, said in this year’s Kol Nidre sermon. “And those are painful things to see and feel in a house of prayer.”

But for others, she said, the flag represents “the realization of a dream.’

Goldstein had sometimes “struggled to defend the place of the flag on this bimah,” she said. “But, I can’t seem to let go of the dream. Not the rose colored, incomplete version of my youth — but a dream for what Israel might be.”

The post Should synagogues remove the Israeli flag from bimahs now? appeared first on The Forward.

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Netanyahu’s Torah exemption pledge highlights election stakes

Sometimes a statement can contain multitudes, or at least provide a crystallizing moment in an election campaign. So it was when Benjamin Netanyahu, while criticizing the detention of about 40 Haredi draft evaders by military police at Ben-Gurion Airport this week, declared in a radio interview: “We need to protect the world of the Torah … But whoever doesn’t study must serve in the military.”

Netanyahu was effectively saying that yeshiva study should continue to be, as it has been under an informal arrangement, a free pass out of military service – and he went on to repeat a pledge to turn this into law. It is a position opposed by the overwhelming majority of Israelis.

The statement came amid such a calamitous two-week stretch for Netanyahu’s campaign leading up to the Oct. 27 election that it has some people joking that agents of the opposition might have infiltrated Likud headquarters and taken charge.

In a tragicomic episode, one of Netanyahu’s chief propagandists called leading opposition candidate Gadi Eisenkot – a former military chief who is of Moroccan Jewish background – a “monkey” who is under the control of Ashkenazi elites.

Yinon Magal, who has described himself as a vessel for Netanyahu’s messaging, made the comments on Channel 14, the pro-Netanyahu propaganda TV channel where he is the leading host. He later filmed himself explaining that the simian reference, in Israel’s mafia parlance, merely refers to a junior criminal who is a puppet of more heavyweight mafiosi. His clarification did little to stem the tide of criticism.

As Netanyahu awkwardly tried to distance himself, he also charged that opposition figures had used racist slurs, referring to a recent podcast interview with businesswoman Galia Albin in which she said his supporters are Mizrahis who plan to vote for him mindlessly.

Then came leaked comments (made last year) by Haredi Rabbi Dov Lando, leading spiritual leader of the Netanyahu-allied United Torah Judaism party – proclaiming  that Zionism had brought disasters upon the Jewish people, that life under Arab rule would have been preferable and that religious Zionist soldiers were being killed because their rabbis taught them “distorted Torah.” Once again, outrage boiled over, and received mostly silence from the Likud.

Donald Trump’s enthusiastic endorsement of Netanyahu might have qualified as good news – but the U.S. president seemed to connect a Bibi reelection to a renewed assault against Iran. That rests on the dubious assumption that Israelis are eager for another few weeks (or more) in bomb shelters.

A punctuation mark arrived a few days later with  reports, albeit unverified, that Netanyahu actually had planned to attack Iran earlier this month but was blocked by Trump. Many expected that scenario, which would have been interpreted as a gambit to delay, by dint of national emergency, an election in which he’s badly trailing in credible polls.

Polling is not available on every such twist and turn of the campaign, but decades of studying Israel and a nose to the ground tell me none of this is popular. And there is no question that most Israelis want to end the draft evasion by Haredim.  Recent polls put support for that at 85 percent, which essentially means all non-Haredim.

The issue, as I have said before, is easily the most effective axe for the opposition to grind – because the current situation with the Haredim is utterly untenable.

Tens of thousands of Haredi men of military age remain outside the draft system, while soldiers and reservists from other communities carry an increasingly intolerable burden that has ,in many cases, reached hundreds of days a year.

Whether all those registered as yeshiva students genuinely study – a central question for some people – should be beside the point. Why should Torah study confer a privilege unavailable to Israelis studying physics, medicine, engineering or law? Why should one form of education exempt citizens from defending the country while every other form does not?

The consequences of the Haredi parties’ extortion extend far beyond the army. Israel has created an incentive system in which prolonged religious study preserves military exemptions, public subsidies and a way of life often characterized by economic dependence. Many Haredi educational institutions reject the core curriculum essential for participation in a modern workforce, even as the state helps finance them.

This is an extraordinary arrangement for a country whose security depends on its economic strength, and whose economic strength depends on scientific education, technological innovation and a highly skilled workforce.

Demography makes the issue existential. Haredim already account for roughly one-sixth of Israel’s population, and their exceptionally high birth rates – almost seven children per family on average – mean their share will continue to skyrocket. Unless patterns of education, employment and military participation change dramatically, Israel faces the prospect of an ever-smaller proportion of its citizens supporting and defending an ever-larger population.

The danger is compounded by the mobility of the people on whom Israel’s prosperity depends. Engineers, scientists, entrepreneurs and physicians have opportunities elsewhere. If enough conclude that the country’s trajectory has become irreversible, the resulting brain drain could be catastrophic.

Earlier this year, my friend Rabbi Hershel Grossman arranged for me to meet senior rabbis associated with the Mir and Hebron yeshivot. They were gracious and pleasant, but strikingly candid about their opposition to compulsory core education, military service and ordinary employment whenever these conflicted with Torah study. More troubling was their confidence that demographic change would eventually give their community decisive political power.

The necessary alternative is a comprehensive overhaul of the incentives governing Haredi education, military service and employment. Every child should receive a core curriculum. Young adults should perform military or meaningful national service, with appropriate accommodations for religious observance. Public funding should encourage economic participation rather than prolonged dependence.

Opposition parties promise various versions of such plans. None of this will be easy, and it will not be accomplished by dialogue alone. But the alternative is a version of national suicide. There is no question that – alongside accountability for Oct. 7 and the demand for an independent state commission of inquiry – the future of Haredi military service, education and economic participation belongs at the center of this election.

So why would Netanyahu effectively say that studying Torah should entitle an able-bodied young man to exemption from military service?

There are several possible explanations for this – and the rest of the parade of seeming political misjudgments.

One might be a calculated strategy of mobilizing the base through fear and resentment rather than persuading the center. This might be useful in various scenarios involving a messy outcome of the election.

The others might be overpowering hubris, a toxic contempt for the public or the myriad other pathologies that often accompany too long a time in power.

The post Netanyahu’s Torah exemption pledge highlights election stakes appeared first on The Forward.

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Tidbits: A publishing firm for Jewish writers excluded by mainstream publishers

Tidbits is a Forverts feature of easy news briefs in Yiddish that you can listen to or read, or both! If you read the article and don’t know a word, just click on it and the translation appears. Listen to the report here:

אין ניו־יאָרק איז די וואָך געגרינדט געוואָרן אַ פֿאַרלאַג פֿאַר ייִדישע און ישׂראלדיקע שרײַבער וואָס זאָרגן זיך, אַז זייער אָפּשטאַם אָדער מיינונגען קאָנען שטערן צום פּובליקירן זייערע ביכער.

לויט אַ סטאַטיסטיק פֿונעם מחבר מעג קין, איז בײַ די הויפּט־פֿאַרלאַגן, צווישן 2023 און 2024, געפֿאַלן מיט 76% די צאָל בעלעטריסטישע ביכער, וואָס דערמאָנען ייִדן, ייִדישקייט אָדער ישׂראל.

„הײַלײַן פּאָבלישינג סטודיאָ“, וואָס האָט דעביוטיִרט אין ענגלאַנד מיט אַ חודש צוריק, האָט געעפֿנט אַן אַמעריקאַנער צווײַג אין מאַנהעטן בײַ „פּאָרט סאַיִד“, דעם רעסטאָראַן פֿונעם וועלטבאַרימטן קוכער איל שני (עיאַל שאַני).

„הײַלײַן“ איז לאַנצירט געוואָרן דורך ניל בלער, דעם לאַנגיאָריקן ליטעראַרישן אַגענט פֿון דזשיי קיי ראָלינגס — דער שרײַבערין פֿון די האַרי־פּאָטער ביכער.

„איך האָב שוין פֿון לאַנג באַמערקט, אַז אַ צאָל שרײַבער קענען נישט געפֿינען קיין פֿאַרלאַג,“ האָט בלער געזאָגט. „נישט צוליב דער קוואַליטעט פֿון זייער שרײַבן אָדער אַ דוחק פֿון אָריגינעלע געדאַנקען, נאָר ווײַל זייער וועלטבאַנעם שטימט נישט מיטן קוקווינקל פֿון די פֿאַרלאַגן — אָדער אפֿשר ווײַל זייער משפּחה־נאָמען איז אַ ייִדישער אָדער ישׂראלדיקער.“

די פּראָבלעם, זאָגט ער, איז געוואָרן נאָך ערגער נאָך די טעראָריסטישע אַטאַקן פֿונעם זיבעטן אָקטאָבער, האָט בלער געזאָגט. ער האָט למשל דערמאָנט די שוועריקייטן בײַם געפֿינען אַ הויפּטשטראָמיקן בריטישן פֿאַרלאַג פֿאַר אַ בוך פֿון אלי שרבי (עלי שאַראַבי) וועגן זײַנע איבערלעבונגען ווי אַן ערובֿניק אין עזה — נישט געקוקט אויף דעם וואָס אין אַמעריקע האָט מען שוין געהאַט פֿאַרקויפֿט הונדערטער טויזנטער עקזעמפּלאַרן דערפֿון. צום סוף האָט זײַן בוך אַרויסגעגעבן אַ קליינער בריטישער פֿאַרלאַג, „סוויפֿט בוקס“.

„הײַלײַן“ וועט באַשטיין פֿון צוויי אימפּרעזומס: „אָדעסאַ עדישאָנס“ און „אַנטידאָט בוקס“. „אָדעסאַ עדישאָנס“, אָנגעפֿירט פֿונעם רעדאַקטאָר דזשעקי קלײַן, וועט דרוקן ייִדישע און ישׂראלדיקע בעלעטריסטיק און פֿאַקטפּראָזע אויף טעמעס פֿאַרבונדן מיט דער ייִדישער געשיכטע, אַנטיסעמיטיזם, פֿילאָסאָפֿיע, עסן און קולטור.

„אַנטידאָט בוקס“ וועט דרוקן פֿאַקטפּראָזע מיט אַ שייכות צו טעכנאָלאָגיע, עטיק, דעמאָקראַטיע, אידענטיטעט און מאַכט.

קלײַן האָט געזאָגט, אַז מע וועט אויך באַטראַכטן מאַנוסקריפּטן פֿון אַראַביש־ישׂראלדיקע און נישט־ייִדישע שרײַבער, וואָס זייער אַרבעט פֿאַרנעמט זיך מיט דער ייִדישער קולטור, געשיכטע אָדער געדאַנקען.

צו לייענען וועגן דעם אויף ענגליש גיט אַ קוועטש דאָ.

To read about this in English click here.

The post Tidbits: A publishing firm for Jewish writers excluded by mainstream publishers appeared first on The Forward.

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In ‘Fatherland,’ Thomas Mann finds a Germany divided

Speaking at the Library of Congress, just before the end of World War II, Thomas Mann insisted “that there are not two Germanies, a bad and a good one, but only one whose best qualities were perverted by devilish cunning into evil.”

Two years later, in 1947, he would publish Doctor Faustus, a meditation on his homeland’s slide into fascism in the idiom of Germanic legend. Two years after that, accepting the prize named for Goethe, the Faust legend’s greatest chronicler, he would return to Germany, which, by then, had split in two.

Paweł Pawlikowski’s Fatherland, is about the 1949 trip Mann took with his daughter Erika from American-administered Frankfurt to East German Weimar, then in the grips of Soviet control. They glide through bombed-out streetscapes in a black, all-American Buick. During the tour, dignitaries try to win Mann over to one of two ideologies vying to replace the fascist model: that of the free market, or that of Communism.

By the time the film takes place, Mann was an American citizen who had lived outside of Germany for over a decade. He railed against the Nazis and appealed to the conscience of his countrymen in radio broadcasts from exile in California. He had married into a Jewish family, and his anti-Nazi credentials were beyond reproach. But at a press conference in Frankfurt, when an AP reporter asks “where is home,” he responds in English with a German word that English can only approximate.

“I am an American citizen,” Mann, played by Hanns Zischler, answers. “I am also a German writer. Where my heimat is, where I belong, is a much more difficult question.”

His country no longer exists.

Pawlikowski, a Polish director whose silken, black-and-white films excel in painting the surreality of the Iron Curtain, plucked this compelling episode from Colm Tóibín novel of Mann’s life, The Magician. Zeroing in on the 1949 tour, he’s crafted an intimate story of a father and daughter navigating a new political order where one’s allegiance, as summed up by Mann’s son Klaus, is either to “Stalin or Mickey Mouse.”

When Klaus (August Diehl) dies by suicide while Erika and Mann are in the middle of the excursion, and Mann insists on sticking to the itinerary, the Great Man’s faults are blown open: He believes his lecture tour, and the power of words, can improve conditions for a nation, but he had long ago declared his son a lost cause.

Zischler’s performance is at once understated and monumental. His response to Richard Wagner’s glad-handing grandchildren, who want him to put in a good word for reviving his festival in Bayreuth, is a punchy quotable: “The opera should be razed to the ground and your mother should be put on trial.” His mystified look when a Soviet colonel asks him to discuss “Mephistophelian dialectics,” is better than any bon mot.

Hüller is dependably excellent, glowering at the supposedly de-Nazified guests at a banquet and musing to a former war correspondent comrade about “what they were up four years ago.”

Mann’s controversial visit to Weimar is marked by a perfunctory pilgrimage to Goethe’s final home for a photo op. Among the effects are Goethe’s death mask, a blunt-force metaphor following Mann’s speeches, to East and West Germans, extolling how the great poet “rejected the German Romantic death cult.”

When Goethe’s dead, can the winner of his eponymous prize make the rejection last?

History has a verdict. While Mann rejects his own Faustian bargains — the invitation to put in a good word for Wagner or take a job as president of the Arts Academy in East Germany — his fate is teased when Erika sees a catalogue of “Fifth Columnists,” which has his headshot near Einstein and Arthur Miller.

Mann was a victim of McCarthyism, and left his adopted country in 1952 to settle — and die — in the neutral environs of Switzerland.

The film has enough restraint to spare us this epilogue. It ends with a father, a daughter and a sublime expression of grief and untainted German art. (Fitting for Pawlikowski, whose films so often center music, it is a Bach composition that delivers the final beat.)

Mann never did make his homecoming permanent, but on this score, he had a properly self-aggrandizing, if apt credo: “Where I am, there is Germany.”

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