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Beer is no longer automatically kosher, rabbis say. Will observant Jews skip the Dos Equis?
There’s a simple reason Halle Goldblatt likes to tour breweries on vacation: People who keep kosher can sample the product. Unlike wine, which requires certification to be deemed kosher, beer has historically received the benefit of the doubt.
“Most people, when they travel, go to wineries,” Goldblatt, a self-described beer aficionado, said in a phone interview. “I can’t do that, but I can always go to a brewery and have a beer.”
But multiple kosher certifiers now say the assumption that beer is kosher has gone flat.
The heads of OU Kosher, Star-K and OK Kosher — three of the five major certification agencies — announced this month that all beer will soon require certification to be considered kosher, attributing the change to the increased use of flavoring and other additives in craft beers.
A list of problematic ingredients rabbinic inspectors recently discovered in breweries included oyster broth, clam juice, wine and milk, according to OK Kosher.
“These ingredients are regularly included in craft beers,” OK Kosher wrote in its letter. “As such, the major kashrus agencies have concluded that the time has come to change our old policy of accepting beer as free of kashrus concerns.”
The agencies provided a list of more than 900 beers that are currently hechshered, or certified kosher, which is typically denoted with an agency’s symbol on the packaging. (Ⓤ is OU Kosher’s mark.) The rest — which includes popular imports like Dos Equis and regional favorites like Sierra Nevada — will no longer be acceptable to serve at OU-certified establishments as of Jan. 1, 2026, OU Kosher said.
The decision undercut a credo that was long a saving grace for kosher travelers, casual drinkers and hopheads. One Facebook thread responding to the news received more than 100 comments, with a few seeing the change as a way for the certifiers to drum up business. But the majority of the commenters — Goldblatt among them — appeared to begrudgingly understand the decision. And a few wondered why it had not come sooner.
“At first, I was like, ‘Oh, no, this is gonna make my life a lot harder,’” Goldblatt said. “But I think it makes sense for the OU. People rely on them to get honest information about the things that they are consuming,” she added, “so I think it’s good for the kosher consumer.”
New brews, you lose
The acceptability of beer even without rabbinic oversight was rooted in an assumption that it only contained four basic ingredients: grain, water, hops and yeast. Those ingredients are each considered inherently kosher, so using them in combination did not pose any challenges.
National regulations helped preserve the four-ingredient standard. Germany’s Reinheitsgebot, a beer purity law dating back several centuries, ensured that breweries there did not use artificial additives, and in the United States, a law mandates that any added flavoring must be noted on the packaging.
“The good, old-fashioned beer everybody would drink was simple,” Rabbi Moshe Elefant, OU Kosher’s chief operating officer, said in a video interview. Now, he said, manufacturers “want to enhance the beer — to give them an edge. So they can add all sorts of flavors.”
A major catalyst for the flavor trend is the rise of craft breweries, small and independent manufacturers. They’ve flooded the market with sours, stouts, barrel-aged beers and bocks, and now account for up to a quarter of U.S. beer sales.
The use of additives to make exotic flavors put even the “plain” beer into question, Elefant explained, because breweries often use the same vats for different recipes. And while those breweries surely clean their equipment between uses, cleaning is not the same as kashering. Some cleaning processes are primarily chemical while rendering something kosher requires heat.
Elefant, who is also OU Kosher’s executive rabbinic coordinator, said the organization’s formal policy change was nearly two years in the making, but even before then, “we’ve been grappling with this issue for a while.”
Elefant listed two other beverages that fall into a gray area, but do not currently require certification: Whiskey, which like beer uses basic ingredients, is sometimes aged in barrels that previously held wine; and orange juice, which sometimes shares equipment with grape juice.
Orange juice was spared a certification mandate, Elefant said, because the processes used to clean the equipment between uses were considered sufficient. And while he personally believes whiskey merits a similar reversal to beer, he admitted it was not currently the position of his employer.
“We walk a delicate tightrope,” he said. “On one hand, we want people who keep kosher to be able to have as much kosher food as possible, we’re not looking to be onerous. But on the other hand, we are responsible that when we tell somebody that they could eat something, that we really are convinced that it’s kosher without question.”
And he dismissed comments that the beer policy was financially motivated, saying that certification can cost as little as a few thousand dollars a year. (The price depends on travel costs for supervisors, number of facilities and other variables.)
The law of the spirit, or the spirit of the law?
Another responsibility for Orthodox decisionmakers, whether a synagogue rabbi or an umbrella organization like the OU, is to make rules that people can follow.
Quoting the Talmud, Elefant said, “Just like there’s a mitzvah to say something that people will listen to, there’s a mitzvah not to say it if people aren’t going to listen.”
Working in tandem with other certifying agencies was crucial, then, to bolster the authority of what could be a controversial decree. Elefant joked that when they first met to discuss it, each agency said they had wanted to do it but were waiting for the others to make the first move.
Nevertheless, it remains to be seen how well the rule will stick. Confusion has persisted, with some saying the agencies’ list of kosher beers is inconvenient and leaves out brands that have longstanding regional hechshers, like Shiner Bock.
Goldblatt, the aficionado, has been to dozens of breweries and tasted some 200 different beers, according to her profile on the drink-rating app Untappd. But she had been drinking with vigilance long before the OU’s announcement.
When she visits a new brewery, she tends to pepper her tour guide with questions about the brewing process. What ingredients do they use? Do they use only those ingredients? Do they use the same equipment for everything?
Absent rabbinic oversight, she developed her own code: If it contained artificial flavoring, she would steer clear of it and — per the old rules — choose an unflavored option. Natural flavoring would be okay, if she could learn enough about it. On a recent trip to Wisconsin, she picked out a fruity craft beer, having determined the brewery used whole fruit and not grapes.
Though she recognized the value of the OU’s policy — saying it would eventually bring needed clarity to a cloudy landscape — she thought she might stick to her own, at least for now.
“I guess if I looked and the brewery made something like oyster stouts, I may abstain from that brewery altogether,” she said. “But if it’s a brewery that just does regular beer and it’s an unflavored beer, then I would probably still drink that.”
The post Beer is no longer automatically kosher, rabbis say. Will observant Jews skip the Dos Equis? appeared first on The Forward.
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How a Persian Jewish immigrant became the rodeo king of California
David Halimi grew up Jewish in Tehran, watching Bonanza. He now produces rodeos in Northern California and owns a bar modeled on Cheers.
At 73, Halimi is known around Chico as the man behind a Western wear store stocked with thousands of cowboy boots, a rodeo circuit that draws bull riders from across the region, and a U-shaped bar where locals joke about who might be the town’s version of Norm. Less obvious — but no less central — is that he is also a longtime synagogue president, a Hillel board leader, and a professor who teaches business analytics at the local university.
Asked how an Iranian Jew learned the rhythms of the American West, Halimi doesn’t mystify it. “I’m a quick learner,” he said.
Halimi still follows events in Iran closely. “It’s heartbreaking,” he said. “It’s my heritage.” He has no illusions about the imbalance of power. “People protesting with their bare hands are no match to machine guns and professional assassins.” Still, he allows himself hope. “I wish and I pray that the people will prevail.”
For Halimi, the distance between Iran and Chico is not just geographic. It is the distance between a life shaped by instability — he grew up in Iran in the aftermath of a coup — and one he has spent decades deliberately building.
On a recent afternoon inside the 6,000-square-foot Diamond W Western Wear, Halimi wore what he sells — black alligator boots, jeans, a button-down, blazer and a hat — and moved easily past towers of boots, glass cases of belt buckles, pausing as an employee steamed a cowboy hat back into shape. His wife, Fran, emerged from the back. Customers drifted in.
Over the years, his footprint downtown has expanded to include two restaurants and a soon-to-open coffee shop, all within walking distance of his store.
Halimi didn’t arrive in America looking for a job. He arrived looking for an opportunity. When he moved to the United States at 16, in 1969, he worked full time while going to school, bussing tables at a restaurant and saving aggressively. By 18, he had pooled his earnings with his older brother to make his first real estate investment. “I was never looking for a job,” he said. “I always wanted to do my own thing.”
That instinct carried him through college, where he studied mathematics and economics, and later into commodities trading — “the stock market on steroids,” as he put it — before settling in Chico in 1979. It had the virtues he was looking for: a small-town feel, a university’s energy, and room to build.
Mending fences, building community
For all the boots, buckles and bull riders, Halimi’s most consequential work happens closer to home. He has served on the board of Congregation Beth Israel of Chico for decades, including numerous stints as president, and has been a steady presence through the cycles that define small Jewish communities.
Rabbi Lisa Rappaport, who leads the congregation, said that constancy matters. In a community with limited resources, leadership often means stepping in wherever the need arises.
That was especially true after the synagogue was targeted with antisemitic graffiti in late 2022. What followed, Rappaport recalled, was an outpouring of support. Donations funded a new security system. A local metalworker volunteered to create a new sign. Another family, moved by the response, offered to pay for a fence.
Halimi volunteered to design and help build it. Vertical bars, he insisted, would make the synagogue feel like a jail. Instead, he created diagonal metal panels inspired by math’s golden ratio, incorporating stainless-steel symbols of the Twelve Tribes — a boundary meant to protect without closing the place off.
Rappaport credits both Halimi and his wife, a former religious school director and longtime sisterhood leader, with helping sustain the shul. “They’re in it till the end,” she said. In a small community, she added, that kind of commitment is existential. “If you have a couple of people who have that frame of mind,” she said, “it keeps the community alive. It’s people like that that keep it pulsing.”
Halimi, now a grandfather, carries that same lesson into his classroom at Chico State, where he has been teaching since 2009. Each semester he leads two courses: business analytics and the evolution of management theory. He doesn’t think of it as a job so much as a responsibility. “I like seeing the light bulb go on,” he said. Former students, now entrepreneurs themselves, sometimes track him down to say thank you. The payoff, he said, is “psychic income.”
Halimi teaches what he learned: “Even when the odds are against you,” he said, “you can still succeed.”
His rodeo business began, improbably enough, as a marketing complaint. Halimi had been sponsoring country concerts and rodeos to promote the store, but he was unimpressed with the results. Other sponsors, he noticed, felt the same way. So he launched his own production company. First, they hosted country music concerts. Soon, they built a rodeo: the National Bullriding Championship Tour, which just marked its 30th year.
He had expected resistance from the industry. Instead, he found acceptance, and eventually respect. “It’s very unusual,” he acknowledged, “for an Iranian Jew to be a successful rodeo producer.”
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Argentina’s chief Sephardic rabbi reaffirms century-old ban on local conversions, sparking backlash
(JTA) — BUENOS AIRES — Argentina’s Sephardic chief rabbi reaffirmed a 100-year-old ruling that conversion may not be performed in Argentina and is considered valid only if carried out in Israel.
Representatives of non-Orthodox movements reacted angrily, asking why the ruling was issued now and saying it would essentially subject Argentinian converts to the tight hold that Israel’s Orthodox rabbis have on conversion.“Orthodoxy is attempting to present itself as the sole legitimate source of Judaism and halachic [Jewish legal] authority,” Rabbi Ariel Stofenmacher, the rector of the Seminario Rabínico Latinoamericano, the Masorti/Conservative movement’s seminary in Buenos Aires, told JTA. “We are concerned that members of the Jewish community in Latin America, where about 80 percent or more are not Orthodox, may read that statement by an important rabbi and feel confused.”
The document, issued on Jan. 13 and signed by Chief Rabbi Yosef Chehebar, reaffirms a takanah, or rabbinical ban, first established in Argentina in 1927. The authors of that ban, Rabbi Shaul Sitehon Dabah of the Syrian-Aleppo tradition and the Ashkenazi Rabbi Aharon Goldman, emerged in response to a proliferation of lax or irregular conversions, particularly in rural areas among Jewish immigrants.
The statement signed by Cheheber describes the ban as “general and binding.” It emphasizes that the decree was enacted permanently, “with no temporal limitation or expiration whatsoever,” and frames it as a safeguard for “the purity of lineage and the sanctity of our families.”
In the years since the original ban, however, non-Orthodox rabbis say the conversion process has been standardized, and that the level of preparation in Argentina is considered very high. The Masorti seminary, which has conducted conversions since its founding in 1994, argues that the reasons for the restriction “are no longer applicable.”
Critics of Cheheber’s document say there have been no recent incidents or developments that would have prompted such a reminder.
“We reject recent statements that invoke a cherem from the 1920s to invalidate conversions carried out outside the State of Israel and by non-Orthodox rabbis, as well as the use of language that appeals to notions of ‘lineage,’ ‘purity’ or ‘contamination,” the Seminario Rabínico Latinoamericano and its affiliated Rabbinical Seminary said in a statement Jan. 15. “Such claims are halachically unsustainable and ethically unacceptable, particularly when they introduce categories alien to Judaism and morally offensive.”
Rabbi Isaac Sacca, the Sephardi Chief Rabbi of Buenos Aires, posted Chehebar’s ruling on social media and defended it in an interview with JTA.
“The regulation represents a self-imposed limitation by Argentina’s Orthodox rabbis on their own authority, undertaken in order to ensure security and peace of mind that a practice as delicate and sacred as conversion is carried out with due seriousness, and that neither the convert, nor families, nor the community are misled,” he said.
Conversion has been a flashpoint between the diaspora and Israel, where the Orthodox rabbinate for decades held a near monopoly on Jewish lifecycle events, including conversion. Non-Orthodox conversions were recognized in Israel under a landmark ruling handed down by the Israeli Supreme Court in 2021, but non-Orthodox groups continue to object to government regulations that complicate the recognition of these conversions.
Conversion has been particularly fraught in Latin America, including the controversies that led to the 1927 takanah and, more recently, the mass conversion in Brazil, Colombia and other countries of people who identify as Bnei Anusim — descendants of Jews forcibly converted during the Spanish and Portuguese Inquisitions.
Within Orthodox circles in Argentina, preparatory stages for conversion may take place in the country, but the bet din, or rabbinical court, that validates them operates in Israel. According to sources who asked to remain anonymous, the target of the latest ruling was not the non-Orthodox movements but Orthodox rabbis who had been offering more flexible alternatives to prospective converts, such as completing an Orthodox conversion in neighboring Uruguay and then returning to Argentina to seek its recognition in Buenos Aires.
Chehebar’s recent statement specifies that the takanah “applies both to any person residing in Argentina, as well as to anyone coming from another country with the intention of establishing residence in national territory, even in cases in which the giyur [convert] has already been carried out in their country of origin or another country, outside of Eretz Israel.”
Asked whether any specific incident had triggered the statement, Sacca replied: “We are not aware of any particular event. It is simply a reminder that the Sephardic Chief Rabbinate of Syrian-Aleppo tradition has conveyed to our rabbinate for public dissemination.”
The ruling “does not constitute a rejection of the convert, nor does it devalue those who sincerely seek to join Judaism,” he added. “On the contrary, it functions as a halakhic safeguard designed to preserve a core commandment linked to Jewish identity, in a context marked by social pressures and institutional weaknesses. It also seeks to prevent hasty decisions that could affect the spiritual and personal lives of those seeking conversion, as well as those of their descendants.”
The Masorti movement insisted that its own rabbis conduct the conversion process in a manner that is “serious, demanding, and deeply Jewish,” based on rigorous study, commitment to Jewish life and responsible rabbinical guidance. “Those who join the Jewish people through this path,” the statement affirms, “are received as full Jews, with dignity and complete belonging, in accordance with rabbinic tradition.”
Said Stofenmacher: “We reaffirm that we conduct legitimate conversions in accordance with the halacha, as we have done for decades, with thousands of individuals who have joined the Jewish people in our region, and we will continue to do so in all the communities where our rabbis serve.”
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French Jewish Community Marks 20 Years Since Ilan Halimi’s Brutal Murder
A crowd gathers at the Jardin Ilan Halimi in Paris on Feb. 14, 2021, to commemorate the 15th anniversary of Halimi’s kidnapping and murder. Photo: Reuters/Xose Bouzas/Hans Lucas
France’s Jewish community on Tuesday commemorated the 20th anniversary of the death of Ilan Halimi, a young Jewish man who was brutally tortured to death, as his memory continues to be defaced amid a rising tide of antisemitism threatening Jews and Israelis across the country.
“Twenty years on, Ilan Halimi’s memory still needs to be protected and honored, yet it continues to come under attack, as recent vandalism at his memorial site shows,” the Representative Council of Jewish Institutions of France (CRIF) — the main representative body of French Jews — wrote in a post on X.
“Antisemitism remains a persistent threat in France today,” the statement read.
Le 20 janvier 2006 marque l’enlèvement et le début de la séquestration d’Ilan Halimi, 23 ans, parce qu’il était Juif.
20 ans plus tard, alors que la mémoire d’Ilan Halimi doit être protégée et honorée, elle continue d’être atteinte, comme l’ont montré les récents actes de… pic.twitter.com/Htu9ntMHhq
— CRIF (@Le_CRIF) January 20, 2026
Last week, another olive tree planted to honor Halimi’s memory was vandalized and cut down, as French authorities continue efforts to replant trees in remembrance of the young Jewish man who was murdered in 2006.
“We will bring those responsible to justice,” French Interior Minister Laurent Nunez wrote in a post on X. “Our collective outrage is matched only by our unwavering determination to combat antisemitic and anti-religious acts that continue to tarnish the memory of an innocent man.”
This latest antisemitic act came after a plaque honoring Halimi was vandalized in Cagnes-sur-Mer, a town in southeastern France, prompting local authorities to open an investigation for “destruction and antisemitic damage.”
According to local reports, a 29-year-old man with no prior criminal record has been arrested. While he admitted to the acts, he denied any antisemitic motive and is now awaiting trial.
Last year, a tree planted in memory of Halimi was also vandalized and cut down in Épinay-sur-Seine, a suburb north of Paris.
Two Tunisian twin brothers were arrested and convicted for cutting down the tree, but were acquitted of the antisemitism charges brought against them.
Both of them were sentenced to eight months in prison, but one of them received a suspended sentence, meaning he will not serve time unless he commits another offense or violates certain conditions.
According to local media, one of the brothers has reportedly been deported from France.
Halimi was abducted, held captive, and tortured in January 2006 by a gang of about 20 people in a low-income housing estate in the Paris suburb of Bagneux.
Three weeks later, Halimi was found in Essonne, south of Paris, naked, gagged, and handcuffed, with clear signs of torture and burns. The 23-year-old died on the way to the hospital.
In 2011, French authorities planted the first olive tree in Halimi’s memory. However, the young Jewish boy’s memory has faced attacks before, with two other trees planted in his honor vandalized in 2019 in Essonne, where he was found dying near a railway track.