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U.N. exhibit remembers when the world turned its back on stateless Jewish refugees
(New York Jewish Week) — In 2017, Deborah Veach went back to Germany, looking for the site of the displaced persons camp where she and her parents had been housed after World War II. They were in suspension, between the lives her parents led in Belarus before they were shattered by the Nazis, and the unknown fate awaiting them as refugees without a country.
To her dismay, and despite the fact that Foehrenwald was one of the largest Jewish DP centers in the American-controlled zone of Germany, she found barely a trace. A complex that once included a yeshiva, a police force, a fire brigade, a youth home, a theater, a post office and a hospital was remembered by almost no one except a local woman who ran a museum in a former bath house.
“It was sort of an accident of history that we were there in that particular camp in Germany, of all places, with no ties, no extended family, no place to call home,” said Veach, who was born at Foehrenwald in 1949 and lives in New Jersey. Now, “they renamed it. They changed the names of all the streets. There is nothing recognizable about the fact that it had been a DP camp.”
Veach is part of a now-aging cohort of children born or raised in the DP camps, the last with a first-hand connection to the experience of some 250,000 Jewish survivors who passed through them at the end of the war. To make sure memories of the camps survive them, the YIVO Institute for Jewish Research and the United Nations Department of Global Communications have staged a short-term exhibit, “After the End of the World: Displaced Persons and Displaced Persons Camps.”
On display at U.N. headquarters in New York City Jan. 10 through Feb. 23, it is intended to illuminate “how the impact of the Holocaust continued to be felt after the Second World War ended and the courage and resilience of those that survived in their efforts to rebuild their lives despite having lost everything,” according to a press release.
Residents of a displaced persons camp in Salzburg, Austria. Undated, post-Second World War. (YIVO Institute for Jewish Research)
Among the artifacts on display are dolls created by Jewish children and copies of some of the 70-odd newspapers published by residents, as well as photographs of weddings, theatrical performances, sporting events and classroom lessons.
The exhibit is “about the displaced persons themselves, about their lives and their hopes and their dreams, their ambitions, their initiatives,” said Debórah Dwork, who directs the Center for the Study of the Holocaust, Genocide, and Crimes Against Humanity at the Graduate Center-CUNY, who served as the scholar adviser for the exhibition.
“There’s no point where the residents of these DP camps were just sitting around waiting for other people to do things for them,” she told the New York Jewish Week. “They took initiative and developed a whole range of cultural and educational programs.”
As early as 1943, as the war displaced millions of people, dozens of nations came to Washington and signed onto the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Authority. (Despite its name, it preceded the founding of the U.N.) After the war, the British and U.S. military were in charge of supplying food, protection and medical care in hundreds of camps throughout Germany and Austria, and UNRRA administered the camps on a day-to-day basis.
Early on, Jewish Holocaust survivors — some who suffered in concentration camps, others who had escaped into the Soviet Union — were put in DP camps alongside their former tormentors, until the U.S. agreed to place them in separate compounds. Unable or unwilling to return to the countries where they had lost relatives, property and any semblance of a normal life, they began a waiting game, as few countries, including the United States, were willing to take them in, and Palestine was being blockaded by the British.
Abiding antisemitism was not the only reason they remained stateless. “Jews were [accused of being] subversives, communists, rebels, troublemakers, and the world war quickly gave way to cold war, and with it the notion that Hitler had been defeated and what we have to worry about is the communists,” David Nasaw, author of “The Last Million,” a history of the displaced persons, told the New York Jewish week in 2020.
In 1948 and 1950, Congress grudgingly passed legislation that allowed 50,000 Jewish survivors and their children to come to the United States. The rest were eventually able to go to Israel, after its independence in 1948.
The U.N. exhibit focuses less on this macro history — which includes what became another refugee crisis for the Palestinians displaced by Israel’s War for Independence — than on life in the DP camps.
“The exhibition illustrates how the displaced persons did not shrink from the task of rebuilding both their own lives and Jewish communal life,” said Jonathan Brent, chief executive officer at YIVO, in a statement.
Among those rebuilding their lives were Max Gitter and his parents, Polish Jews who had the perverse good luck of being exiled to Siberia during the war. The family made its way to Samarkand, in Uzbekistan, where Gitter was born in 1943. After the war ended, his parents returned to Poland, but repelled by antisemitism sought refuge in the American zone in Germany. They spent time in the Ainring DP camp, a former Luftwaffe base on the Austrian border, and at a small camp called Lechfeld, about 25 miles west of Munich.
Dolls made by stateless Jewish children residing in a DP camp near Florence, Italy, known as “Kibbutz HaOved.” The dolls are attired in local costumes based on the districts of the Tuscan city of Sienna. (YIVO Institute for Jewish Research)
“I was there until we came to the United States when I was six and a half, so I have some very distinct memories and some hazy memories,” said Gitter, emeritus director and vice chair of the YIVO board. One story he hasn’t forgotten is how his father and a friend were walking through the camp when they came upon a long line of people. “They were from the Soviet Union, so they knew that when there’s a line that it might be of interest.” It turned out to be a line for the lottery that would allow them to get into the United States under the Displaced Persons Act of 1948.
The family came to the United States in 1950, to “pretty shabby lodgings” in the Bronx, before his father bought a candy store and moved to Queens. Max went on to attend Harvard College and Yale Law School, and became a corporate litigator.
Gitter’s brother was born in one of the camps, and the exhibit includes a poster depicting the population increase between 1946 and 1947 at the Jewish DP center Bad Reichenhall. The birthrate in the camps has often been described as evidence of the optimism and defiance of the survivors, but Dwork said the truth is somewhat more complicated.
“There was a very high birth rate among the Jews in DP camps. This is the age group of reproductive age, at 20 to 40,” she said. “However, this image of fecundity hides what was rumored to be a significant abortion rate, too. And women had experienced years of starvation. Menstruation had only recently recommenced. So many women, in fact, miscarried or had trouble conceiving to begin with.”
A chart by artist O. Lec depicts the natural population increase of the Jewish Center Bad Reichenhall, Germany, 1946-1947. There was a very high birth rate among the Jews in DP camps. (YIVO Institute for Jewish Research)
“There is no silver lining here,” she added. “People live life on many levels. On the one hand, DPs look to the future and look with hope; at the same time, they carry tremendous burdens of pain and suffering and trauma and trepidations about the future.”
Veach, a member of the YIVO board, hopes visitors to the exhibit understand that such trauma is hardly a thing of the past.
“I think the real lesson is that history keeps repeating itself,” said Veach, growing emotional. “Basically we have DPs on our border with Mexico, you have DPs from Ukraine. I don’t think people realize the repercussions for these people who are trying to find a place to live. These are good people who are just placed where they are by history.”
Gitter, who like Veach will speak at an event Jan. 24 at the U.N. marking the exhibit, also hopes “After the End of the World” prods the consciences of visitors.
“A lot of the countries, a lot of places, including the United States, would not accept Jews after the war,” he said. “The issue of memory, the issue of statelessness, the issue of finally there was some hope for the Jews in their immigration to Israel and the United States — that part of the story also needs to be told.”
“After the End of the World: Displaced Persons and Displaced Persons Camps” is on view from Jan. 10-Feb. 23, 2023, at the United Nations Headquarters, 405 E 42nd St, New York, Monday-Friday, 9:00 a.m.-5:00 p.m. Entrance to the United Nations Visitor Centre in New York is free, but there are requirements for all visitors. See the United Nations Visitor Centre entry guidelines.
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‘Mr. Jambo’ is the sendup of Paul Simon that we need now
Paul Simon may be having his quiet celebration, but a viral music video refuses to let the musical icon go quietly for his classic, but often questionable, forays into Africa.
Jewish comedian and musician Kyle Gordon’s song “Mr. Jambo” is both tribute and critical sendup of 1986’s Graceland, Simon’s seminal ethnomusicology experiment, for which he controversially broke a cultural boycott of Apartheid South Africa.
While the music video starts with a spinning globe a la Toto’s “Africa,” the jaunty rhythm and Gordon’s appearance in a Mets cap leaves no doubt the artist he had in mind when he self-financed a trip to South Africa and Eswatini.
Gordon’s character is a wide-eyed and willing fetishizer of Africana, bothering a beleaguered man he calls “Mr. Jambo” (likely a misunderstanding — Jambo means “hello” in Swahili). Jambo responds to Gordon’s requests for enlightenment and wisdom in Zulu, and our protagonist admits “I couldn’t speak his language, I couldn’t even understand a word. But I knew the meaning was what I decided I had heard.”
The meaning leads us to the chorus, a litany of cliches about nature, love and “ancient scrolls,” which, admittedly, does sound a lot like Toto. (Jambo’s true words, visible if you watch with subtitles, translate as “I don’t speak English. Do you have a translator? Stop yelling at me.”)
Gordon’s satire, a collaboration with local African musicians, nails Simon’s sound while simultaneously poking fun at the use of decidedly non-African brass instruments as played by men in traditional garb.
Now Graceland is an iconic record and the work of Ladysmith Black Mambazo, whom the album elevated to international attention, is sublime. But there is undoubtedly a bit of weird anthropological tourism behind the endeavor. (Norman Mailer would have notes.)
I had the opportunity to see Simon live at Tanglewood last month, where he performed to a crowd composed in no small part of his demographic contemporaries. He played some songs from Graceland (following his soporific “Psalms”). When he broke into “Under African Skies,” the opening line of which is “Joseph’s face was as black as night/The pale yellow moon shone in his eyes,” it took a lot to suppress the cringe.
Gordon’s riff could, in fact, be a sort of antidote, acknowledging that yeah, the music is good, but also kinda messed up right?
As the “Planet of the Bass” star told Vulture, the Africans weren’t only in on Gordon’s joke, they were laughing at him.
That is both a miracle and a wonder.
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For this fashion-forward rabbi, shoes and scripture are intertwined
The rabbinate doesn’t have one look, and Reform Rabbi Arielle Stein’s version is chic, creative and fashion-forward. Stein, who serves as assistant rabbi at Rodeph Sholom, a congregation on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, has been using her Instagram to demonstrate the diversity of what being a rabbi can look like.
“We’re in a moment where so many people that wouldn’t have necessarily seen themselves on the Bima are in Jewish leadership,” she said.
Stein grew up in the Conservative movement as part of a very “intensely culturally Jewish family” with a lot of variation in practice and denomination. The rabbinate was a family tradition, filled with many Jewish academics; from a young age, Stein understood being a rabbi as “a job that exists that you can do.”
She studied Studio Art at NYU Steinhardt, exploring primarily drawing and sculpture. Initially, Stein had aspirations of working as a visual artist, and later worked as an artist’s assistant and in galleries, but upon graduating college, she realized the art world was “not going to be the best fit.” While trying out various jobs for the next few years, the idea of being a rabbi began to speak to her.
Stein sought out different kinds of religious egalitarian spaces to determine what kind of rabbi she wanted to be. She spent a year at the Hadar Institute, an egalitarian yeshiva where she intensively studied Talmud and other Jewish texts. Though she discovered she had a deep passion for learning, she also realized that a traditionally Halachic lifestyle wasn’t for her — “I’m not great with rules,” Stein told me. Ultimately, she was drawn to the interpretive nature of the Reform tradition and attended Hebrew Union College, interning at various congregations throughout her schooling.
Stein’s interest in art didn’t disappear with her new career; in fact, she sees it as deeply Jewish, and describes Judaism as “intensely spiritually creative.” For Stein, the process of creation allows her to enter into a different spiritual space, one where “the world of spirit or God feels the most accessible.” Across her Instagram, there are illustrations of pomegranates, long-haired women surrounded by Hamentashen, and other pieces both sensual and captivating.
Stein says she is drawn to the concept of Hiddur Mitzvah, or the ‘beautification of the commandment.’ She loves Jewish material culture, she told me, and “helping people find the Jewish objects that help facilitate their Jewish life.” In one video, Stein talks through the preparation of a mezuzah.
“I hope to one day work on a project where we are making real Judaic objects in a serious, fine art way,” she said.
Stein also finds a creative outlet through fashion. Her shoe collection has been the subject of several videos and inspired an article in Vogue last November. Her selections are eclectic, yet tasteful and religiously meaningful: a shoe for a Bris with an egg-like heel to symbolize the circle of life, Tory Burch shoes clad with a toe ring for weddings. She sees fashion as a conversation starter, one that humanizes her.
“It also helps people feel like they can have these interests and still be Jewish,” she told me.
As a rabbi today, Stein believes it’s important “to integrate all the parts of yourself,” and for her, fashion is “an important piece that can have spiritual significance and creativity.” With the help of her friend, Rabbi Rafi Ellenson, Stein has established a “Rabbinic Fit Check” Instagram account, which showcases the diverse style of rabbis across the country.
Stein stumbled upon content creation when she met a woman who previously worked for TikTok, who suggested that Stein share about her career — it was a “niche that isn’t really being filled outside of the Orthodox world.” Initially, she wasn’t interested, but after the woman followed up a few times, she decided to try it out.
Stein’s videos showcase her “freaky” shoe collection, but also delve into lessons on scripture and Jewish things she finds incredibly boring or chic (boring: a fixed idea on how rabbis should dress; chic: intentionality about eating). Recently, she’s been working on a “Two Minutes of Torah” series with the Reform Judaism Instagram. Stein describes her account as a “vehicle” that allows people to “stumble upon Jewish knowledge and Jewish content and Jewish culture in a way that you don’t necessarily need to be looking for it.”
Stein told me that her content has been especially helpful for Jews interested in progressive Judaism, who might not have a welcoming synagogue accessible to them. “It’s a way for people to find community and learn,” she said. According to Stein, many viewers have “followed the rabbit hole” and ended up attending services at her congregation or contacting Stein to officiate life cycle events.
Her content has also been met with confusion from some non-Jews and those of other denominations. Though most people ask questions with “positive curiosity,” some viewers have responded negatively to Stein being a female rabbi and not dressing particularly tsnius, or modest. Stein believes this is because “they had actually never encountered a rabbi that was different from their childhood rabbi or the images they had been taught.” In response, she likes to draw on the example of Osnat Barzani, a woman from 16th century Kurdistan who is often said to be the first female rabbi.
“She’s an amazing character for people to learn about, to say, yes this has not been the norm for most of our history, but it is actually not solely a 20th, 21st century phenomenon,” Stein said.
For Stein, teaching has become a deeply meaningful activity, whether that be adult Jewish education or guest classes at universities. She recalls a memorable moment at a class she taught at Colby College on the Song of Songs. The course was open to Jewish students and non-Jews alike, and explored the text through visual art.
What makes the college classes especially worthwhile for Stein is the ability to shape the next generation of rabbinical leaders. The rabbinate isn’t a career that often comes to mind, and Stein told me that she loved “being able to suggest it to students.” She believes that, through her content and practice, a new generation might see themselves reflected in the rabbinical field — realizing not only that it’s “a job, but it’s maybe a job that I could do.”
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French Jewish DJ Barbara Butch is defiant after concert disrupted by pro-Palestinian protesters
(JTA) — The popular French Jewish DJ Barbara Butch is striking a defiant tone after pro-Palestinian activists disrupted her concert in Grenoble, France, vowing not to be cowed from performing.
Butch has also drawn support from Jewish activists who demonstrated outside the office of the far-left party whose top Grenoble official called for her performance to be canceled and has since doubled down, drawing support from anti-Zionist French Jews in the process.
Butch, who came to prominence after appearing at the opening ceremony of the 2024 summer Olympics in Paris, had to be escorted off the stage at the Cabaret Frappé festival on Saturday, barely 20 minutes into her set.
The City of Grenoble filed a complaint against what it called “persons unknown” following the incident. Mayor Laurence Ruffin said authorities had evidence of violence and sabotage of electrical equipment. She rejected arguments that the protest was peaceful.
“There were actions that are unacceptable,” Ruffin said, adding that while Grenoble has consistently supported the Palestinian people, demonstrations “must be peaceful and democratic.”
According to Butch, protesters shouted insults and threw objects, including glass bottles that shattered near her DJ console. In a video statement posted to social media on Monday, she said she had been frightened and described the attack as “the next stage in a campaign” that, she said, had sought for months to exclude her from artistic and public life. She added that legal complaints had been prepared and she vowed: “I will return to the stage.”
The attack on Butch came after pro-Palestinian activists called to boycott or cancel her appearance, citing her support for legislation widely viewed as pro-Israel and her travel to Tel Aviv.
A leader of the effort was Allan Brunson, the Grenoble chair of the far-left party France Unbowed, which has a pro-Palestinian platform. (Its leader, Jean-Luc Melenchon, has been accused of echoing antisemitic stereotypes and dismissing the threat of antisemitism.) After politicians from other parties called for him to be sanctioned over his calls, Brunon tweeted ahead of the concert, “What a pleasure it would be for me to be sanctioned for calling on activists supportive of the Palestinian people to organize against the arrival of B. Butch.”
After its disruption, he posted a video of pro-Palestinian activists rallying in Grenoble and said he would next take aim at the city’s formal relationship with the Israeli city of Rehovot.
The legislation, known as Yadan after the French lawmaker, Caroline Yadan, who proposed it in 2024, aimed to combat “new forms of antisemitism” by expanding terrorism-related offenses and criminalizing calls for the destruction of a state recognized by France — a provision widely understood to be aimed at calls for Israel’s destruction, although the bill did not explicitly name Israel.
Supporters argued the legislation was a necessary response to the rising antisemitism following Hamas’ Oct. 7, 2023, attack on Israel. Critics said the bill risked restricting freedom of expression by blurring the line between anti-Zionism and antisemitism.
The proposal divided public opinion and the bill was withdrawn in April, a month after a group of artists signed a March 2026 essay in Le Point supporting it. Butch, who has cited her participation in the French Jewish scouting movement as formative, was among the signatories.
Following the Grenoble incident, Butch and her lawyer, Audrey Msellati, co-authored an op-ed in Le Monde arguing that the protest had crossed the line from political disagreement into intimidation and violence — “the one separating protest from coercion, disagreement from intimidation, speech from violence. We were no longer responding to an artist: we were chasing her off the stage.”
They wrote that while people are free to criticize an artist or disagree with Butch’s views, “one cannot organize her disappearance,” arguing that campaigns to pressure venues into canceling performances threaten artistic freedom and democratic principles.
Yonathan Arfi, the president of CRIF, France’s communal Jewish body, said in a statement that the demonstration against Butch is part of a worrying pattern, which he attributed to France Unbowed, of intimidation of Jewish artists that he said was “turning cultural stages into political tribunals.” He called on the French government to “urgently” create a plan to combat boycotts in the arts.
The European Jewish Congress, too, expressed support for Butch, saying, “We stand in full solidarity with Barbara Butch. No one should be intimidated, threatened or targeted for being Jewish or for speaking out against antisemitism.”
The Union of French Jewish Students, along with a handful of other liberal Jewish groups, rallied near France Unbowed’s Paris headquarters on Monday in support of Butch. Brunon has drawn support, on the other hand, from anti-Zionist French Jews who say the Yadan bill represents an exploitation of antisemitism concerns to silence criticism of Israel.
The Grenoble incident is the latest in a series of controversies involving Butch, who became internationally known after performing in drag during the opening ceremony of the Paris 2024 Olympic Games.
She filed criminal complaints after receiving death threats and online abuse after the ceremony. Four men were later convicted in connection with the online harassment campaign against her.
The latest incident has also drawn attention from abroad, eliciting support for her from fellow artists and followers on social media.
One widely shared Instagram post by @YiddishFeminist described Butch as “a proud, loud queer Jewish woman” who had faced “antisemitism, homophobia and fatphobia.”
“No one should ever be forced to leave a stage because a hateful crowd resorts to intimidation and violence,” the poster said. “Today, we are all Barbara Butch.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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