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An Orthodox woman says she is no longer welcome to pray at a New York synagogue because she is trans
(JTA) — When Talia Avrahami was asked to resign from a job teaching in an Orthodox Jewish day school after people there found out she was transgender, she was devastated. But she hoped to be able to turn to her synagogue in Washington Heights, where she had found a home for the last year and a half.
The Shenk Shul is housed at Yeshiva University, the Modern Orthodox flagship in New York City that was locked in battle with students over whether they could form an LBGTQ club. Still, Avrahami had found the previous rabbi to be supportive, and the past president was an ally and a personal friend. What’s more, Avrahami had just helped hire a new rabbi who had promised to handle sensitive topics carefully and with concern for all involved.
So Avrahami was shocked when her outreach to the new rabbi led to her exclusion from the synagogue, with the top Jewish legal authority at Yeshiva University personally telling her that she could no longer pray there.
“Not only were we members, we were very active members,” Avrahami told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “We hosted and sponsored kiddushes all the time. We had mazel tovs, [the birth of] our baby [was] posted in the newsletter, we helped run shul events. We were very close with the previous rabbi and rebbetzin and we were close with the current rabbi and rebbetzin.”
Avrahami’s quest to remain a part of the Shenk Shul, which unfolded over the past two months and culminated last week with her successful request for refunded dues, comes at a time of intense tension over the place of LGBTQ people in Modern Orthodox Jewish spaces.
Administrators at Shenk and Y.U. said they are trying to balance Orthodox interpretations of Jewish law, or halacha, and contemporary ideas around inclusion — two values that have sharply collided in Avrahami’s case.
Emails and text messages obtained by JTA show that many people involved in Avrahami’s situation expressed deep pain over her eventual exclusion. They also show that, despite a range of interpretations of Jewish law on LGBTQ issues present even within Modern Orthodoxy, the conclusions of Yeshiva University’s top Jewish legal authority, Rabbi Hershel Schachter, continue to drive practices within the university’s broader community.
“I completely understand (and am certainly perturbed by) the difficulty of the situation. Nobody wants to, chas v’shalom [God forbid], oust anybody, especially somebody who has been an active part of this community,” the synagogue’s president, Shimon Liebling, wrote in a Nov. 17 text message to his predecessor. But, he continued, “When it came down to it, the halachah stated this outcome. As much as we laud ourselves as a welcoming community, halachah cannot be compromised.”
Liebling went on, using the term for a rabbinic decision and referring to a ruling he said the synagogue rabbi had obtained from Schachter: “A psak is a psak.”
The saga began this fall, several weeks after Avrahami lost her short-lived job as an eighth-grade social studies teacher at Magen David Yeshivah in Brooklyn, which she had obtained after earning a master’s degree at Yeshiva University. She had been outed after a video of her in the classroom taken during parent night began circulating on social media.
Around the High Holidays, when Orthodox Jews spend many days in their synagogues, Avrahami learned that people within the Shenk Shul community were talking about her, some complaining about her presence. As she always had, she had spent the holidays praying in the women’s section of the gender-segregated congregation.
Concerned, Avrahami reached out to the new rabbi, Shai Kaminetzky. He confirmed the complaints and told her he wanted further guidance from a more senior rabbi to deal with the complex legal issue before him: Where is a trans woman’s place in the Orthodox synagogue?
For Avrahami and some others who identify as Modern Orthodox, this question has already been resolved. They heed the rulings of the late Rabbi Eliezer Waldenberg, known as the “Tzitz Eliezer,” an Orthodox legal scholar who died in 2006. He ruled that a trans woman who undergoes gender confirmation surgery is a woman according to Jewish law.
But Waldenberg’s determination is not universally held among Orthodox Jews — and one prominent rabbi who does not accept it is Hershel Schachter. In a 2017 Q&A, Schachter derided trans issues, saying about one trans Jew, “Why did he decide that God made a mistake? He looked so much better as a man than as a woman.” He also suggested that a trans person asking whether to sit in the men’s or women’s section should instead consider attending a Conservative or Reform synagogue, where worshippers are not separated by gender.
“We know we’d have no problem if we were at a Reform or Conservative synagogue when it comes to the acceptance issue. The thing is, that’s not the only thing in our life,” Bradley Avrahami told JTA.
The couple became religiously observant after spending time in Israel and the two now identify as Modern Orthodox. They were married by an Orthodox rabbi in 2018, and when they had their baby via surrogate in 2021, it was important to them that the infant go through a Jewish court to formally convert to Judaism. Avrahami seeks to fulfill the Jewish legal and cultural expectations of Orthodox women, wearing a wig and modest skirts. The pair both adhere to strict Shabbat and kashrut observance laws.
“We didn’t want to be the only family that kept kosher at the synagogue, we didn’t want to be the only family that is shomer Shabbat and shomer chag,” Bradley Avrahami added, referring to strict observance of the Sabbath and holiday restrictions. “It kind of becomes isolating.”
Kaminetzky kept both Talia Avrahami and Eitan Novick, the past president, in the loop about his research, in which he consulted with Schachter. It was a natural place for him to turn: He had studied at Yeshiva University’s Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary and learned from Schachter there. And while the Shenk Shul includes members not affiliated with Yeshiva University, it is closely entwined with Y.U., occupying space in a university building and hiring rabbis only from a list of options presented by the university.
After speaking with Schachter, Kaminetzky reached a conclusion, according to messages characterizing it by Liebling, the synagogue president.
“He made an halachic decision that Talia isn’t able to sit in the women’s section for the time being,” Liebling wrote Nov. 17 in a message to his predecessor as president, Eitan Novick. But Liebling left the door open for change, writing, “All in all, the ‘official shul policy’ is still being decided.”
He said Kaminetzky had spoken extensively the previous evening with the Avrahamis and had been determined to share his judgment in a way that was respectful “despite the difficult-to hear halachic conclusion.”
Liebling added a parenthetical: “I honestly can’t imagine how difficult it is for them. If I were told I couldn’t sit in the men’s section, I’d be beyond heartbroken and likewise feel displaced.”
Talia Avrahami did indeed feel heartbroken. She told Kaminetzky and others that she felt like she wanted to die, alarming her friends and prompting some of them to reach out to the rabbi. “The concern about Talia’s well-being is likewise the #1 — and only — factor on my mind right now,” Kaminetzky told one of them that night.
The Avrahamis stopped attending the Shenk Shul, but they held out hope for Kaminetzky to change his mind, or for the synagogue to set a firm policy that would permit her participation. Over the next six weeks, though, they heard nothing — a situation that so disappointed Novick that he and his wife also stopped attending. (Kaminetzky’s third child was born during this time.)
“We really feel like this is a pretty significant deviation from the community that we have been a part of for 11 years, which has always been a very accepting place,” Novick said. “This is just not the community that I feel comfortable being a part of if these are the decisions that are being made. It’s not just about the Avrahamis.”
While Avrahami waited for more information, Yeshiva University and Schachter were already in the process of rolling out what they saw as a compromise in a different conflagration over LGBTQ inclusion at the school. Arguing that homosexuality is incompatible with the school’s religious values, Yeshiva University has been fighting not to have to recognize an LGBTQ student group, the YU Pride Alliance, and has even asked the Supreme Court to weigh in after judges in New York ruled against the university. This fall, the school announced that it would launch a separate club endorsed by Schachter, claiming it would represent LGBTQ students “under traditional Orthodox auspices.” (The YU Pride Alliance called the new club “a desperate stunt” by the university.)
Multiple people encouraged Avrahami to make her case directly to Schachter. When she headed to a meeting with the rabbi on Jan. 1, she hoped that putting a face to her name and explaining her situation, including that she had undergone a full medical transition, might widen his thinking about LGBTQ inclusion in Orthodoxy.
The meeting lasted just 15 minutes. And according to Avrahami, who said Schachter told her she was the first trans person he had ever met, it didn’t go well.
In an email to another rabbi who attended the meeting, Menachem Penner, Avrahami said Schachter had called her “unOrthodox” and accused him of “bullying Rabbi Shai Kaminetzky into accepting bigoted psaks.”
Penner, the dean of Yeshiva’s rabbinical school, characterized the conversation differently.
“Rabbi Schachter rules that it is prohibited to undergo transgender surgery and does not accept the opinion of the Tzitz Eliezer post-facto,” he wrote in an email response that day in which he denied that Kaminetzky had been pressured to follow Schachter’s opinion.
“That’s simply a halachic opinion that many hold,” Penner wrote. “He did not call you ‘unorthodox’ — you come across as very sincere in your Judaism and he wished you hatzlacha [success] — but simply said that the surgery was unorthodox, meaning it was not something that is accepted by what he feels is Orthodox Judaism.”
The meeting so angered Avrahami that she asked Liebling to refund her Shenk Shul dues that day, saying that Kaminetzky had kicked her out of the congregation.
“Of course! I’ll send back the money ASAP!” Liebling responded. “I’m so sorry how things are ending up.”
Yeshiva University and Schachter, through a representative, declined to comment, referring questions directly to the Shenk Shul. Kaminetzky directed requests for comment to a representative for the Shenk Shul.
“We have had several conversations with the Avrahamis and we understand their concerns,” the Shenk Shul said in a statement. “It’s important to emphasize that the Avrahamis were not asked to leave the congregation.”
That response doesn’t sit right with Novick, who said blocking Talia Avrahami from praying on both the men’s and women’s sides of the synagogue was tantamount to ejecting her.
“They seem to be trying to have their cake and eat it, too,” he said of the synagogue’s leadership. “They may not be wrong in saying they didn’t tell Talia she was ‘kicked out’ of Shenk, but they’ve created a rule that makes it impossible for her to be a full participant in our community.”
Bradley Avrahami argued that the rabbis who ruled on his wife’s case were short-sighted, giving too little weight to the fact that Jewish law requires Jews to violate other rules in order to save a life. Referring to that principle and pointing to the fact that transgender people are at increased risk of suicide, he said, “It was pikuach nefesh for the person to have the surgery.” His brother, he noted, survived two suicide attempts after coming out as trans.
“They really just don’t understand the harm that they caused when they make these decisions and put out these opinions,” Bradley Avrahami said. “A rabbi should not take a position knowing that that position will cause someone to want to harm themselves.”
Bradley Avrahami said he has received several harassing calls to his work number at Yeshiva University’s Azrieli Graduate School, where he is liaison for student enrollment and communications and taught Hebrew in the fall 2022 semester. Talia Avrahami, meanwhile, has struggled to find a job to replace the one she left under pressure in September, although she recently announced that she had landed a temporary position.
For now, they are attending another synagogue in Washington Heights, though Talia says she and her husband would consider returning to Shenk Shul if she were invited back and permitted to participate.
So far, there are no signs of that happening. On Jan. 1, after her meeting with Schachter, Talia sent a WhatsApp message to Kaminetzky.
“We elected you because you said you would stand up for LGBT people, not kick us out of shul,” she wrote.
The message went unanswered.
—
The post An Orthodox woman says she is no longer welcome to pray at a New York synagogue because she is trans appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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How an ‘unlikely rabbi’ went from Korea to Colbert
Calling herself an “unlikely rabbi,” Angela Buchdahl has been a staple on numerous lists of notable American Jews, including the Forward 50. Born in South Korea in 1972 and raised by a Korean Buddhist mother and an Ashkenazi Jewish father in Tacoma, Washington, she went on to become the first Asian American ordained as a rabbi and first as a cantor. Today, she leads Central Synagogue in New York City, one of the largest and most influential congregations in the country.
Her new memoir, Heart of a Stranger: An Unlikely Rabbi’s Story of Faith, Identity, and Belonging, traces that journey, from the embracing Jewish community she grew up in to finding herself the answer to a Jeopardy question (“What is rabbi?”) — and, even more bizarrely, picking up the phone one day to hear a hostage-taking gunman make demands of her as the “chief rabbi of the United States.” In advance of the book’s release and a launch event hosted by Stephen Colbert, I spoke with her about claiming her place in Jewish life and the responsibility of Jews to always think of the stranger as themselves.
This interview has been edited for clarity and brevity.
How did you nab Stephen Colbert for your book launch event — or did he nab you?
His son and my son were college roommates, and I got to know him and his wife, Evie. I learned quickly that this was not only a very funny man and a very good interviewer, but someone who was deeply faithful. He teaches in his church and thinks a lot about faith. I’m very grateful that he said yes.
Your title is Heart of a Stranger. I want to challenge you on that: Haven’t you and I worked for years on representing Jews of color as normative? Are you still feeling like a stranger?
I guess I would argue that you never fully let it go. It’s like someone who says they were chubby as a kid. They’re not chubby anymore, but there’s some way in which they always see themselves as the chubby kid. You carry certain formative identity markers from childhood into your adulthood.
Heart of a Stranger is not an original title. I took it from Torah, which says, “Do not oppress the stranger. You know the heart of a stranger. You were strangers in Egypt.” This is the existential state that Jews are supposed to understand and know. The danger is when we get too comfortable, too powerful, too complacent.
Along those lines, you write about undergoing a conversion, even though your family was Reform, which by the time you were growing up had recognized patrilineal descent. That brought to mind Julius Lester’s conversion, which actually was something of a reversion because his great-grandfather was a German Jew. Lester said that he wasn’t converting to be accepted; he was converting for himself, saying, “I would do it even if no Jew ever accepted me.”
I had a very similar experience. I rejected the idea of converting when it was first suggested to me at age 16. Growing up in Tacoma in a Reform synagogue in my little Jewish bubble, I was accepted without a lot of questions. But I had a lot of existential identity questions: “Was I Jewish enough? Was I authentic enough? Was I learned enough?” And some of the answers were not yes.
I termed it a reaffirmation ceremony rather than conversion, because conversion sounds like turning into something that you weren’t before. I recognized that with a Beit Din of three Reform rabbis, it wasn’t going to change my status one whit for an Orthodox Jew. But it wasn’t for them. It was really a way to ritually mark the journey that I had been on and the acceptance of my identity in a way that felt important to me.
One reason I live in Duluth is I’ve called our little Temple Israel here the warmest shul that I’ve ever found in one of the coldest places on earth. Do you find it true that smaller Jewish communities are more embracing than large ones?
I grew up in a small community that was incredibly embracing of my family, including my mother, and that made a huge difference. I now work at a very large synagogue. I think the big difference is when you’re in a community where not everybody knows each other and they’re encountering people who are strangers. That’s when the inevitable questions come up.
It was disappointing for me after many years of being the senior rabbi of Central to hear from Jews of color who said Central wasn’t as welcoming of them as I thought. It hadn’t solved every problem just by having me as the senior rabbi. That was a painful realization that started a conversation that has shifted the culture at Central.
You write about the synagogue takeover in Colleyville, Texas, in 2022. The perpetrator who held the rabbi and congregants hostage called you while it was going on. He seemed to think that you were the “chief rabbi of the United States.” On the one hand, you’re balancing this misperception of your influence and power. On the other, this was a real situation of life and death.
That was one of the most surreal and destabilizing experiences I’ve ever had as a rabbi. They don’t train you for hostage negotiation in rabbinical school.
This terrorist clearly had done a lot of research. He researched the synagogue, which was the closest synagogue to the federal prison from which he wanted a prisoner released. The FBI went through his computer and saw that he was searching for what he thought was the equivalent of a chief rabbi because he was from England, where there is a chief rabbi. Of course, that doesn’t exist in America. He also mentioned that he saw pictures of me with President Obama at the White House. I think given Central’s name, and the fact that I had been the answer to a Jeopardy question not long before, may have put me higher up on the search algorithm.
It was terrifying because I felt that he very explicitly put the lives of these four people on me. And yet, I felt powerless to do anything. This is a case where I realized the danger of the antisemitic trope that he had imbibed since childhood, that Jews control the government and can make a few phone calls and get anything done. When I said to him, “I don’t think I have as much power as you think I do,” he was like, “Of course you do.” So, yeah, it was a terrifying day. I continue to give thanks that the four who were being held hostage survived.
Another weird note is that he seemed to think it normative that a Jew of color would be the chief rabbi of the United States. Does this mean our efforts for a more inclusive representation of Judaism are paying off?
It is funny because when I was named senior rabbi of Central, there was an Orthodox publication that had a headline like, “It’s official: Non-Jews can be rabbis” — literally calling me a non-Jew. And here was this deranged gunman who seemed to think I was the chief rabbi. I can laugh about it in some ways now that it’s over, but it is ironic.
The post How an ‘unlikely rabbi’ went from Korea to Colbert appeared first on The Forward.
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A love affair between two Yiddish poets in New York City
ראַשעל װעפּרינסקיס ראָמאַן „דאָס קרײצן פֿון די הענט“ איז אַ יוצא־דופֿן אין דער אַמעריקאַנער ייִדישער ליטעראַטור.
דאָס בוך איז אַרױס אין תּל־אָבֿיבֿ אין 1971, אָבער די האַנדלונג קומט פֿאָר אין 1918. דאָס איז אַ דראַמאַטישע ליבע־געשיכטע צװישן אַ דיכטער, וואָס הייסט ניעזשינער און אַ יונגער דיכטערין, מרים. בײדע זײַנען חתונה־געהאַטע מיט קינדער: ער האָט פֿינף, זי האָט אײנס. די שטורעמדיקע ליבע צעשטערט דעם שלום־בית אין ביידעהײמען. זײ פֿאַרלאָזן זײערע משפּחות און װאַנדערן איבער די גאַסן, קאַפֿע־הײַזער און געדונגענע צימערן אין דער גרױסער שטאָט ניו־יאָרק.
װען דאָס בוך איז אַרױס אױף ייִדיש, האָבן נאָך געלעבט לײענערס, װאָס האָבן געדענקט די בלי־תּקופֿה פֿון דער ייִדישער ליטעראַטור אין ניו־יאָרק און דערקענט די פּראָטאָטיפּן פֿון די פּערסאָנאַזשן: ניעזשינער איז דער דיכטער מאַני לײב בראַהינסקי (1883־1953) — ער שטאַמט פֿון דער שטאָט ניעזשין אין מזרח־אוקראַיִנע — און מרים איז די מחברטע, ראַשעל װעפּרינסקי (1896־1981). צװײ אַנדערע װיכטיקע פּערסאָנאַזשן האָבן אױך רעאַלע פּראָטאָטיפּן: ניעזשינערס חבֿר יעקבֿ שאָר איז דער דיכטער ראובֿן אײַזלאַנד (1884־1955) און זײַן קאָכאַנקע אַדאַ איז די דיכטערין אַנאַ מאַרגאָלין (ראָזע לעבענסבױם, 1887־1952).
צו דער צײַט פֿון דער פּובליקאַציע פֿונעם ראָמאַן זײַנען די דאָזיקע פּראָטאָטיפּן — חוץ װעפּרינסקין — שױן געװען אױף יענער װעלט. זײ האָבן ניט געקענט האָבן קײן טענות צו דער מחברטע. אַ סבֿרא, ניט אַלע פֿון זײ װאָלטן געװען צופֿרידן מיט זײערע ליטעראַרישע פּאָרטרעטן, בפֿרט אַנאַ מאַרגאָלין. אָט, למשל, װי װעפּרינסקי באַשרײַבט די באַציִונגען פֿון אַדאַ צו שאָרן: „אַדאַ האָט אים אױסגעקליבן בלױז דעמאָלט, װען זי האָט שױן נישט געהאַט קײן אױסקוק אױף עפּעס בעסערס. דערבײַ מאָנט זי כּסדר בײַ אים געטרײַשאַפֿט. אַלײן קאָכט זי צומאָל נישט אָפּ אַ לעפֿל געקעכץ, שטענדיק נאַשט זי זיסקײטן און װערט דיקער פֿון טאָג צו טאָג. אין שטוב איז אָנגעװאָרפֿן, ס’איז דאָ אַן אמתער הקדש.“ עס איז קלאָר, אַז קײן שטאַרקע ליבע צװישן װעפּרינסקי און מאַרגאָלין איז ניט געװען.
הײַיאָר איז װעפּרינסקיס ראָמאַן אַרױס אױף ענגליש אין דער איבערזעצונג פֿון חנה נאָריך און עלען קעסעדי. זײ דערקלערן אין דער הקדמה, אַז די פּערסאָנאַזשן פֿונעם ראָמאַן געהערן צו דער באָהעמישער ליטעראַרישער סבֿיבֿה אַרום דער ליטעראַרישער גרופּע „די יונגע“, װאָס איז געװען פּראָמינענט אין די ערשטע פּאָר צענדליק יאָר פֿונעם צװאַנציקסטן יאָרהונדערט.
אײַזלאַנד שרײַבט אין זײַנע זכרונות „פֿון אונדזער פֿרילינג“, אַז „דער נאָמען ׳יונגע׳ איז אורשפּרענגלעך געװען אַ שפּאָט־נאָמען פֿאַר אַ גרופּע יונגע שרײַבער, װאָס האָט נאָך אין 1907 געהאַט די ׳חוצפּה׳ צו דערקלערן, אַז מען דאַרף דאָס ביסל ייִדישע ליטעראַרישע כּוחות אין אַמעריקע באַפֿרײַען פֿון דער אַפּוטרופּסות פֿון די צײַטונגען, און זײ האָבן געזוכט צו שאַפֿן אַן אײגענעם ליטעראַרישן װינקל אין די דינע העפֿטלעך פֿון דעם חודש־זשורנאַל ׳די יוגנט׳.“ ביז הײַנט פֿאַרבלײַבן װעפּרינסקיס ראָמאַן און אײַזלאַנדס זכרונות די װיכטיקסטע מקורים װעגן דער ליטעראַרישער סבֿיבֿה פֿון יענער תּקופֿה.
„די יונגע“ האָבן געהאַט פֿעסטע עסטעטישע השׂגות װעגן דיכטונג. אײַזמאַן שרײַבט: „די דיכטונג דאַרף ניט לעבן אין זכות פֿון װעלכער ניט איז אידײ, װײַל זי לעבט אין איר אײגענעם זכות.“ ניעזשינער און מרים, פּונקט װי דאָס רובֿ ייִדישע ליטעראַטן פֿון יענער צײַט, זײַנען געװען אַרבעטער, אָבער דיכטונג איז בײַ זײ געװען װיכטיקער אײדער פּרנסה. נאָך אַ שװערן אַרבעט־טאָג אין אַ שאַפּ אָדער אַ פֿאַבריק האָבן זײ פֿאַרבראַכט אָװנטן מיט חבֿרים ליטעראַן און אַקטיאָרן אין קאַפֿע־הײַזער אױף דעם איסט־סײַד.
װעפּרינסקי באַשרײַבט די דאָזיקע אָװנטן אין דער הקדמה צו מאַני לײבס בריװ, װאָס זי האָט אַרױסגעגעבן אין 1980: „מאַני לײב פֿלעגט זיך אײַלן פֿון דער אַרבעט אין שלומס קאַפֿע און ס׳האָבן שױן דאָרט געװאַרט אױף אים זײַנע חבֿרים, כּדי צוזאַמען זאָלן זײ אױסאַרבעטן זײערע ליטעראַרישע פּלענער און פּראָיעקטן, אַרױסהעלפֿן חבֿרים פּאָעטן אַרױסגעבן זײערע װערק און טאַקע אױך הערן װעגן די לעצטע לידער זײַנע, װאָס זײַנען דערשינען זונטיק אין ‘פֿאָרװערטס’ און אין אַנדערער צײַטשריפֿטן. אױך איך פֿלעג קומען אַהין און מיר פֿלעגן זיך דאָרט טרעפֿן.”
מען האָט אױך געפֿירט לינקע ליבעס, צומאָל מיט מער װי אײן פֿרױ אָדער מאַן אײנצײַטיק. אַזאַ פֿירונג איז געװען אַ מין פּראָטעסט פֿונעם יונגן דור אימיגראַנטן קעגן דער אַלטמאָדישער ייִדישקײט פֿון זײערע עלטערן. די שטאָט ניו־יאָרק האָט טאַקע געשאַפֿן נײַע מעגלעכקײטן פֿאַר פֿרײַע באַציִונגען צװישן מענער און פֿרױען. די בריקן צװישן ברוקלין און מאַנהעטן, שמאָלע גאַסן און ברײטע עװעניוס, רעסטאָראַנען און פּריװאַטע דירות, װי אױך די װאַקאַציע־האָטעלן, פֿערמעס און װעלדער אין די קעטסקיל־בערג שפּילן אַ װיכטיקע ראָלע אין דער אַנטװיקלונג פֿונעם סיפּור־המעשׂה פֿונעם ראָמאַן.
די איבערזעצערינס באַמערקן אין דער הקדמה׃ „כאָטש דער ראָמאַן איז פֿאַרעפֿנטעלעכט געװאָרן אין ייִדיש העכער װי פֿופֿציק יאָר נאָך די באַשריבענע געשעענישן, לײענט ער זיך כּאילו ער איז אָנגעשריבן געװאָרן בשעת די האַנדלונג איז פֿאָרגעקומען.“ װעפּרינסקיס זכּרון האָט אָפּגעהיט ניט נאָר די פּרטים פֿונעם אַמאָליקן באָהעמישן שטײגער נאָר אױך דעם גײַסט פֿון יענער תּקופֿה, װען „די יונגע“ זײַנען טאַקע געװען יונג און פֿול מיט שעפֿערישע כּוחות.
אײַזלאַנד האַלט, אַז דער ערשטער, ראָמאַנטישער פּעריאָד אין מאַני לײבס דיכטונג, איז געקומען צום סוף, דװקא אַרום דער צײַט פֿון זײַן באַגעגעניש מיט ראַשעל. באַלד נאָך דעם האָט זיך אָנגעהױבן די צװײטע תּקופֿה: „די הױפּט־כאַראַקטעריסטיק פֿון מאַני לײבס ערשטער דיכטערישער תּקופֿה איז נעפּל. אַלץ איז אין איר פֿאַרנעפּלט. די שטימונג איז פֿאַרנעפּלט, די איבערלעבונג פֿון װעלכער זי װאַקסט אַרױס איז פֿאַרנעפּלט. […] די סיבה פֿון דער דאָזיקער פֿאַרנעפּלטקײט האָט זיך, לױט מײַן מײנונג, גענומען הױפּטזעכלעך פֿון דעם, װאָס ער אַלײן האָט […] מורא געהאַט צו דערגרונטעװען זיך צו זײַנע עמאָציעס. די הױפּט־כאַראַקטעריסטיק פֿון זײַן צװײטן פּעריאָד איז זוניקײט און קלאָרקײט.“
עס איז אַװדאי ניט מער װי אַ השערה, אַז די דראַמאַטישע און שטורעמדיקע ליבע־אַפֿערע מיט ראַשעל האָט געגעבן אַ שטױס פֿאַרן אַרױסברענגען מאַני לײבס דיכטונג פֿון נעפּל צו קלאָרקײט. אָבער עס איז ניטאָ קײן ספֿק, אַז די דאָזיקע שטאַרקע איבערלעבונגען האָבן איבערגעלאָזט אַ טיפֿן רושם אױף בײדע נשמות זײערע. װעפּרינסקי האָט אָפּגעהיט דעם דאָזיקן רושם איר גאַנץ לעבן און האָט געפֿונען פֿאַר אים אַ פֿרישן קינסטלערישן אױסדרוק אין איר ראָמאַן.
דער בעסטער אופֿן אָפּצושאַצן די שײנקײט און פֿרישקײט פֿונעם ראָמאַן איז צו לײענען אים אין אײנעם מיט מאַני לײבס לידער. און די הײַנטיקע צײַט איז אַן עת־רצון פֿאַר װענדן זיך צו דער ירושה פֿון דער אַמעריקאַנער ייִדיש־ליטעראַטור, װען אָרעמע ייִדישע אַרבעטער האָבן באַזונגען אין זײערע לידער פֿרײַהײט, ליבע און שײנקײט פֿון דער װעלט — אױף צו להכעיס די ביטערע אומשטאַנדן פֿון זײער טאָגטעגלעכן לעבן.
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After describing deal on ’60 Minutes,’ Witkoff and Kushner head to Israel as truce teeters
Two Israeli soldiers were killed in Gaza on Sunday and Israel conducted strikes against targets inside the territory in the biggest threats yet to the week-old ceasefire between Israel and Hamas.
The soldiers were not killed by Hamas, the group and Israel both said. The deaths come as Hamas is continuing to locate and release the bodies of deceased Israeli hostages, as required by the terms of the ceasefire deal, and as U.S. officials head to the region in an attempt to preserve the deal brokered by President Donald Trump.
Steve Witkoff and Jared Kushner, who closed the deal, arrived on Monday and Vice President J.D. Vance is set to land on Tuesday. Witkoff and Kushner arrived after offering details about how the deal came to pass during an appearance on “60 Minutes” that was reportedly brokered in part by Bari Weiss, the Jewish journalist who now helms CBS News.
Witkoff described how Israel’s Sept. 9 strike on Hamas targets in Qatar, which was unsuccessful, came to represent a turning point in U.S.-led efforts to end the war.
“I think both Jared and I felt — I just feel we felt a little bit betrayed,” Witkoff said. About Trump’s reaction to the strike, he said, “I think he felt like the Israelis were getting a little bit out of control in what they were doing, and that it was time to be very strong and stop them from doing things that he felt were not in their long-term interests.”
Kushner, who also proposed an Israeli-Palestinian peace plan during Trump’s first term, described his reaction to viewing the devastation in Gaza, where he visited after the ceasefire took effect and saw Palestinians returning to their destroyed homes. “It’s very sad, because you think to yourself, they really have nowhere else to go,” he said.
Kushner rebuffed a question about whether his business interests in the region interfered with his role in peace talks. And both he and Witkoff rejected the idea that Israel committed genocide in Gaza, from which Hamas launched the two-year war with a brutal attack on Israel on Oct. 7, 2023.
Kushner and Witkoff drew cheers last week in Hostage Square where they addressed crowds following the release of the final 20 living hostages from Gaza.
Three deceased hostages were released over the weekend, and the remains of another hostage is expected to be transferred to Israel on Monday night.
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The post After describing deal on ’60 Minutes,’ Witkoff and Kushner head to Israel as truce teeters appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.