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Judaism doesn’t want you to wander and live just anywhere — or does it?
(JTA) — I was a remote worker long before the pandemic made it a thing, but it was only last month that I really took advantage of it. Early on the morning of New Year’s Day, I boarded a plane from Connecticut bound for Mexico, where I spent a full month sleeping in thatch-roofed palapas, eating more tacos than was probably wise and bathing every day in the Pacific. I’ll spare you the glorious details, but suffice it to say, it wasn’t a bad way to spend a January.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, I found myself again and again coming into contact with expats who had traded in their urban lives in northern climes for a more laid-back life in the tropics. There was the recently divorced motorcycle enthusiast slowly wending his way southward by bike as he continued to work a design job for a major American bank. There was the yoga instructor born not far from where I live in Massachusetts who owned an open-air rooftop studio just steps from the waves. There were the countless couples who had chosen to spend their days running beachfront bars or small hotels on the sand. And then there were the seemingly endless number and variety of middle-aged northerners rebooting their lives in perpetual sunshine.
Such people have long mystified me. It’s not hard to understand the lure of beachside living, and part of me envies the freedom to design your own life from the ground up. But there’s also something scary about it. Arriving in middle age in a country where you know nobody, whose language is not your own, whose laws and cultural mores, seasons and flora, are all unfamiliar — it feels like the essence of shallow-rootedness, like a life devoid of all the things that give one (or at least me) a sense of comfort and security and place. The thought of exercising the right to live literally anywhere and any way I choose opens up a space so vast and limitless it provokes an almost vertiginous fear of disconnection and a life adrift.
Clearly, this feeling isn’t universally shared. And the fact that I have it probably owes a lot to my upbringing. I grew up in an Orthodox family, which by necessity meant life was lived in a fairly small bubble. Our house was within walking distance of our synagogue, as it had to be since walking was the only way to get there on Shabbat and holidays. I attended a small Jewish day school, where virtually all of my friends came from families with similar religious commitments. Keeping kosher and the other constraints of a religious life had a similarly narrowing effect on the horizons of my world and thus my sense of life’s possibilities. Or at least that’s how it often felt.
What must it be like — pardon the non-kosher expression — to feel as if the world is your oyster? That you could live anywhere, love anyone, eat anything and make your life whatever you want it to be? Thrilling, yes — but also frightening. The sense of boundless possibility I could feel emanating from those sun-baked Mexicans-by-choice was seductive, but tempered by aversion to a life so unmoored.
The tension between freedom and obligation is baked into Jewish life. The twin poles of our national narrative are the Exodus from Egypt and the revelation at Sinai, each commemorated by festivals separated by exactly seven weeks in the calendar, starting with Passover. The conventional understanding is that this juxtaposition isn’t accidental. God didn’t liberate the Israelites from slavery so they could live free of encumbrances on the Mayan Riviera. Freedom had a purpose, expressed in the giving of the Torah at Sinai, with all its attendant rules and restrictions and obligations. Freedom is a central value of Jewish life — Jews are commanded to remember the Exodus every day. But Jewish freedom doesn’t mean the right to live however you want.
Except it might mean the right to live any place you want. In the 25th chapter of Leviticus, God gives the Israelites the commandment of the Jubilee year, known as yovel in Hebrew. Observed every 50 years in biblical times, the Jubilee has many similarities to the shmita (sabbatical) year, but with some additional rituals. The text instructs: “And you shall hallow the 50th year. You shall proclaim liberty throughout the land for all its inhabitants. It shall be a jubilee for you: each of you shall return to your holding and each of you shall return to your family.”
Among the requirements of the Jubilee was that ancestral lands be returned to their original owners. Yet the word for liberty is a curious one: “d’ror.” The Talmud explains its etymology this way: “It is like a man who dwells [medayer] in any dwelling and moves merchandise around the entire country” (Rosh Hashanah 9b).
The liberty of the Jubilee year could thus be said to have two contrary meanings — individuals had the right to return to their ancestral lands, but they were also free not to. They could live in any dwelling they chose. The sense of liberty connoted by the biblical text is a specifically residential one: the freedom to live where one chooses. Which pretty well describes the world we live in today. Jewish ancestral lands are freely available to any Jew who wants to live there. And roughly half the Jews of the world choose not to.
Clearly, I’m among them. And while I technically could live anywhere, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to. I like where I live — not because of any particular qualities of this place, though I do love its seasons and its smells and its proximity to the people I care about and the few weeks every fall when the trees become a riotous kaleidoscope. But mostly because it’s mine.
A version of this essay appeared in My Jewish Learning’s Recharge Shabbat newsletter. Subscribe here.
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The post Judaism doesn’t want you to wander and live just anywhere — or does it? appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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His mother is Israeli, his father is Palestinian. His life? Complicated.
Ibrahim Miari begins his one-man autobiographical show, In Between, by spinning in a circle, arms outstretched, his body swaying to the strains of Arabic music and his smiling face lit by the spotlight above.
It’s a lyrical opening that softens up the audience before Miari, who’s a playwright and lecturer, gets to the meat of the play: his identity. His father, we learn, is a Palestinian-Muslim, while his mother is a Jewish-Israeli. (She converted to Islam to marry his father.) Miari doesn’t know how they met, so he concocts a fantasy version, a meet-cute set to a Beatles soundtrack, for this weekday audience at Northeastern University’s Blackman Theater. It’s gooey and romantic, but it prefigures one of the play’s defining motifs — that, political turmoil be damned, all you need is love. If this was perhaps an overly rosy outlook in 2011, when Miari first performed In Between, today it seems positively far-fetched.
Miari’s parents eventually settled in Akko, a mixed Arab-Jewish city on the coast of northern Israel. In the first of a series of episodes from Miari’s childhood, he attends a mainstream Israeli school — over his father’s objections — where he celebrates Israel’s Independence Day and, for a Purim costume contest, dresses up as a garden in bloom, winning first prize. His father tells his son that next year he will dress up as a cactus, the better to let his classmates know they’re on stolen land.
Miari speaks unaccented Hebrew; his teachers and friends call him Avraham. Later, he transfers to a nearby Palestinian-Arabic school, and there he commemorates Independence Day rather differently, as the Nakba, or Catastrophe. His teachers and friends call him Ibrahim.
Such episodes illustrate not just Miari’s duelling cultural obligations, but the difficulties he will face reconciling them — after all, we never see him in an environment where both are equally embraced. (It should be noted we are given his mother’s perspective only too rarely.)
Miari toggles easily, impressively, between his life’s principal characters. Props are only occasionally employed. His eyebrows do much of the heavy lifting: they furrow, and Miari is transformed, no longer a wide-eyed, adolescent Avraham/Ibrahim, but his gloomy father.
At a Canadian summer camp for peace activists, Miari, now an adult, meets and swiftly falls for a Jewish-American woman, Sarah Goldberg — they get engaged, but finding a wedding officiant open to a hybrid ceremony proves difficult. Even a Buddhist cleric (Sarah is a so-called BuJew) turns the couple down. Miari, who has a tendency to over-explain, laments that he’s “not Jewish enough, not Muslim enough, not even Buddhist enough!”
The play’s other set piece is from later in Miari’s life, an airport encounter-turned-interrogation with an El Al security agent suspicious of Miari’s overstuffed suitcase — which he’s borrowed from Sarah. Narrowing his eyes at the suitcase’s name label, the agent says, “You don’t look like a Sarah, and you definitely don’t look like a Goldberg.”
The idea that the agent is an oaf and a bigot is plausible enough, but he’s so much a caricature that the seriousness of Miari’s point, that he’s forever suspended between Arab and Israeli, neither one thing nor the other, gets muddled. Miari gives Sarah’s mother the same treatment: meeting him for the first time, she provides little more than a whistlestop tour of stereotypes of elderly Jewish-American women. It’s grim to watch.
Both characters exemplify In Between’s biggest shortcoming: its lack of subtlety. Sure, it’s a funny play — Miari is a gifted physical comic — but the hijinks don’t really illuminate the challenges of Miari’s Arab-Jewish identity; mostly, they’re a distraction. (Case in point: Miari’s scene partner, when he searches for a wedding officiant, is an eight-foot puppet dressed as an Orthodox Rabbi, which Miari ventriloquizes.)
In short, there’s a poignancy deficit, which is made all the more stark by the play’s standout moment. Near the end, Miari talks directly to the audience about his grandmothers, one Jewish, the other Palestinian, both of whom have passed away. They lived barely five miles from each other, but never met. “I’m sad they won’t see my wedding,” Miari says, “or meet their grandchildren.” He sits glumly on a chair, looking like a lost child. It’s sad and tender, a welcome moment of introspection in an otherwise helter-skelter production.
In Between concludes on an upbeat note, Miari informing the audience that he and Sarah were married in a cross-cultural, officiant-less wedding. Marriage — love — has quieted his existential turmoil, he tells us. He has at last found the belonging he’s coveted for decades.
It’s a sweet message but solipsistic — not least with today’s Middle East as a backdrop. I found it hard to believe Miari’s marriage meant he could forget his decades-long struggle over his split identity, especially when that happy union, at least in the play’s telling, did not address this issue so much as ignore it. Still, it’s an ending in keeping with the play’s broader tone — heavy on humor and shtick, lighter altogether on substance.
The post His mother is Israeli, his father is Palestinian. His life? Complicated. appeared first on The Forward.
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Argentina Blacklists Iran’s Quds Force as Country Marks Death of Nisman, Who Charged Tehran for AMIA Bombing
Argentina’s President Javier Milei attends a commemoration event ahead of the anniversary of the 1994 bombing attack on the Argentine Israeli Mutual Association (AMIA) community center, marking the 30th anniversary of the attack, in Buenos Aires, Argentina, July 17, 2024. Photo: REUTERS/Martin Cassarini
Argentine President Javier Milei has proscribed Iran’s Quds Force — the elite unit responsible for directing Tehran’s proxy militias and overseas terrorist operations — as the country’s Jewish community marks the 11th anniversary of the death of prosecutor Alberto Nisman, who investigated the 1994 bombing of the AMIA Jewish community center in Buenos Aires.
On Saturday, the Argentine president’s office announced that it had designated the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps’ Quds Force as a foreign terrorist organization, describing the unit as specializing in “training for the execution of terrorist attacks in other countries.”
“Argentina was a victim of their operations in the 1990s, including the 1992 attack on the Israeli Embassy in Buenos Aires and the 1994 bombing of the AMIA Jewish community center,” the statement read, referring to the Argentine Israelite Mutual Association (AMIA) bombing.
With the designation, “members of the Quds Force and their allies are subject to financial sanctions and operational restrictions aimed at limiting their capacity to act, as well as protecting the Argentine financial system from being used to support their activities.”
Milei “maintains an unbreakable commitment to recognizing terrorists for what they are,” the statement continued.
— Oficina del Presidente (@OPRArgentina) January 17, 2026
The Argentine president has previously designated Hamas, the Mexican Sinaloa Cartel, and the Muslim Brotherhood’s branches in Lebanon, Egypt, and Jordan as terrorist organizations.
US and Israeli officials praised Milei’s latest move in the fight against terrorism, highlighting its significance in combating international extremist networks.
Israeli Foreign Minister Gideon Saar applauded Milei’s decision, describing it as a “significant step that strengthens the international front against Iranian terrorism and honors the memory of the victims of the attacks on the Israeli Embassy and the AMIA.”
On Sunday, Argentina commemorated the 11th anniversary of Nisman’s death. Nisman died on Jan. 18, 2015, while investigating the 1994 AMIA bombing — the deadliest terrorist attack in Argentine history, which killed 85 people and wounded more than 300 — as Argentine Jews renewed calls for justice after more than a decade without resolution.
“Eleven years after the assassination of prosecutor Alberto Nisman, we reaffirm our steadfast demand for justice,” the Delegation of Argentine Israelite Associations (DAIA), the country’s Jewish umbrella organization, wrote in a post on X.
Last year, prosecutors handling the case released a report as part of the ongoing, still unresolved trial, confirming that Nisman was killed for trying to expose the Argentine government’s role in covering up the 1994 AMIA bombing.
In 2006, Nisman formally charged Iran for orchestrating the attack and its Lebanese terrorist proxy Hezbollah for carrying it out. Nine years later, he accused former Argentine President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner of attempting to cover up the crime and block efforts to extradite the suspects behind the AMIA atrocity in return for Iranian oil.
The alleged cover-up was reportedly formalized through the memorandum of understanding signed in 2013 between Kirchner’s government and Iranian authorities, with the stated goal of cooperating to investigate the AMIA bombing.
One day before Nisman was set to appear before the Argentine Congress to present evidence supporting his allegations against Kirchner and several of her colleagues, he was found dead in his apartment, with a gunshot wound to the head and a pistol at his side.
An official investigation into his death initially concluded that the prosecutor took his own life. However, a federal judge later reversed this decision, stating that Nisman’s gunshot wound could not have been self-inflicted.
Investigations are still underway to identify both those who carried out the act and those who ordered it.
Kirchner is set to stand trial for the allegations against her, though there is no set date.
As for the AMIA investigation, an Argentine federal judge ordered last year the trial in absentia of Iranian and Lebanese nationals suspected of orchestrating the 1994 bombing.
The 10 suspects set to stand trial include former Iranian and Lebanese ministers and diplomats, all of whom are subject to international arrest warrants issued by Argentina for their alleged roles in the terrorist attack.
Lead prosecutor Sebastián Basso — who took over the case after the murder of his predecessor, Nisman — also requested that federal Judge Daniel Rafecas issue national and international arrest warrants for Iran’s Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei over his alleged involvement in the attack.
Despite Argentina’s longstanding belief that Lebanon’s Shiite Hezbollah terrorist group carried out the devastating attack at Iran’s request, the 1994 bombing has never been claimed or officially solved.
Tehran has consistently denied any involvement in any of these attacks and has refused to arrest or extradite any suspects.
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Miami Nightclub Says It Doesn’t Condone Antisemitism After Playing ‘Heil Hitler’ Song for Far-Right Influencers
Group of Nazi sympathizers and far-right online influencers partying at the Vendôme nightclub in Miami Beach, Florida while singing “Heil Hitler” by Kanye West. Photo: Screenshot
A nightclub in Miami Beach, Florida expressed regret over playing the Kanye West song “Heil Hitler” on Saturday night at the request of a group of Nazi sympathizers and online influencers, including Nick Fuentes, who were partying there.
Footage of the incident circulated online over the weekend, showing Fuentes, as well as Andrew Tate, Myron Gaines, “Sneako,” and others, dancing and singing along to the song at Vendôme while in the company of dozens of fellow patrons.
“We want to be unequivocally clear: Vendôme and our hospitality group do not condone antisemitism, hate speech, or prejudice of any kind,” the nightclub said in a statement, responding to criticism from Jewish civil rights groups and lawmakers. “Our ownership and leadership reflect a diverse group of partners, backgrounds, and faiths including members of the Jewish community, and we are deeply disturbed by the harm caused by this incident and the circulation of this footage.”
It added, “We are evaluating additional safeguards and procedures to ensure our venues are not used as platforms for offensive or harmful behavior. We take this matter seriously and will continue to act thoughtfully and responsibly as we complete our review.”
West, the rapper who now goes by Ye, released “Heil Hitler” last year, amid other efforts to promote Nazism. He tried to sell shirts emblazoned with a swastika and made a series of antisemitic comments on X earlier in year. Those social media comments included repeated praise and admiration for Adolf Hitler, the leader of Nazi Germany who oversaw the murder of six million Jews in the Holocaust. West even declared “Im a Nazi [sic]” and “I love Hitler.”
Several of the online influencers have promoted antisemitic conspiracy theories, expressed animus toward Israel, refused to condemn Hitler, and mocked Jewish victims of the Holocaust.
The weekend outing in Miami was noticeably incongruous with the message of Fuentes, a Holocaust denier and white nationalist who advocates a style of asceticism based on a medieval interpretation of Catholicism which, for him, has called for total abstention from romantic relationships with women, applying religion to the secular legal code, and embracing other traditional values which would imply a rejection of the nightlife.
Lawmakers and Jewish civil rights groups have reacted with alarm to the incident, calling it “sickening.”
“Vendôme Miami not only permitted the entry of these modern day Nazis … but proceeded to play ‘Heil Hitler’ upon their request,” StopAntisemitism, which tracks antisemitic incidents across the world, said in a statement.
Meanwhile, Miami Beach Mayor Steven Meiner, said, “These ‘influencers’ who spread hate should never have been welcomed into this club or allowed to play a song with ‘Heil Hitler’ lyrics that have been universally condemned. I have and will continue to fight against hate speech against any group. Antisemitism, hate speech, or the normalization of extremist ideology has no place in our Miami Beach community, our nightlife, or any public setting.”
On Monday, StopAntisemitism reported that Vendôme’s owner, David Grutman, banned the influencers from his properties.
Antisemitism is surging across the US.
Earlier this month, a 19-year-old suspect, Stephen Pittman, was arrested for allegedly igniting a catastrophic fire which decimated the Beth Israel Congregation synagogue in Jackson, Mississippi. According to court filings, he told US federal investigators that he targeted the building over its “Jewish ties.”
“This latest deplorable crime against a Jewish institution reminds us that the same hatred that motivated the KKK to attack Beth Israel in 1967 is alive today,” the Florida Holocaust Museum said in a statement shared with The Algemeiner following news of Pittman’s arrest. “Antisemitism is still trying to intimidate Jews, drive them out of public life, and make houses of worship targets of violence instead of place of safety and community.”
The Anti-Defamation League (ADL) recorded 9,354 antisemitic incidents in 2024 — an average of 25.6 a day — across the US, providing statistical proof of what has been described as an atmosphere of hate not experienced in the nearly 50 years since the organization began tracking such data in 1979. Incidents of harassment, vandalism, and assault all increased by double digits, and for the first time ever a majority of outrages — 58 percent — were related to the existence of Israel as the world’s only Jewish state.
Follow Dion J. Pierre @DionJPierre.