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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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Armed attacker arrested after lunging at Ohio Jewish gubernatorial candidate Amy Acton
(JTA) — Ohio gubernatorial candidate Amy Acton, a Jewish Democrat, was unharmed following an attack by an armed individual at the sprawling Canfield Fair on Sunday.
Police arrested 38-year-old Patrick Havas, who had pushed his way through a crowd in a Democratic Party fairgrounds tent where she was speaking, the Mahoning County Sheriff’s Office announced on Sunday evening.
“While attending the Canfield Fair, an armed individual lunged at Dr. Acton, injuring multiple people,” Addie Bullock, communications director for the Acton campaign, said in a statement.
“This kind of violence has no place in Ohio,” Bullock added. “Dr. Acton will always stand up to the chaos, hate and vitriol that pits us against one another.”
Acton, who would be Ohio’s first Jewish governor if elected, is a former director of the Ohio Department of Health and completed residencies in both pediatrics and preventative medicine.
Republican Vivek Ramaswamy, Acton’s opponent in the upcoming election, released a statement condemning the attack on Sunday. His communications director, Connie Luck, stressed that “candidates should be able to meet with voters without having to worry about threats or violence.”
“What happened today is completely unacceptable and has no place in politics, and we hope that no one was hurt,” she added.
Havas had at first entered the fairgrounds tent and began recording Acton’s speech on his cell phone, but when he began pushing, Ohio State Highway Patrol troopers confronted him, according to the sheriff’s office. During the confrontation, two people were knocked to the ground and Havas was taken into custody by Canfield Fair police.
Following Havas’s arrest, police said they found two handguns and a set of brass knuckles in his possession, although no weapons were ever brandished or removed from their holsters.
Detectives on Sunday night added that they’d be continuing the investigation and would be filing charges after consulting with the Mahoning County Prosecutor.
The Canfield Fair, established in 1846, describes itself as the third-largest county fair nationwide. The fairgrounds, located about 75 miles southeast of Cleveland, sits on 353 acres of land and houses more than 60 buildings.
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post Armed attacker arrested after lunging at Ohio Jewish gubernatorial candidate Amy Acton appeared first on The Forward.
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Far-right win in Germany regional race sends shockwaves through Europe
(JTA) — A victory for Germany’s far-right party in an eastern federal state has reverberated across the globe, exposing the widening rifts between alarmed centrist leaders and insurgent nationalist movements in Europe.
The Alternative for Germany (AfD) party won 43.8% of the vote in an election in Saxony-Anhalt on Sunday, crushing the center-right Christian Democratic Union (CDU), German Chancellor Friedrich Merz’s party, which held 17.2% support, according to preliminary figures.
The AfD is now heading toward 39 seats in Saxony-Anhalt’s 83-seat state parliament. It’s expected to fall 3 seats short of an outright majority, leaving open the question of whether it can form Germany’s first far-right state government since World War II. The party has proposed a sweeping nationalist agenda that includes deporting immigrants, defunding “anti-German art” and teaching children less about the country’s Nazi past.
Merz told reporters in Berlin on Monday he was “deeply shocked” and “unsettled” by the results, which he said rippled through the rest of the country and the world. He added that it was impossible for Germany to “go back to business as usual” after so many voters in Saxony-Anhalt chose a party that “questions the democratic institutions in our country.”
The results dealt the CDU its “most severe defeat” in decades, conceded Merz, who leads the party once headed by former German Chancellor Angela Merkel.
Merz said that he was searching for answers to “why far-right populism and far-right extremism was able to rise in such a rapid manner,” suggesting that his party may have underestimated the “fears of our population” amid economic crises and rapid technological change. He said that minorities in Saxony-Anhalt would be particularly vulnerable under an AfD government, but noted that the state would still have obligations to follow federal law, including regarding immigration policy.
Merz also directed his message to the rest of Europe, saying that Germany had a “special responsibility because of its history” to keep its political order “deeply anchored in Europe.”
Despite the scale of the CDU’s defeat in Saxony-Anhalt, Merz ruled out stepping down, saying, “Giving up is not an option.”
Though Saxony-Anhalt is one of Germany’s smallest regions, home to some 1.7 million voters, its election results quickly sent shockwaves through other European countries whose leaders, like Merz, are fighting to fend off far-right, anti-immigrant parties in national elections next year.
French Europe Minister Benjamin Haddad called the AfD’s regional win a “grave moment in Europe” and said that “nationalism and xenophobia will never be a solution.”
“We cannot forget our history,” said Haddad, an ally of centrist President Emmanuel Macron. “That is the meaning of the choices made by France and Germany.”
France’s government faces its own fears of a right-wing populist wave. Marine Le Pen, the head of the far-right National Rally, has dwarfed all other candidates in polls heading into France’s presidential election in 2027, when term limits force Macron to step down.
Across the Channel, British Chief Secretary to the Treasury Emma Reynolds said in an interview on Times Radio that the U.K.’s Labour government “will not be reaching out to a right-wing populist party.” She added that she put the AfD in “the same political bracket” as Reform UK, the far-right party that surged in local elections earlier this year.
Polish Prime Minister Donald Tusk also condemned the AfD’s victory. The far-right party has alarmed Poland, Ukraine’s neighbor, with its pro-Russia stance, as it seeks to halt Germany’s military aid to Ukraine and sanctions against Russia.
“In Poland, only idiots or traitors can rejoice at the triumph of the AfD in Germany,” said Tusk.
Meanwhile, the AfD was cheered by nationalist, anti-immigration party leaders in Spain, Portugal and the Netherlands, all of whom have sought to capitalize on economic and social grievances similar to those that contributed to the AfD’s victory Sunday.
Santiago Abascal, the head of Spain’s far-right Vox party, called the result “a great hope for Germany and for Europe.”
André Ventura, the founder of Portugal’s far-right Chega party, said that “the Germans too are opening their eyes against illegal and uncontrolled immigration, corruption, and the capture of our freedom and identity.”
And in the Netherlands, the AfD received a “Congratulations” from the far-right Party for Freedom’s leader, Geert Wilders.
While President Donald Trump has yet to officially respond to the Saxony-Anhalt election, he posted a screenshot of the results without comment on his Truth Social account Sunday night.
Trump’s post was shared by Kirill Dmitriev, a Russian presidential envoy and businessman, who said the AfD scored a “historic win” that would “put migration under control.”
Elon Musk, the billionaire and former Trump adviser who campaigned for the AfD last year, gave his support to the national party leader Alice Weidel on X, which he owns, writing “Well done” in German.
Ulrich Siegmund, the AfD’s candidate in Saxony-Anhalt who hopes to become the state premier, responded by praising Musk.
“Thank you, @elonmusk, for your support and for your clear and highly important perspective on the political developments of our time — including here in Germany,” he wrote.
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post Far-right win in Germany regional race sends shockwaves through Europe appeared first on The Forward.
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How synagogues and Southern Jews came to mourn Robert E. Lee
In October 1870, mourning covered New Orleans.
The doors of the St. Charles Theater and Academy of Music were draped following the death of Robert E. Lee. Along St. Charles Street, saloons displayed signs of grief. Black and white cloth appeared on private homes, stores, banks and warehouses. The New-Orleans Weekly Times reported that “the rich and the poor vied with each other in their outward manifestations of grief.”
On Carondelet Street, the synagogue was draped too. Here at the Congregation Dispersed of Judah, the main door “presented a cloud of white and black draping.” Inside, the congregation’s spiritual leader, Rabbi Henry S. Jacobs, delivered a eulogy for Lee. He turned to Zechariah 11:2 and compared the dead Confederate general to a fallen cedar.
In Galveston, Texas, another Southern Jewish congregation went further. At what a newspaper described as an “Orthodox congregation of Israelites,” a prayer was offered for Lee’s soul. It asked God, “who resteth in the highest heavens,” to grant Lee rest beneath the wings of divine providence.
“We pray to the Almighty that He shall keep him under His wings forever,” the congregation prayed, so that “at the resurrection” Lee’s soul would be among those “prepared to live again.”
The synagogue memorials were not isolated expressions of grief. Many Southern Jews had supported the Confederacy, served in its army and shared their neighbors’ admiration for Lee. Lee had also developed a reputation among Jewish soldiers for respecting their religious practice during the war. Their mourning reflected both a Jewish community deeply embedded in the society around it and a particular memory of Lee that would endure for generations.
Fighting for the Confederacy, observing Yom Kippur
For Jewish soldiers, loyalty to the Confederacy and religious observance could exist side by side. Confederate officers sometimes accommodated those needs, and Lee himself corresponded with a Richmond rabbi about allowing Jewish soldiers to observe their holidays.
In September 1861, around 40 Jewish soldiers stationed at a Confederate army camp in Pensacola, Florida, received permission from General Braxton Bragg to observe the Day of Atonement. Newspapers across the South reported that as the soldiers prayed “to the God of their fathers,” they “forgot not the Government for which they have taken up arms.”
That same year, Rabbi Maximilian J. Michelbacher of Richmond reminded Jewish soldiers that Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur were approaching. A Richmond correspondent estimated that thousands of Jews were serving in Virginia and wrote that “no class of our citizens have responded more liberally to the treasury and army of the Confederacy than the Southern Jews.”
Michelbacher also corresponded with Lee about allowing Jewish soldiers time away from the army for religious observance.
In 1864, he asked that Jewish soldiers be allowed to return to Richmond for the High Holidays. Lee declined to grant a general furlough but told the rabbi that he would “gladly do all in my power to facilitate the observance of the duties of their religion by the Israelites in the Army.”
Individual applications, he said, could be approved when circumstances allowed.
An account recorded in the 1887 work Christ in the Camp: Or Religion in the Confederate Army by Reverend J. William Jones, a Southern Baptist minister and Confederate chaplain, described a captain rejecting a Jewish soldier’s request to attend religious services. The captain wrote that if such applications were approved, “the whole army would turn Jews or Shaking Quakers.”
Lee overruled the decision. He returned the request with advice that the captain “should always respect the religious views and feelings of others.”
In 1870, Lee visited Norfolk, Virginia. Among those who came to see him was Emanuel J. Myers, an 89-year-old Jew who had served under Napoleon I and received the French Legion of Honor.
A report in The Israelite, a Cincinnati Jewish newspaper, described Myers approaching with a “full flowing, snow beard,” his medal shining on his breast. The old soldier greeted Lee with “a hearty shake of a soldier’s hand.”
The newspaper called Lee the “brave hero” and “great chieftain.”
The Almighty, the reporter said, had allowed Myers to live long enough to “grasp the hand of one whom we all delight to honor.”
Lee died five months later.
Remembering Lee as a friend to the Jews
Decades later, Lee was still being invoked as a symbol of religious tolerance.
In 1914, Rabbi Henry Barnston of Temple Beth Israel in Houston referenced Lee’s defense of a Jewish soldier’s religious observance while speaking about the persistence of intolerance. Others used the story similarly. In 1922, The American Israelite put it on its front page beneath a simple headline: “General Lee Respected the Jews.” Four years later, Vanderbilt University professor Edwin Mims invoked Lee while arguing against religious bigotry. His words, Mims said, “ought to ring out in America today.”
Nor were these accounts confined to the South. A story about Lee’s respect for Jews appeared in The Wisconsin Jewish Chronicle in 1928. In 1930, University of Wisconsin president Glenn Frank spoke about it at a memorial for Lee while condemning intolerance in the South. “You cannot fight for even one hour in the ranks of intolerance,” Frank said, “without turning traitor to the memory of the great Lee.”
The story took on new meaning after the October 1958 bombing of The Temple in Atlanta. The explosion tore through the synagogue building after Rabbi Jacob Rothschild had become an outspoken supporter of civil rights. One person claiming responsibility invoked a “Confederate Underground.”
In an op-ed published afterward in The Arizona Post and other outlets, David Schwartz, a writer with the Jewish Telegraphic Agency, remembered the long history of Jews in Georgia and returned to the story of Lee defending a Jewish soldier’s religious observance.
“I don’t think Robert E. Lee would have liked to be associated with them,” he wrote, referring to the self-described “Confederate Underground” that claimed responsibility for the bombing.
Back in 1870, the synagogue memorials in New Orleans and Galveston had been part of a much wider response to Lee’s death. In Memphis, a newspaper remarked on the range of people who joined the city’s funeral procession, including Northerners, immigrants and “Hebrews,” writing that “none were found to show disrespect or even indifference.”
As plans emerged for an equestrian monument to Lee in Richmond, organizers proposed that on memorial days throughout the South, “every congregation, Christian and Hebrew,” make a contribution. The statue, erected in 1890, stood until 2021.
The post How synagogues and Southern Jews came to mourn Robert E. Lee appeared first on The Forward.

