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A digital Jewish library aims to add women’s Torah scholarship to its shelves — by helping them write it
(JTA) — Sefaria, the app that contains a digital collection of Jewish texts, has made everything from Genesis to an essay on Jewish law and gambling accessible at the tap of a finger.
But in one way, it’s the same as nearly every other Jewish library in history: Almost all the texts, from ancient times to the present, are written by men.
Now, Sefaria is hoping to chip away at that gender disparity by organizing and supporting a group of 20 women Torah scholars who are writing new books on Jewish texts.
“It’s relatively recent in the history of the Jewish people that women have had access to as full a Jewish education as men,” Sara Wolkenfeld, chief learning officer at Sefaria, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “And so it’s even more recent that women are able to create those works.”
She added, “When I spoke to women about this, I discovered more and more that there were amazing women teaching Torah and many fewer women who were being encouraged to write books of Torah and really have the scaffolding in place to do that.”
The participants in the new program, called Word-by-Word, range from ordained clergy to academics and teachers. They have expertise in subjects ranging from early modern Jewish studies to Jewish thought and Talmud. Most of them are affiliated with Orthodox institutions or received Orthodox ordination. There are no non-Orthodox rabbis on the list.
Non-Orthodox women have been receiving rabbinic ordination for more than half a century, and recent decades have seen the proliferation of advanced Orthodox Jewish educational institutions geared toward women. In recent years, a growing number of Orthodox women have received ordination as clergy as well.
Word-by-Word aims to parlay their expertise into texts about topics such as Sephardic women’s halacha and rabbinic literature, villains of the Torah, and environmental ethics. Many but not all of the planned books will cover women’s issues: Rabbanit Leah Sarna aims to produce a pregnancy and childbirth guide for observant Jewish women and Gila Fine in Israel will explore the six women named in the Babylonian Talmud, for example, while Adina Blaustein in Ohio will produce a book rooted in the weekly Torah portion.
The program will provide the selected scholars with a support system that will help them put their knowledge down on paper — and, crucially, will pay them to do so. Cohort members will receive $6,000 per year for three years to support their work and will also get professional coaching, peer mentoring and networking opportunities with publishers and authors. The goal is for at least 15 to publish books by the program’s end, in 2026.
Erica Brown, director of the Sacks-Herenstein Center and vice provost for values and leadership at Yeshiva University, is leading the program with Wolkenfeld at Sefaria. (Sefaria’s CEO, Daniel Septimus, is on the board of 70 Faces Media, JTA’s parent organization.)
“Word-by-Word is the program I most needed when I started writing books about 15 years ago,” Brown said in a statement. “I needed help articulating my table of contents, editing myself down, structuring my ideas, writing a proposal, and then connecting to publishers,” she said. “There is a huge difference between knowing how to write and knowing how to publish a book.”
“Writing can also be lonely,” she added. “But it doesn’t have to be. With Word-by-Word, we’ll be creating a new Jewish sisterhood.”
The program builds on a sisterhood that has been growing for some time — of Orthodox women engaged in leading Jewish communities. Many of the cohort’s members are themselves graduates of, or teach at, Orthodox women’s educational institutions. At least seven of the 20 have spent time at Yeshivat Maharat, a liberal Orthodox institution that ordains women clergy. Others are affiliated with Orthodox campuses such as Yeshiva University in New York City or Bar-Ilan University outside of Tel Aviv, or Orthodox high schools or synagogues.
At least six of the cohort members are PhDs whose academic work mostly focuses on Jewish texts. Others are senior educators or hold prominent positions at Jewish educational institutions or nonprofits ranging from the Pardes Institute of Jewish Studies to the Shalom Hartman Institute of North America.
The funders of Word-by-Word include three foundations that have supported Orthodox women’s learning and advancement: Micah Philanthropies, which allocated nearly a quarter of its grant money from 2021-2022 to Orthodox women’s leadership; the Walder Foundation, which has given grants to projects focused on Orthodox women’s education and leadership; and the Arev Fund, which has provided funding to Yeshivat Maharat, the educational center Nishmat, and other organizations geared toward Orthodox women.
Word-by-Word was open to women of all denominations and its organizers aimed for their advertising to reach a broad Jewish audience. But Wolkenfeld estimates that somewhere between 50% and 75% of the 122 women who applied were, judging from the applicants’ resumes, “plausibly Orthodox.” She also said the cohort’s denominational breakdown may have been a result of the program call for projects that closely analyzed Jewish texts.
“We got a lot of applications that were not actually close analysis of Jewish texts, but rather more, like, writing about themes in Jewish texts,” Wolkenfeld said. “To have a fellowship that was even more diverse, we probably would have needed to have different criteria.”
A predecessor to Word-by-Word launched in 2021, when Sefaria and Yeshivat Maharat partnered to create a writing fellowship for Jewish women scholars. Participants received training and, at the program’s conclusion, each presented a 3,000-word piece at a virtual event. The 14 scholars and rabbis who participated in that program included graduates of Orthodox, Conservative and transdenominational rabbinical schools.
Pamela Barmash, a Conservative rabbi and a professor of Hebrew Bible at Washington University in St. Louis, who is not involved in Word-by-Word, said the absence of non-Orthodox rabbis means “the full orchestra of voices that make up the Jewish community is not there.”
“We only see part of the colors in the spectrum,” she said. “We only see pieces of the Jewish world and we’re missing much of the vitality and creativity and initiative that is found in the rest of the Jewish world.”
Wolkenfeld is an alumna of several Jewish educational institutions and said she feels the increasing gender diversity she sees in institutions of Torah learning has been a boon. Soon, she hopes, some of the women she has studied with will see their names on those institutions’ bookshelves.
“As opposed to where we were, let’s say, 20 years ago,” she said, “I think we now have had the chance to start reaping the benefits of what happens when you have both men and women involved in learning Torah and teaching Torah and disseminating Torah.”
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The post A digital Jewish library aims to add women’s Torah scholarship to its shelves — by helping them write it appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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What’s funny about living next to a Nazi?
This article contains spoilers for the film My Neighbor Adolf.
In the oddball fiction film My Neighbor Adolf, a Holocaust survivor living in 1960s South America believes his new neighbor is Adolf Hitler; in fact he’s so sure, he sets out to prove it. As he researches and compares notes, we learn a lot about Hitler — his aversion to drinking and smoking, his short temper, his love for chess. Yet somehow, the film has little to say about the Holocaust itself.
The film, directed by Leon Prudovsky, opens in 1934; title cards tell us, vaguely, that we are in Eastern Europe, but savvy audiences will be able to recognize it is Poland from the language. There, our protagonist, Marek Polsky (David Hayman), is a champion chess player with a big loving family. Then, the film flashes forward to 1960; now, he lives alone in South America — exactly where is unclear — the sole survivor of his family.
The film’s writers have an aversion to specifics. Most of Marek’s experience during the war is obscured, with the exception of a few small hints. When he’s in the shower, a number tattooed on his arm is visible. He asks his neighbor Hermann Herzog (Udo Kier) to keep his dog — a German Shepherd, of course — under control, because, he says, “I don’t like dogs,” an allusion to guard dogs in concentration camps. That’s about it.
Not all Holocaust films go into graphic details about the horrors their characters experienced. But they generally provide enough basic details to give the story some substance, like what camps they were at, when they were separated from their family, how they ended up in their new country or what kinds of emotional scars they now bear. My Neighbor Adolf skips all of this, making the Holocaust more of a rushed plot point than a source of emotional depth. Even Marek’s Jewish identity feels sidelined; it’s primarily limited to his visits to the Israeli embassy — where he is trying to convince officials that Hermann is Hitler — his penchant for homemade pickles and a few books he owns in Hebrew.
Still, whatever unspecified horror Marek went through in the Holocaust, it made him bitter and paranoid. He decides Hermann must be Hitler after seeing the man’s eyes, which he usually hides behind sunglasses; Marek believes he met Hitler at a 1934 chess tournament and tells the Israeli embassy he could never forget those eyes. While doing intensive research on Hitler — including buying a copy of Mein Kampf — Marek also notes that Hermann shares other qualities with Hitler, such as being left-handed and enjoying painting.
In order to get closer to Hermann and prove he is Hitler, Marek strikes up a friendship with his neighbor. In a series of events that feel more fitting for a buddy comedy than a film about Hitler, the two play chess, share pickles and even spy on an undressing woman together (coincidentally). For the sake of finding the truth, it makes sense that Marek would be willing to play a chess game or two with the person he believes is responsible for the Holocaust. But it seems improbable that it would go as far as sharing heartwarming conversations.
The film’s eventual big reveal is as underdeveloped as the rest of the film: Hermann tells Marek that he was forced to be a Hitler impersonator and now makes money from Nazi fanatics around the world. But he doesn’t quite explain how or to what end. Did the Nazi government force him? Did a non-governmental Nazi fan club see a way to market Hitler?
If the premise wasn’t already confusing enough, Hermann also reveals it was actually him, not Hitler, at Marek’s long-ago chess tournament. Is the film suggesting Hitler died before 1945, and a body double was used to keep the Reich alive? Or was Hermann just a stand-in for Hitler at events the Fuhrer didn’t want to actually attend?
Either way, this implies Hermann was cooperating with the Nazis. Yet for some reason, this revelation seems to win Marek over. Though at the beginning of the film Marek mutters “Bloody Krauts” under his breath multiple times every time he sees his neighbor, even before suspecting he is Hitler, by the end, Marek has become fond of Hermann, even going so far as to warn him that the Israeli Embassy is sending officials to his house.
It seems as though the movie wants us to think that, in the end, both men are victims of the Third Reich in their own ways. They have more in common than they have differences. It’s a lesson in empathy and humanity.
Except for one problem: Hermann is an antisemite.
In what is apparently meant to be a heartwarming moment, he tells Marek: “You may be a Jew, Mr. Polsky, but you are a good neighbor.” But, of course, this indicates that Hermann shares the prejudices that led to the slaughter of Marek’s family. Yes, he’s not the Fuhrer, but how much does that actually matter when the ideology is the same? Even Hitler had Jewish friends — that doesn’t negate his actions. Perhaps Hermann is meant to be the embodiment of the culpability of every German, that they all could be Hitler no matter how congenial they are. But even if that’s the case, it’s unclear how Marek, after losing his whole family due to the culpability of everyday citizens, is able to ignore the man’s prejudices and continue the friendship.
The expectation that Marek would ignore Hermann’s antisemitism trivializes the harm such beliefs can cause. An antisemite that likes homemade pickles is still an antisemite.
My Neighbor Adolf opens in theaters on January 9.
The post What’s funny about living next to a Nazi? appeared first on The Forward.
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A Message From the Torah for 2026: Live Now in a Way You’ll Be Proud of Later
A Torah scroll. Photo: RabbiSacks.org.
I have always cherished Ludwig van Beethoven’s last words, spoken on his deathbed: “Plaudite, amici, comedia finita est.” “Applaud, my friends, the comedy is over.”
This kind of blunt honesty only comes from people facing their final moments. The masks drop, the posturing stops, and what’s left is pure truth.
Steve Jobs was diagnosed with terminal cancer in October 2003. Remarkably, he lived for another eight years, during which he became deeply reflective, increasingly conscious of his legacy and of life’s meaning in ways he had never been before.
In the address he gave at the Stanford commencement in 2005, he told the graduating class and their families, “You can’t connect the dots looking forward — you can only connect them looking backward.”
He didn’t say it explicitly, but his words came from a deep awareness of his own mortality. The message was clear. He was looking back on his life, taking stock, and seeing patterns that only become clear near the end. When death feels real, clarity follows.
Jobs also talked to the Stanford students about his failure, about being fired from the company he started, and about death itself. Looking back, his speech feels less like a graduation talk and more like a final message. It wasn’t about money or material things, but about meaning. Some things in life matter. Others don’t. Some things are just noise. Others have real substance.
History is full of moments like this, when great figures, as their lives are coming to a close, suddenly see what really matters. Near the end of his life, Thomas Jefferson wrote to his beloved daughter, Martha Jefferson Randolph, “The last pang of life is in parting from you!”
What worried him most about death wasn’t losing power or fame, but the pain of being without those he loved. When all is said and done, relationships with our loved ones are what really matter, and our career or achievements pale into insignificance by comparison.
Sir Isaac Newton expressed something similar, though in a different way, as he looked back on his incredible life. Newton, whose discoveries changed how we see the universe, spoke with great humility: “I do not know what I may seem to the world — but as to myself, I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the seashore, and diverting myself now and then in finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.”
Even after a lifetime of achievement, he didn’t focus on his success. Instead, he saw clearly how much was still unknown, and how even greatness can feel small when you look at life’s bigger picture.
This is the emotional and moral setting at the start of Parshat Vayechi, which holds the Torah’s great final conversation. Jacob is dying, and he knows it. In his last moments, he gathers his children and speaks to them — not as a nostalgic father looking back, but as someone who truly understands who they are and what each one needs to hear.
If we expect deathbed speeches to be warm and fuzzy, Jacob’s version of one will come as a surprise. Some of his words are blessings, but others are more like rebukes. Reuven is reminded he didn’t reach his potential. Shimon and Levi are called out for their violence. Yehuda is elevated to family leadership, but is also reminded that this role comes with responsibility, not privilege.
This isn’t a “feel good” speech. It’s a speech that values truth over comfort. And that’s exactly the lesson of Jacob’s last words: legacy isn’t about saying nice things, but about saying what’s needed. Jacob isn’t focused on how his sons feel right now. He cares about who they will become after he’s gone, and how his words will echo through their lives and future generations.
Which brings us to today’s world, where we tend to focus more on our image while we’re alive and often don’t think about how we’ll be remembered. Social media in particular has taught us to always project an image that’s curated and perfect in the here and now, with no thought about the long term impact.
Everything is about appearances and how things are seen in the moment. We tell our own stories as they happen, believing that if we control how things look, we can control the outcome.
Vayechi breaks that illusion. Jacob reveals something uncomfortable: you can’t write your own legacy. He is brutally honest with his sons, and in doing so, he also faces his own role as a father. He doesn’t hide the truth. He points out their patterns, their tendencies, their choices — not to shame them, but to help them see both their strengths and weaknesses, take responsibility, and grow into the best version of themselves.
Vayechi is honest, but it is not hopeless. Yaakov doesn’t say, “This is who you are, and you can’t change.” He says, “This is who you have been — now choose what to do with it.” Steve Jobs ended his Stanford speech with the famous line, “Stay hungry. Stay foolish.”
But the line before is even more telling. He called death “life’s change agent,” the force that clears away what doesn’t matter to make room for what does. The message is clear: it’s better to let that kind of clarity shape our lives now, instead of waiting until the end.
Vayechi teaches this lesson. When we reflect honestly, death doesn’t make life smaller — it makes it sharper. It removes pretense and leaves us with what really matters. Seeing our lives from a distance can be cleansing. The key is to live that way now, so we won’t need to revise it later.
It’s an idea that finds a moving expression in Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning. Frankl describes a woman who was his patient reflecting on her life, a life that was shaped by suffering and sacrifice as she cared for a severely disabled son.
Viewing her life as if from its end, she concludes — through tears — that it was not a failure. On the contrary, it was filled with meaning. The pain had turned her life into one of love and responsibility.
Frankl’s point is devastatingly simple: when life is seen through the lens of its conclusion, meaning often emerges where none had been visible before.
Steve Jobs was right: you can only connect the dots of a life by looking back. But Parshat Vayechi shows us we don’t have to wait until the end to start that process. Jacob connects the dots for his sons while he’s still alive — but more importantly, while they all still have many years to live.
The challenge he gives us is simple: live now in a way that will make sense later, when we look back. Because when the full story is told, the dots will connect, whether we like the picture or not. The only thing we really control is how we choose to draw them from the start.
The author is a rabbi in Beverly Hills, California.
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Israel Cannot Outsource Its Survival
Israel’s Iron Dome anti-missile system intercepts rockets launched from the Gaza Strip, as seen from Sderot, Israel May 13, 2023 Photo: REUTERS/Ammar Awad
Israel’s security doctrine has been shaped by a harsh but undeniable reality: hesitation invites criticism, but delay can invite catastrophe.
This is not a posture of arrogance or defiance; it is an expression of responsibility toward all of Israel’s citizens. For Israel, the cost of miscalculation is not theoretical, it is measured in lives. From its founding, Israel has faced existential threats that no other modern democracy has had to confront so consistently or so closely.
Surrounded by hostile actors, terrorist organizations, and regimes that openly question its right to exist, Israel has learned that survival depends on clarity, preparedness, and the willingness to act when necessary, even when such actions are unpopular internationally. Waiting for consensus or permission has historically proven to be something that could endanger Israel’s very existence.
This does not mean Israel rejects peace. On the contrary, Israel has repeatedly demonstrated a willingness to pursue peace where peace is genuinely possible, and cooperation where cooperation enhances security. Peace treaties with former adversaries, regional partnerships, and humanitarian initiatives all testify to Israel’s desire for stability and coexistence. But peace cannot be built on unenforceable promises or blind faith in actors who have repeatedly violated agreements and norms.
Israel will not gamble its existence on assurances that cannot be guaranteed or enforced. Sovereignty, in this context, is not a symbolic concept or a political slogan. It is the concrete ability to defend oneself when no one else will, or when others cannot act in time. Sovereignty means maintaining independent judgment, operational freedom, and the resolve to protect one’s population under all circumstances.
History has taught the Jewish people an enduring and painful lesson: ultimate responsibility for Jewish survival rests with the Jewish State itself. Centuries of persecution, abandonment, and broken promises culminated in a clear understanding that security outsourced is security endangered. Israel’s independence is not only political; it is moral and existential.
Alliances matter. International partnerships, shared values, and moral clarity play an important role in strengthening Israel’s position and legitimacy. Israel values its allies and understands the importance of cooperation in a complex global environment. But when survival is at stake, alliances cannot replace independent decision-making.
No ally can assume responsibility for Israel’s existence, and none should be expected to.
When Israel acts to protect itself, it often ends up protecting others as well. By confronting extremist ideologies, disrupting terrorist networks, and standing as a frontline defender against radicalization, Israel contributes to global security, even when this reality is uncomfortable or inconvenient for the international community to acknowledge.
In the end, Israel’s guiding principle remains clear: peace where possible, strength where necessary, and sovereignty as the final shield.
History has shown that when Israel defends itself decisively, it not only safeguards its own people but helps prevent greater instability beyond its borders. Whether the world is ready to admit it or not, Israel’s self-defense has often served as a defense of shared values and global security itself.
Sabine Sterk is the CEO of Time To Stand Up For Israel.