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An afternoon with Shayna Maydele, possibly the most Jewish dog in New York
(New York Jewish Week) — In my decades as a journalist, I’ve interviewed some pretty powerful, important and, yes, even famous people. But never before have I been so excited — starstruck, even — to meet a subject, and this one wasn’t even human.
I was positively giddy to visit the Upper East Side home last week of Shayna Maydele, a small, white dog who has captured the hearts of thousands of adoring fans on Instagram. Shayna Maydele’s popularity isn’t just owing to her adorable punim — though her punim is 100% adorable, as as this committed fluffy-dog lover can attest. It’s also because her Instagram is filled with charming, authentic expressions of Jewish pride, as well as humorous takes on life in New York City.
Leaving aside the big question of whether or not a dog can be Jewish (I say yes!) — or even if owning a pet is a Jewish thing to do — every Friday, Shayna Maydele’s account features a heartwarming “Shabbat shalom” message. The Shabbat photos often include homemade challah, other times they might feature her “Papa,” or her owner’s dad. I always let out a squeal of delight when I see the posts, and I’m hardly alone: “I wake up each a [sic] Friday and await such good posts,” wrote one commenter on a Shabbat post earlier this month. “Shabbat Shalom, Shayna!”
“My Shabbat posts get the most likes out of everything,” Shayna Maydele’s owner, Heidi Silverstone, told me.
Since emerging on social media in 2019, Shayna Maydele (whose name means “beautiful girl” in Yiddish) has garnered nearly 9,000 (and counting) fans from all over the world — many of whom go beyond simply “liking” or commenting on a post. The Jewish National Fund, for example, has, unbidden, planted a tree in her honor; she also played an important role in the engagement of one couple who happened to meet her at a dog park. Shayna Maydele’s Shabbat messages have been shared by a wide variety of high-profile social media accounts, including Humans of Judaism, Jewish Memes Only and several of the New York Jewish Week’s partner sites, including Hey Alma and The Nosher. Her followers include Grammy-winning Jewish musician Joanie Leeds and Jewish comedian Hannah Einbender, the star of the HBO comedy “Hacks.”
It’s a pretty remarkable following considering Silverstone — who is also Shayna Maydele’s social media manager, if you will — doesn’t have any social media accounts of her own, nor did she set out to make her pup a star. It all started in June 2019, when Silverstone and her husband, Rob, flew to Arizona to pick up their puppy from the breeder. (Shayna is a coton de tulear, a breed made famous by Barbra Streisand, who notoriously cloned her pup. The breeder later told Silverstone she also sold Streisand her famous dogs. “I’m not sure if they’re related,” Silverstone said of their mutual pets, “but I can pretend they are!”)
So many friends and family members had wanted to see pictures of the new puppy, said Silverstone, that she figured it would be easier to set up an Instagram account. “I didn’t make it private — I figured nobody’s gonna know her,” she explained. “And then, all of a sudden, people were following.”
Shayna Maydele’s account began to really take off when the Jewish content started, which happened organically. “It wasn’t a conscious thing — it was Shabbos and I put a yarmulke on her head and said, ‘Shabbat Shalom,’ thinking I’m wishing my family and friends a Shabbat shalom.” Followers took notice. “People were liking it so much I thought, ‘OK, we’ll do a Shabbat shalom post every week.’” Other Jewish holidays soon followed.
Heidi Silverstone poses with her coton de tulear, Shayna Maydele, whom she got in June 2019. (New York Jewish Week)
“The Jewish thing is just normal — it’s a part of our life,” said Silverstone, who chatted with me in her kitchen as Shayna Maydele, sitting beneath the table, interjected with an occasional woof.
Silverstone and her spouse are members of Park Avenue Synagogue; while they used to attend Shabbat services regularly, these days they are more likely to stream them. The parlor floor of the family brownstone is filled with Jewish art and Judaica (as well as some cool New York City treasures, such as coasters inspired by subway tokens).
In one corner of the the kitchen, where Shayna Maydele’s dog food sat untouched, hangs a framed Passover bagels recipe, handwritten by Silverstone’s grandmother, as well as a drawing her son Max made as a child of the Torah and other Jewish ritual objects made of cheese. (Max is now 25 and a fourth-year cantorial student at the Jewish Theological Seminary.) Around the corner is a painting made by a Shayna Maydele fan, a beautifully rendered version of an Instagram post featuring her holding a tub of Temp-Tee Whipped Cream Cheese.
A lifetime of shul-going means that there are enough kippahs in the home for Shayna Maydele to rarely pose wearing the same one twice — Silverstone estimates that a basket in the corner of the dining room contains some 200 skullcaps in a variety of textures and colors. Silverstone makes an effort to coordinate Shayna Maydele’s kippah to other accouterments that may be in the weekly Shabbat photo; on the day of my visit, Silverstone selects an orange kippah to match a painted ceramic tzedakah box, one that Silverstone had previously gifted to her grandmother.
When it’s time for the photo shoot, Silverstone’s “assistant” — that’s Silverstone’s husband, Rob, who is vice president of finance at media company Dotdash Meredith — emerges from his upstairs office. I had been warned that dogs, like babies, are notoriously difficult photo subjects, but on that December afternoon — with Shayna Maydele placed atop a low table next to the tzedakah box, and with Rob deftly sticking his fingers in Shayna Maydele’s mouth to elicit a smile — the whole adorable thing is over in minutes.
These days, Silverstone typically posts three or four times a week to Shanya Maydele’s account. Though she has no formal media background — a former dental hygienist, she now works as a workshop instructor for an au pair program — Silverstone said she is coached by her son, Michael, 28, who, in addition to working at a tech company, has his own photography business.
In addition to the Jewish content, there is other shtick. My favorites are the “new business ventures” that feature the coton posing beside or atop something someone has discarded on the street. (In one recent example, Shayna Maydele is seen in front of a play kitchen. “Fine dining on the lovely streets of NYC,” the caption reads. “I will cook and serve delicious meals prepared in this top of the line toy kitchen. FREE dog hair in every bite!”)
“We have so much trash on the street,” Silverstone said. “What’s really funny is that people in New York get it — they know what it is. But I have followers from all over the world. So probably, when they come to the city, they’re going to be looking for the streets paved in garbage.”
But the Jewish posts seem to be the heart and soul of the account, and Silverstone said she is moved by the positive reaction she gets from Shayna Maydele’s followers, both Jewish and not. She makes a conscious effort to define Jewish terms and holidays so they are accessible to everyone: On Simchat Torah in October, a photo of Shanya Maydele posing with a stuffed Torah is accompanied by an explanation of the holiday.
Though Silverstone jokes she spends “too much time” on the account, it’s clear the family is getting just as much joy out of the process as Shayna Maydele’s followers get from the results. When she hears from followers who are inspired to light candles or do something Jewish, “I love that,” she said.
Considering the impetus of the account was simply to save some time, Silverstone seems overjoyed that Shayna Maydele’s account is helping people learn more about Judaism.
“I guess my goal is just to expand reach — and if her Jewish comments could soften anyone’s opinion on Judaism or get another ally, I think that’s a pretty good goal,” Silverstone said when pressed on her hopes for the account. “But I certainly didn’t go into it that way.”
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The post An afternoon with Shayna Maydele, possibly the most Jewish dog in New York appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Chaim Beer’s new book revolves around J. Opatoshu’s novella ‘A Day in Regensburg’
„לווייתן ברוח“ פֿון חיים באר
פֿאַרלאַג: עם עובד (2026)
303 זײַטן
די טעג איז אַרויס אין ישׂראל אַ נײַ, אייגנאַרטיק בוך, „לווייתן ברוח“ (אַ וואַלפֿיש אין ווינט), פֿונעם אָנגעזעענעם ראָמאַנען־שרײַבער און עסיייִסט חיים באר. דאָס איז דאָס 17סטע בוך זײַנע, וואָס אַלע פֿון זיי ווערן פֿאַררעכנט אין ישׂראל פֿאַר דער „סמעטענע“ פֿון דער העברעיִשער ליטעראַטור. איינער פֿון זײַנע פֿריִערדיקע ביכער האָט מײַסטעריש באַשריבן די באַציִונגען צווישן ח.־נ. ביאַליק, ש.י. עגנון און י.-ח. ברענער.
דאָס נײַע בוך איז אַ ביסל שווער צו דעפֿינירן: מע לייענט עס ווי עס וואָלט געווען אַ שפּאַנענדיקער ראָמאַן, אָבער עס געהערט גיכער צום זשאַנער פֿאַקטפּראָזע (non-fiction בלע״ז). אַלץ וואָס ער דערציילט אינעם בוך האָט טאַקע פּאַסירט. הייסט עס, אַז דער מחבר פֿון בוך איז גלײַכצײַטיק דער נאַראַטאָר: ער דערציילט וועגן פֿיגורן וואָס ער קען, מיט זייערע אמתע נעמען, און וועגן געשעענישן וואָס ער האָט אַליין דורכגעלעבט. און הגם „לווייתן ברוח“ איז געשריבן אין חיים בארס פּרעכטיקן העברעיִש — ער איז דאָך אַ גרויסער קענער פֿון די שפּראַך-אוצרות און דערצו אַ בקי אין די קליינע אותיות — האָט דאָס בוך אויך אַ סך צו טאָן מיט ייִדיש.
קודם-כּל, איז די הויפּטטעמע פֿונעם בוך יוסף אָפּאַטאָשוס נאָוועלע „אַ טאָג אין רעגענסבורג“, וואָס איז אַרויס אין יאָר 1933. און השנית, אין משך פֿונעם בוך באַקענט זיך דער מחבר (און דער נאַראַטאָר) מיט אַ ריי ייִדישע שרײַבערס און פֿאָרשערס — י. ל. פּרץ, ש. אַנ-סקי, מאַקס עריק, דבֿ סדן (שטאָק), חנא שמערוק און נאָך אַ סך אַנדערע ייִדישע פֿיגורן וואָס שטייען אויף תּחיית-המתים.
דער סיפּור-המעשׂה הייבט זיך אָן אין אַ ביכערקראָם אין ירושלים מיט פֿערציק יאָר צוריק. באר קויפֿט אַן עקזעמפּלאַר פֿונעם בוך „ספֿר חסידים“, אַן אַשכּנזיש-העברעיִשן חיבור פֿונעם 12טן יאָרהונדערט, און טרעפֿט צופֿעליק אינעם בוך נאָך אַ ביכל: די העברעיִשע איבערזעצונג פֿון יוסף אָפּאַטאָשוס ראָמאַן „אַ טאָג אין רעגענסבורג“ („יום ברגנספורק“). דער פֿאַרקויפֿער, וואָס איז נישט קיין עם-האָרץ, זאָגט אים: „זאָלסט וויסן אַז דאָס בוך איז אַ ווילדע מציאה!“ (די צוויי לעצטע ווערטער זײַנען אין בוך געשריבן אויף ייִדיש, ווי אַ סך אַנדערע ייִדישע אויסדרוקן וואָס באר ניצט).
אין אויטאָבוס, אויפֿן וועג אַהיים, הייבט באר אָן לייענען אָפּאַטאָשוס נאָוועלע, און תּיכּף ווערט ער אַנטציקט. היות ווי חיים באר איז אַליין אַ רעדאַקטאָר פֿון אַ ביכער-פֿאַרלאַג („עם עובד“), קווענקלט ער זיך, וואָס צו טאָן מיט דער נאָוועלע: זאָל ער אויסאַרבעטן די אַלטפֿרענקישע איבערזעצונג? זאָל ער עס איבערזעצן פֿון דאָס נײַ? צום סוף, קומט צו אים אין זינען גאָר אַ נײַער אײַנפֿאַל: אַנשטאָט איבערזעצן די נאָוועלע וועט ער דערציילן וועגן איר. במילא ווערט „לוויתן ברוח“ אַ דערציילונג וועגן אַ דערציילונג.
אין דער צווישנצײַט באַקענט זיך באר מיט דער געשיכטע פֿון דער אַלטער ייִדישער קהילה פֿון רעגענסבורג. די שטאָט געפֿינט זיך אין דרום־דײַטשלאַנד, צווישן מינכן און נירנבערג, אויפֿן טײַך דונײַ. דאָרטן האָבן אינעם 12טן יאָרהונדערט געלעבט די בעלי-תּוספֿות און די תּלמידים פֿון רבנו תּם. אינעם 13טן יאָרהונדערט, זײַנען דאָרטן באַרימט געוואָרן דער עטישער שרײַבער און קבליסט ר׳ יהודה החסיד מיט זײַנע תּלמידים, באַקאַנט ווי די „חסידי אשכּנז“ (די דאָזיקע „חסידים“ האָבן, אַגבֿ, גאָרנישט צו טאָן מיט די תּלמידים פֿונעם בעל־שם־טובֿ).
נישט געקוקט אויף די בלוטיקע קרײַצצוגן פֿון יענע צײַטן האָבן ר׳ יהודהס תּלמידים אָנגעשריבן „ספֿר חסידים“: אַ וויכטיקע שאַפֿונג פֿון אַ פֿאַנאַטישער און פֿאַנטאַסטישער פֿרומקייט און עס האָט זיך אַנטוויקלט אין רעגענסבורג אַ חשובֿע קהילה און אַ וויכטיקע ישיבֿה, וואָס זענען פֿאַרבליבן ביזן גירוש-רעגענסבורג אין יאָר 1519, ווען אַלע ייִדן זײַנען פֿאַרשיקט געוואָרן פֿון שטאָט. דער בית-עולם איז דעמאָלט פֿאַרשוועכט געוואָרן, און די מצבֿות האָט מען באַנוצט ווי בוי-מאַטעריעל.
אָפּאַטאָשוס „אַ טאָג אין רעגענסבורג“ דערציילט וועגן די לעצטע טעג פֿון דער ייִדישער קהילה דאָרט — אַ חתונה אין שטעטל, מיט כּלי־זמרים און חבֿרה-שוישפּילערס, פֿריילעכע באַנקעטן און באַלן — וואָס שטעלן זיך אָפּ מיט אַ מאָל, ווען די ייִדן באַקומען די בשׂורה פֿונעם גירוש. שטעלט באר אַזאַ קשיא: „צי האָט דער מחבר פֿון בוך באַנוצט אַ ליטעראַרישע טאַקטיק, כּדי די לייענערס זאָלן ווערן אַזוי באַצויבערט פֿונעם קאַרנאַוואַל, אַז זיי וועלן זיך נישט ריכטן אויף דער טראַגעדיע וואָס דערוואַרט זיי?“
במשך פֿונעם בוך לייענט מען ווי באר באַקענט זיך מיט פֿאַרשיידענע ענינים וואָס האָבן אַ שייכות סײַ מיט אָפּאַטאָשוס נאָוועלע און סײַ מיט רעגענסבורג. אָט, למשל, שילדערט אָפּאַטאָשו אינעם בוך אַ קאַרנאַוואַל, וווּ עס באַווײַזט זיך „דער שפּילמאַן“ — אַן אַרכעטיפּ אין דער ייִדישער ליטעראַטור וואָס אַ צאָל ליטעראַטור־פֿאָרשער האָבן באַצייכנט ווי אַ מין ייִדישער טרובאַדאָר, וואָס האָט כּבֿיכול געוואַנדערט פֿון איין קהילה צו דער אַנדערער. דערצו באַקענט זיך באר, און במילא די לייענערס, מיט אליהו בחור; מיט פֿאַרשיידענע ייִדישע אַרויסגעבערס און דרוקערס; מיט ייִדישע רופֿאטעס; מיט דער אויטאָביאָגראַפֿיע פֿון גליקל האַמעל און מיט נאָך אַ סך אַנדערע ווערק אין אַלט-ייִדיש און אין נײַ-ייִדיש, ווי „דער דיבוק“ און „בײַ נאַכט אויפֿן אַלטן מאַרק“.
צוזאַמען מיט בארן באַזוכן מיר געוועזענע ייִדישע אינסטיטוציעס, ווי די ענגע ייִדישע ביכערקראָם אויף ברענער גאַס אין תּל-אָבֿיבֿ. „וואָס ברענגט אײַך צו אונדז, חבֿר ׳בער׳, נאָך אַ שאָק מיט יאָרן?“ (אַזוי רופֿן זיי דעם שרײַבער מיט אַ טיפֿן ייִדישן אַקצענט.) ענטפֿערט ער אַז ער זוכט ביכער פֿון אָפּאַטאָשון. ער ווייסט גאַנץ גוט אַז די צוויי פֿאַרקויפֿערס „פֿילן זיך אַז זיי זײַנען די היטערס פֿון די אוצרות פֿון ייִדיש, און יעדעס מאָל וואָס זיי לאָזן אַרויס אַ בוך פֿון דעם שוץ-קעלער איז אַ פֿאַרברעכן, כּמעט ווי זיי וואָלטן עס מפֿקיר געווען“. צום סוף גיבן זיי אים דאָס בוך, אָבער מיט אַ וואָרענונג אַז אויב ער דאַרף עס נישט מער, זאָל ער עס אין גיכן צוריקגעבן.
אין חיים בארן איז אַ פּנים אַרײַן אַ מין רעגענסבורגער דיבוק: איצט וויל ער שוין אַלץ וויסן וועגן רעגענסבורג. כאָטש נאָך די צוויי גרויסע גירושים (דער פֿון 1519 און דער פֿון די נאַציס) איז גאָרנישט נישט געבליבן פֿון דער רעגנסבורגער קהילה, וויל ער זען יעדעס רעשטל מיט זײַנע אייגענע אויגן. פֿאָרט ער קיין רעגענסבורג זוכנדיק די ברעקלעך פֿון די ייִדישע מצבֿות, וואָס מע קאָן נאָך זען דאָ און דאָרטן אין די מויערן און אין די אַלטע הײַזער. ווײַזט זיך אויס אַז הײַנט צו טאָג קאָן מען אַפֿילו קריגן אין רעגענסבורג אַ מאַפּע, וווּ עס זײַנען מאַרקירט די גענויע ערטער פון די מצבֿות. גייט חיים באר זוכן „די נעכטיקע טעג“, וווּ ער אַנטדעקט, למשל, אַ מצבֿה פֿון אַ פּעסל בת יוסף, וואָס איז געשטאָרבן אין יאָר 1482.
אָבער פֿאַר וואָס איז חיים באר אַזוי פֿאַרכּישופֿט געוואָרן דווקא פֿון „אַ טאָג אין רעגענסבורג“? אַ פּנים פּרוּווט ער מיט דער הילף פֿון דער נאָוועלע פֿאַרשטיין ווי אַזוי מע לעבט אינעם שאָטן פֿון אַ קומענדיקן שטורעם. דאָס בוך „לווייתן ברוח“ איז געשריבן געוואָרן אין דער צײַט פֿון דער קריג וואָס האָט זיך אויסגעבראָכן דעם 7סטן אָקטאָבער 2023, און וואָס האָט, צום באַדויערן, זיך נאָך אַלץ נישט געענדיקט. אין די כּמעט דרײַ יאָר האָבן מיר, ישׂראלים, אַ סך געטראַכט וועגן די טראַגעדיעס וואָס מיר און אונדזערע שכנים האָבן איבערגעלעבט, און וועגן די וואָס קאָנען נאָך קומען, חלילה.
„הגם די נאָוועלע פֿון אָפּאַטאָשו דערציילט וועגן דער ווײַטער פֿאַרגאַנגענהייט — שרײַבט באר — פֿאַרנעמט זי זיך אין דער אמתן מיט אַן אייביקער מענטשלעכער סיטואַציע: ווי מענטשן קען זײַן אַזוי קורצזיכטיק און נישט זען די דראַמאַטישע און קריטישע מאָמענטן וואָס לויערן אויף זיי.“
The post Chaim Beer’s new book revolves around J. Opatoshu’s novella ‘A Day in Regensburg’ appeared first on The Forward.
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The Jewish Brigade fought fascism in Italy. Now its flags spark protests.
(JTA) — When the Jewish Brigade appears today in Italian public debate, it is rarely about the British Army unit, formed largely by Jewish volunteers from Mandatory Palestine, that was sent to fight in Italy in the final months of the Second World War.
The Jewish Brigade has become a screen onto which other conflicts are projected: Zionism and anti-Zionism, antisemitism, Israel and Palestine, the meaning of antifascism and the ownership of public memory.
This is why recent tensions in Milan and Rome during Italy’s Liberation Day commemorations were not simply disputes about flags or parades. They were symptoms of a deeper problem: the difficulty of allowing history to remain history, while also recognising that memory is always political.
On April 25, Italy celebrates its liberation from Nazi occupation and fascist rule. It is the most important civil holiday of the Italian Republic, a foundational moment in the country’s democratic identity. But precisely because it is so symbolic, it has always been a stage on which the political tensions of the present are acted out.
The Jewish Brigade occupies a peculiar place in this story. Militarily, its contribution to the Allied campaign in Italy was limited. The Brigade arrived late at the front, in early 1945, and fought for only a short time. Its soldiers were deployed in Romagna, north of Ravenna, along the Lamone, and later near Riolo Terme and the Senio river. About 50 of its soldiers died.
Yet to measure the Brigade only by military impact is to misunderstand its historical significance. Its importance was symbolic, political and psychological. These were Jews in uniform, fighting under a flag marked by the Star of David, against the army of the regime that had attempted to annihilate European Jewry. For many of the volunteers, especially those who were committed Zionists, service in Italy represented more than participation in the Allied war effort. It was a form of Jewish self-assertion, and a claim to political dignity before the world.
This is one reason the Brigade mattered then. It also helps explain why it matters now.
After the war, the memory of the Jewish Brigade did not immediately become central to Italian public memory. For decades it remained relatively marginal, preserved above all within parts of the Jewish community and in the recollections of veterans. Its later rediscovery, especially from the 1990s and 2000s, coincided with new struggles over the meaning of April 25. Some Italian Jewish communities began to bring the Brigade’s flag into Liberation Day commemorations to remind the public that Jews had not only been victims of fascism and Nazism. They had also been combatants, liberators and political actors.
That reminder was, and remains, historically legitimate. Italian Jews belong fully to the history of the Resistance and to the history of the Republic that emerged from the defeat of fascism. The Jews of Mandatory Palestine who served in the Jewish Brigade also belong to the history of Italy’s liberation, however brief their time at the front. They fought in Italy, against German forces, alongside other Allied soldiers and alongside the reborn Italian army. To deny their place in that history is not a neutral act of historical correction. It is an exclusion.
At the same time, it is clear that the Brigade has become controversial not only because of what it did in 1945, but because of what its flag is understood to mean today. The flag of the Jewish Brigade is virtually identical to the later flag of the State of Israel. For some, this makes it a proud symbol of Jewish resistance to Nazism and of the Jewish contribution to liberation. For others, especially in the context of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, it is read primarily as a symbol of Israel and therefore as a political provocation.
This is the heart of the problem. The dispute is often presented as a debate about history, but it is in fact a debate about the present. People argue about the Brigade because they are really arguing about the legitimacy of Zionism, about whether anti-Zionism can become antisemitism, about whether Israel should be understood as a national project or an imperial one, and about what antifascism should mean today. These questions generate fierce disagreements, and April 25 gives them a highly charged public stage.
There are two competing visions of Liberation Day. One sees April 25 primarily as a historically defined Italian commemoration: the day on which the country remembers those who fought between 1943 and 1945 to free Italy from Nazi-fascism. In this interpretation, the Jewish Brigade clearly has a place, because it took part in that struggle. Palestinian flags, by contrast, are harder to place within that specific historical frame, not because Palestinians were fascists, but because they were not participants in the liberation of Italy.
The other vision is more dynamic and internationalist. It sees April 25 not only as the commemoration of a past event, but as an annual reaffirmation of resistance to oppression in the present. In this interpretation, the presence of Palestinian flags, Ukrainian flags, Iranian dissidents or other contemporary causes can be understood as part of a broader antifascist language. April 25 becomes not only the memory of Italy’s liberation, but a ritual of solidarity with those who resist domination elsewhere.
The Jewish Brigade forces us to confront this tension. It belongs to the historical April 25 because it helped liberate Italy. It also belongs to the broader moral history of antifascism because it embodied Jewish armed resistance to Nazism. But its memory is now inseparable from the unresolved political and psychological impact of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict on Italian, and indeed international, public life.
This does not mean that every criticism of Israel is antisemitic. It is not. Nor does it mean that Jewish history should be used to silence Palestinian suffering. It should not. But it does mean that excluding Jews from an antifascist march, insulting people carrying the symbols of the Jewish Brigade, or treating Jewish participation in Liberation Day as illegitimate is a profound historical and moral failure. Antifascism without Jews is not antifascism. An April 25 in which Jews are tolerated only if they hide the symbols they decide to choose is not a healthy democratic ritual.
The answer is not to turn the Jewish Brigade into a weapon in today’s political battles. Nor is it to erase it in the name of avoiding controversy. The answer is to recover the complexity of its history. The Brigade was a military unit, but also a symbol. Its soldiers were liberators in Italy, survivors or relatives of victims of European catastrophe, Zionists of different kinds and human beings who often carried grief, hope and a desire for revenge. Their story links the Holocaust, the Second World War, the end of empire, the birth of Israel and the politics of memory in postwar Italy.
That is why the Jewish Brigade matters today. It reminds us that history cannot be reduced to slogans, that memory can both illuminate and distort, and that democratic societies must make room for complexity and uncomfortable truths.
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of JTA or its parent company, 70 Faces Media.
The post The Jewish Brigade fought fascism in Italy. Now its flags spark protests. appeared first on The Forward.
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Jerusalem Pride march turns toward the Knesset as LGBTQ Israelis eye pivotal election
(JTA) — JERUSALEM — The Pride march in Israel’s capital city changed its traditional route on Thursday to end near the Knesset, in a show of force ahead of elections that could have major implications for the status of LGBTQ Israelis.
“If the current government has a problem with LGBTQ+ people, then the current government can go home, because the community is here to stay,” opposition leader Yair Lapid said during the culminating rally.
Jerusalem’s Pride march is always more muted than the raucous celebration that takes place each June in Tel Aviv. But this year, the looming election, which must be held by Oct. 27, galvanized participation.
More than 10,000 Israelis gathered in Sacher Park for the rally, according to Noa Fisher of the Jerusalem Open House, the LGBTQ+ equality organization that organizes the event.
“It’s always more like a protest than anything else. This year, especially,” said Hadas Bloemendal, chair of the Jerusalem Open House, walking alongside the crowd with her baby in a stroller.
“I’m supposed to be on maternity leave,” she said. “But this year, I had to be here.”
The status of LGBTQ Israelis is complex. While the country has a thriving gay culture and the speaker of the Knesset is openly gay, same-sex marriage is prohibited by law and some haredi Orthodox lawmakers have spoken with disdain about LGBTQ people and said they want to see their rights rolled back. The elections this fall will determine whether those lawmakers retain power in the next government.
Michal Rozin, a former lawmaker from the liberal Meretz party, urged rally-goers on Thursday to boo after recounting a 2023 comment by a member of the United Torah Judaism party, a partner in the governing coalition, who said the LGBTQ community is “the most dangerous thing for the State of Israel, more than Islamic State, more than Hezbollah, more than Hamas.” (He was commenting during Pride month, before Hamas’ Oct. 7 attack on Israel.)
Avi Maoz, an anti-LGBTQ politician who was part of the current government until last year, called this year’s march an “abomination” in a post on social media on Thursday.
The rally marked 11 years since 16-year-old Shira Banki was killed when a haredi Orthodox man stabbed six Jerusalem Pride attendees, weeks after being freed from prison after staging a similar attack a decade earlier.
“Some of the friends she walked with are still, today, volunteering. That’s what echoes the most, what she chose to do,” Bloemendal said.
Security was intense Thursday, and the gathering area before the march was completely sealed off. More than 2,000 Israel Police officers and border agents were dispatched to protect the march, according to Israeli police spokesperson Dean Elsdunne.
Behind a wall of tour buses was a counter-demonstration hosted by the extremist group Lehava, which opposes Jewish-Arab coexistence and gay relationships. By the time the march left Sacher Park for the Rose Garden near the Knesset, only a few dozen men remained in the heavily policed and cordoned-off area.
“Those standing outside and protesting against us have forgotten what it means to be Jewish and have forgotten what it means to be human,” Lapid said from the stage.
Despite the counter-protest, spirits were high at the rally, where attendees said they were determined to make their voices heard at a time when they feel their country is closing itself off to LGBTQ+ life.
“The LGBTQ+ community is present everywhere that the fate of this country is being written,” Rozin said in her speech. “But there are those who continue to incite against it.”
Lapid has long made LGBTQ+ equality a central tenet of his platform. His alliance this year with Naftali Bennett (a religious Zionist who historically opposed same-sex marriage) is notable in part because Bennett announced at their April 26 press conference announcing a joint campaign that a government under his leadership would advance same-sex marriage in Israel.
Marriage in Israel is regulated by the Rabbinate, which prohibits LGBTQ+ unions, leaving many couples to wed abroad and petition to have those marriages recognized at home. Lapid promised that “in the first 100 days of the next government, we will bring legislation that says the rights of every couple in Israel will be equal. Mom and dad, dad and dad, mom and mom — everyone the same rights.”
The nearly 10,000 attendees gathered beneath different banners and identities, some flying the flags of their youth movements, from socialist to LGBTQ+ organizations, to different political factions, including the Democrats, which made a significant showing at the event.
Drummers from the Pink Front led the rally toward the Rose Garden near the Knesset, passing through a tunnel, with chants echoing off the stone walls.
Shira Zagury, CEO of Shira Banki’s Way, founded by Banki’s parents the year after her murder to build coexistence and pluralism in Israeli society, said the march “continues to mark a moment of inclusion and positivity.”
Before the march set off for the Rose Garden near the Knesset, Rabbi Tamar Elad-Appelbaum recited the Traveler’s Prayer, praying for the marchers’ safety and alluding to Banki’s death nearly 11 years before.
“In the face of violence, hatred, and attempts to send us back into the closet, we will march this year and every year and say, ‘We are here to stay,’” she said.
The post Jerusalem Pride march turns toward the Knesset as LGBTQ Israelis eye pivotal election appeared first on The Forward.