Uncategorized
As a child of survivors, I see my parents in every Ethiopian immigrant to Israel
(JTA) — Recently, I watched a mother reunite with her son for the first time in 41 years.
On May 9, I was part of a delegation of the Jewish Agency for Israel that accompanied Ethiopian olim (immigrants) from Addis Ababa to Ben Gurion Airport and new lives in Israel. The mother had made aliyah in 1982 as part of Operation Moses, when Ethiopian Jewish immigrants trekked for weeks through the Sudan, hiding out from authorities in the daytime and walking by moonlight, to reach Israeli Mossad agents, who were secretly facilitating their transport to Israel.
But the son, due to family circumstances, was left behind. And here she was on the tarmac, praying and crying, and the embrace they had when the now grown man walked down the stairs, that depth of emotion after decades of waiting and yearning, was something that I will never forget.
The Ethiopian Jewish community dates back some 2,500 years, from around the time of the destruction of the First Temple. We know that they have always yearned, from generation to generation, to be in Jerusalem. Most of the Ethiopian Jews emigrated to Israel during the 1970s and 1980s and in one weekend in May 1992, a covert Israeli operation, dubbed Operation Solomon, airlifted more than 14,325 Ethiopian Jews to Israel over 36 hours. Those coming today are being reunited with family members who came during one of these earlier operations.
On my four-day trip from Addis Ababa to Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, I listened to the stories of incredible perseverance, and of heartrending suffering, among Ethiopian Jews — our brothers and sisters. Close to 100,000 of them have made their way to Israel over the past 40-plus years, fulfilling this community’s centuries-long quest to come to Israel.
I heard about the Ethiopian Israeli who, as a 15-year-old, marched through Sudan with his family and lost three of his siblings to starvation. I heard the stories of families waiting, for months or years, for that moment of aliyah, as clandestine negotiations among government negotiators dragged on. It was so powerful to hear of the sacrifices they made and how strong the dream was, and is today, of coming to Jerusalem, to Israel.
RELATED: How Israel’s Falash Mura immigration from Ethiopia became a painful 30-year saga
And I thought of my own family’s journey — a different time, under different circumstances. But also a Jewish journey of perseverance, suffering and, for the fortunate among us, survival.
My parents were born in Poland in the 1930s. During World War II, my father and his family survived in a Siberian labor camp and then in a remote part of Poland. My mother’s family managed to get work papers, but her father did not have them. He survived the war by hiding under the floorboards of a barn on a farm where they were living. The woman who owned the farm did not know they were Jewish, so it was a harrowing day-to-day existence.
But my mother and father survived, managed to make it to liberation, and eventually came to the United States. They were first sponsored by the Birmingham, Alabama, Jewish community, and then made their way to New York and New Jersey, where our family has built a new life. We now have fourth-generation children growing up here in New Jersey, and we feel so fortunate for the lives we have.
Here is the essential difference from their story and mine: For my family, there was no state of Israel. Many members of my family perished in the Holocaust. There was nowhere for them to go.
This drives what I do. Today, everything has changed because we have a state of Israel, and we have a Jewish Agency that ensures that Jews can make aliyah and helps them make new lives in Israel.
Last year, after the Russian invasion of Ukraine, I traveled to Poland and stood at the border as thousands of Ukrainian refugees streamed across. I was standing only a few miles from where my grandfather hid under the floorboards of that barn about 80 years earlier. Back then, there was no one there to protect my family, no one to do anything for them. And here I was in 2022 standing amid a massive array of aid agencies, and the very first thing these refugees saw — whether they were Jewish or not — were signs with the Star of David, marking the Jewish Agency, the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee and other Jewish groups.
While there has been significant hardship and struggle for the first generation of Ethiopian Jews in Israel, it was incredibly inspiring for me to meet members of the second generation — those who made the trek as children or teenagers in the 1980s and ’90s — who are now Israeli adults in positions of leadership and significant responsibilities. We heard from Havtamo Yosef, who immigrated as a young child from Ethiopia with his parents, and then watched his father become a street sweeper and his mother a housecleaner while he was growing up. Now he heads up the entire Ethiopian Aliyah and Absorption services for the Jewish Agency, ensuring that there are stronger absorption procedures, better education and firmer foundations for better lives for these new immigrants than there ever was for his family.
While there was no Israel for my family when we were refugees, there were — in Birmingham, Alabama; in Hillside, New Jersey; and everywhere along the way of my family’s journey — people who thought outside of themselves, who cared and took care of my relatives. This is my legacy and what motivates me today.
So when I stood on the tarmac at Ben Gurion earlier this month, I cried tears of sadness at the long family separations and tears of joy that today this Jewish journey continues, from Ukraine and Russia and Ethiopia to Israel. Today, there is a place to go and a people to welcome Jews on that tarmac, with an Israeli flag, a smile and a warm embrace, and a promise of better lives in freedom.
—
The post As a child of survivors, I see my parents in every Ethiopian immigrant to Israel appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
Uncategorized
A 19-Year Name vs. 3,000 Years of History: Judea vs. ‘West Bank’
The Jewish community of Beit El in Judea and Samaria. Photo: Yaakov via Wikimedia Commons.
Read a story about Israel from almost any major news outlet and you’ll see the same convention: “West Bank,” stated as fact, and “Judea and Samaria” treated as controversial.
In fact, these outlets all treat “Judea and Samaria” as a label used by Israel, often with a caveat that it is “biblical,” “right wing” or even “far-right.”
One term is presented as neutral. The other arrives with a warning. That is not linguistic housekeeping. It is a political choice, often made in a conscious way that reshapes history.
“West Bank” is a directional term. It describes where the land sits relative to the Jordan River. It was coined in 1949 by the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan after its army crossed the river in 1948, seized the territory as part of the Arab League’s declared war to annihilate Israel, and later annexed it. East Bank, West Bank. It is a geographic label attached to a military and political act. Jordan’s 1950 annexation was recognized by only a handful of countries and never produced a Palestinian state.
“Judea and Samaria” are not modern inventions, and they are not merely “biblical” in the dismissive sense often implied.
They are the names by which this region was known across centuries of rule, from antiquity through successive empires. They appear in ancient records, persist through administrative usage, and reflect a continuous historical vocabulary.
Even the 1947 UN Partition Plan — the plan that proposed to create the first independent Arab state in the Holy Land — referred to this area as the “hill country of Samaria and Judea” in describing the territory proposed for this new Arab state.
One can debate the modern implications of that 3,000+ years of history. One cannot plausibly claim it is recent, or invented.
Yet for the media, a term born of a 19-year Jordanian occupation following an offensive war becomes the unmarked standard. A name used across millennia is treated as ideological.
That inversion is not limited to vocabulary. It reflects a broader pattern in how the Arab-Israeli conflict has been framed since at least 1947: history is compressed, revised, or ignored, and cause and effect are routinely severed.
Start with 1947. The UN proposed partition into a Jewish state and an Arab state. Jewish leadership accepted the plan despite its limits and the British creation in 1921 of the Arab Kingdom of Transjordan out of almost 80% of the territory originally allotted after 1917 for the British Mandate for Palestine.
The local Arab leadership rejected the 1947 UN Partition Plan and chose war. That decision matters. It explains why the map did not follow the proposal — and why there is no Arab state today.
Yet in much contemporary coverage, that sequence disappears. The rejection of what would have been an independent Arab state –- in close to 80% of the arable land west of the Jordan River — followed by a multi-state war aimed at destroying the nascent Jewish state — is flattened into a vague “conflict” with outcomes detached from their cause.
Move to 1948–1967. Jordan controlled what it called the “West Bank,” while Egypt controlled Gaza. No Palestinian state was created in either territory. There was no serious effort to create one. That absence is rarely emphasized, though it is central to claims about what the conflict has always been “about.”
Then there is June, 1967. Israel took control of Judea and Samaria, and Gaza, because its neighbors tried to wage a war to destroy it and kill or subjugate all its Jewish residents. However one evaluates the legal debates that followed, the sequence is not credibly in dispute. Yet retellings often begin later, presenting outcomes without any reference to the threats and actions that produced them.
None of this resolves the conflict. But it does something more basic. It restores sequence. It places events back in order and returns language to its context.
That context is what is lost when “West Bank” is treated as neutral, while “Judea and Samaria” is treated as suspect or extreme.
In other regions, imposed modern labels — often by conquerors — are distinguished from older ones. Here, that instinct disappears. The origin of the dominant term is rarely mentioned. Its recency is almost never acknowledged. A label from the mid-20th century is presented as if it were timeless. It is not.
The question is not which term must be used. It is whether the current asymmetry can be defended as neutral. A 19-year name replaced 3,000 years. The least we can do is acknowledge that before arguing about what it means.
Micha Danzig is an attorney, former IDF soldier, and former NYPD officer. He writes widely on Israel, Zionism, antisemitism, and Jewish history. He serves on the board of Herut North America.
Uncategorized
Words of rescue: Yermiyahu Ahron Taub’s new book of poetry
עס זײַנען דאָ פּאָעטן װאָס זײַנען נבֿיאים, ווי למשל משה קולבאַק און חיים־נחמן ביאַליק. פֿאַראַן פּאָעטן פֿילאָסאָפֿן, װי עמילי דיקינסאָן אָדער אַהרן צײטלין. און טײל פּאָעטן זײַנען קינסטלער פֿון אימזאַש, װי רחל פֿישמאַן. זעלטן װען אָבער זעט מען אַ פּאָעט, װאָס איז מסוגל דורך זײַנע לידער צו באַלעבן אָדער באַװױנען עטלעכע פּערזענלעכקײטן, פּאַרשױנען, און דערבײַ אױפֿצובױען אַ גאַלעריע פֿון פֿאַרשײדענע מענטשן־טיפּן.
דער פּאָעט איז אָפֿט מאָל אַ שרײַבער פֿון ליריק, דאָס הײסט, פֿערזן װאָס װערן אַרױסגעזאָגט פֿון אַ געװיסן „איך“ װען לידער זײַנען אינטערעסאַנט, װיל מען הערן אַלץ מער פֿונעם „איך“. נאָר אַ פּאָעט װאָס קען באַשילדערן פֿאַרשײדענע פֿיגורן טוט אױף עפּעס ברײטערס.
אין זײַן נײַסטן ביכל פּאָעזיע, „עלות־הלילה אױפֿן בױדעם,“ שטעלט ירמיהו אַהרן טאַוב פֿאָר סײַ קאָמפּאָזיציעס פֿון לירישן „איך“, אַ נאַראַטאָר װאָס איז אין געװיסע אַספּעקטן ענלעך צו טאַובן אַלײן, סײַ דיכטונגען פֿון אַנדערע װעלטן, גאַסן און געגנטן. דאָס אַלץ טוט ער אין פֿאַרשײדענע זשאַנערס (לידער, פּראָזע־מיניאַטורן) און פֿאַרשײדענע שפּראַכן: נישט נאָר ענגליש מיט ייִדיש, נאָר אױך (אין אײן פֿאַל) ענגליש צוזאַמענגעפֿלאָכט מיט לשן־קודש.
לײענערס װאָס זײַנען שױן באַקאַנט מיט טאַובס װערק װעלן דאָ דערקענען פֿריִערדיקע מאָטיװן, װאָס זײַנען עיִקר־טעמעס פֿאַרן דאָזיקן מחבר. ער איז דער מײַסער־פּאָרטרעטיסט פֿון סעקסועלע דערװאַכונג, אַנטױשטן באַגער (סײַ רעליגיעזער, סײַ קערפּעלערכער), ריסן צװישן דורות, פֿאַרװעלקטער פֿרומקײט. נאָר זיכער האָט מען שױן אין אַנדערע קאָנטעקטן באַרירט די פֿאַרבינדונגען צװישן „קװירשאַפֿט“, אָפּגעפֿאָרנקײט פֿון פֿרומען דרך, און ייִדיש, װי טעמעס פֿון פּאָעזיע און ליטעראַטור בכלל. די דאָזיקע צװישנשײדן זײַנען גאָר װיכטיק פֿאַר טאַובס שאַפֿונגען.
באַזונדערש רירנדיק דאָ זײַנען די בילדער פֿון משפּחה־רײַבונגען, פֿון באַגעגענישן װאָס ברענגען נישט צו קײן עמאָציאָנעלע פֿאַרשטענדיקונגען.
אין אײנעם אַ ליד טרעפֿן מיר דעם נאַראַטאָרס פֿאָטער, אַ פֿרומען ייִד, װאָס סע װילט זיך אים גאָר שטאַרק לערנען זײַן קינד װי אַזױ צו װאַרפֿן אַ בײסבאָל. צום באַדױערן, טױג דאָס קינד צו דעם אַזױ פֿיל װי ער טױג צו לערנען — דאָס הײסט, גאַנץ שװאַך.
די זעלבע פֿיגור, דער פֿרומער פֿאָטער װאָס איז נישט צופֿרידן מיט זײַן אָפּגעפֿאָרענעם קינד, באַװײַזט זיך אין נאָך עטלעכע לידער אין באַנד, אַלע מאָל אין הינטערגרונד, בעטנדיק נאָך אַ קדיש, נאָך אַ בלאַט גמרא, כאָטש אַ מנחה, און אַלע מאָל דעם שטױס נאָך פּרו־ורבֿו. דער נאַראַטאָר, װידער, פֿאַרצײכנט זײַנע פֿאָטערס באַגערן. זײַנע אײגענע באַגערן ליגן אָבער ערגעץ אַנדערש.
טאַוב פֿאַרברײטערט אָפֿט זײַן קוק צו באַקענען אונדז מיט אַנדערע פּאַרשױנען: פֿרױען אין פֿאַרשלאָפֿענע שטעטלעך, ערשטמאָליקע „גײ“־ליבע־באַגעגענישן, אױסשטאַרבנדיקע מנינים. אױך חיות באַלעבט ער אין זײַנע פֿערזן:
די װילדע קאַץ װאָס האָסט געראַטעװעט פֿונעם הינטערגעסל
קאָרטשעט זיך, אומרויִק אונטערן גלעט פֿון דײַן האַנט,
ניט אין שטאַנד אױסצוהאַלטן, ניט אין שטאַנד זיך אַװעקצודרײען פֿון אַזאַ הנאָה.“
אַ באַמערקונג װעגן שפּראַך: װי אין זײַנע פֿריִערדיקע ביכלעך, װערן דאָ אַרײַנגענומען לידער אױף ענגליש און אױף ייִדיש. די ייִדיש־נוסחאות זײַנען אַלע מאָל באַגלײגט מיט פּאַראַלעלע ענגלישע װערסיעס. (איך דערלױב זיך דאָ אַ פּאָר אײדעלע טענות װעגן די גרײַזן װאָס זײַנען אַרײַנגעפֿאַלן אין די ייִדישע טעקסטן, און דאָס, װאָס טײל פֿון די ייִדיש־װערסיעס װערן געדרוקט אין קלענערע אותיות פֿון די ענגלישע.)
מע װאָלט דאָ געקענט זיך אַרײַנלאָזן אין אַ לענגערער דיסקוסיע װעגן די באַציִונגען פֿון די דאָזיקע װערסיעס. זײ זײַנען איבערזעצונגען אײנס פֿון אַנדערן, נאָר אױך אינטערפּרעטאַציעס. די ייִדישע לידער זײַנען (װאָדען?) מער אַדורכגעדרונגען מיט דער דראַמע װאָס באַגלײגט דאָס גאַנץ ביכל: די רײַבונגען צװישן דעם טראַדיציאָנעלן לעבן־שטײגער, פֿול מיטן שטרענגען דין, און דער בענקשאַפֿט פֿון דעם נאַראַטאָר, אַן אָפּגעפֿאָרענער װאָס װיל זיכער נישט זיך אומקערן, און פֿאָרט בענקט זיך אַהין. אינעם ליד „מילך־און־האָניקדיקע לבֿנה־האַרבסטונג“ לײענט זיך אַ ביסל טרוקן די ענגלישע שורה And, in that way, the Day of Rest lived up to its name
בשעת דאָס ייִדישע „און אַזױ טאַקע האָט דער יום־מנוחה אונדז נישט אַנטױשט“ גיט איבער אױף אַ קלאָרן אױפֿן װעגן װאָסער מין רו גײט דאָ די רײד.
איך האָב דאָ באַװיזן איבערצוגעבן נאָר אױפֿן שפּיץ מעסער די טעמאַטיק פֿון די דאָזיקע לידער. כאָטש טאַוב, בדרך־כּלל, גיט די בכורה עמאָציעס און געפֿילן, נישט קאָנסטאַטירונגען און אידעאָלאָגיעס, איז דאָס ביכל נישט קיין אומפּאָליטישע. פֿאַרקערט, די (ענגלישע) לידער „דער אָפּרו פֿון אַקטיװיסט“ און „פּערמאַנענטער אײַנװױנער, אָן קײן גרינעם קאַרטל“ גיבן איבער אױף אַ האַרץ־רײַסנדיקן אופֿן, װי זײערע טיטלען זאָגן אָן, די אָנשטרענגען און קאָמפּראָמיסן פֿון הײַנטיקן פּאָליטישן מאָמענט.
לױט מײַן מיינונג ווערט דאָס ביכל אָרגאַניזירט מיטן דראַמאַטישן בױגן פֿון אַ מענטשלעכן לעבן, פֿון ענגלישן ליד „דאָס ליכט בײַם אָנהײב טונעל“, אין אָנהײב, ביזן לעצטן ליד „צום סוף“, װאָס װענדט זיך צום לײענער אַזױ:
װען איך גײ אַװעק,
רײַס ניט די קלײדער,
און טראָג ניט קײן שװאַרץ,
באַהאַלט ניט דעם שפּיגל….
זײַ נישט קײן אָבֿל אין גאַנצן.
„װען איך גײ אַװעק,“ זאָגט דער נאַראַטאָר, „מאַך פֿאַר זיך אַ שׂימחה.“
נאָכן געזעגענען זיך מיטן דאָזיקן ביכל, װינטשט מען דעם מחבר נאָך לאַנגע יאָרן פֿון דער שׂימחה פֿון שאַפֿן נאָך טיף־גרײכנדיקע און פֿילעװדיקע מעדיטאַציעס װעגן לעבן און טױט, פֿרומקײט און װעלטלעכקײט, סעקס און ליבשאַפֿט, „קװיר“־ און העטעראָ־אידענטיטעט.
אין „געבעט“, דאָס סאַמע ערשטע ליד, װענדט זיך דער פֿאָטער צום נאַראַטאָר: „דער טאַטע רופֿט מיך צו היטן שבת“, צו דאַװנען, צו לערנען, זאַכן װאָס דער נאַראַטאָר װיל נישט, איז נישט מסוגל צו טאָן. קומט דער פּאָעט צום אױספֿיר אַז „נאָר די װערטער קענען מיך ראַטעװען.“
אַ בעסערע װעלטלעכע תּפֿילה קען נישט זײַן. הלװאַי אױף אונדז אַלעמען געזאָגט געוואָרן.
The post Words of rescue: Yermiyahu Ahron Taub’s new book of poetry appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
Israel, US condemn Belgium over planned prosecutions tied to Jewish circumcisions
(JTA) — A diplomatic spat erupted on Wednesday after Belgian prosecutors moved to charge two Jewish men tied to ritual circumcisions, prompting Israeli and U.S. officials to accuse Belgium of targeting Jews for practicing their faith.
Gideon Saar, Israel’s minister of foreign affairs, lit into the country in a post on X Wednesday morning, calling the indictments a “scarlet letter on Belgian society.”
“With this act Belgium joins a short and shameful list, together with Ireland, of countries that use criminal law to prosecute Jews for practicing Judaism,” Saar wrote, later calling circumcision a “cornerstone of Jewish faith” and urging the Belgian government to “act immediately and to find a solution.”
Saar’s condemnation was quickly joined by the U.S. ambassador to Belgium, Bill White, who had previously called on Belgium to drop the “ridiculous and antisemitic” investigation of mohels in February.
“This is a shameful stain on Belgium,” White wrote in a post on X. “The prosecution of these religious figures (mohels), one of whom is American, is WRONG and won’t be tolerated. Belgium will be thought of now as anti Semitic by world. Until this is resolved – there is no way around it.”
White, a President Donald Trump appointee who faced criticism for amplifying social media posts by a far-right Belgian political activist convicted of racism and Holocaust denial, added that the “Trump Administration condemns this judicial action” and called on the Belgian government to “work with the Jewish leaders and communities to find a certification solution immediately.”
The condemnation by White and Saar comes after the Antwerp Public Prosecutor’s Office announced that it intends to prosecute two Jewish men on charges related to performing circumcisions, a practice that is required by law to be performed by licensed medical professionals in Belgium.
Last year, Belgian authorities raided multiple sites, including two in Antwerp’s Jewish Quarter, at the beginning of an investigation into illegal circumcisions. Investigators also requested lists of children who had recently been circumcised, according to VRT NWS, the Flemish public broadcaster.
But the sharp criticism by the two leaders was later dismissed by Belgian Foreign Minister Maxime Prévot, who wrote in a reply to White’s post that it was “inappropriate to publicly criticize a country and tarnish its image simply because you disagree with judicial proceedings.”
“I recall that the proceedings in question were initiated by representatives of the Jewish community themselves,” Prévot continued. “To portray those as a country’s desire to undermine the religious freedom of Jews is defamatory. This freedom has never been called into question and never will be in our country. Our Constitution protects it. And it is not for an ambassador to dictate the government’s agenda.”
In response to Saar’s post, Prévot wrote, “Enough with these caricatures.”
“Since you yourself recently urged against conducting diplomacy via Twitter, I suggest that we discuss all these issues during a meeting in Israel at a time that suits you best, in order to put an end to any misinterpretations,” Prévot continued.
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post Israel, US condemn Belgium over planned prosecutions tied to Jewish circumcisions appeared first on The Forward.