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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.
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The post As a child of survivors, I see my parents in every Ethiopian immigrant to Israel appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Massive fire breaks out at kosher supermarket in London’s Golders Green
(JTA) — A huge fire broke out Tuesday morning at the Kosher Kingdom supermarket in Golders Green, London’s heavily Orthodox Jewish neighborhood. Firefighters were still working to put out the blaze six hours later.
Metropolitan Police posted on X that officers were called to the scene on Golders Green Road around 7 a.m. by the London Fire Brigade. “Officers responded and are at the scene assisting firefighters with road closures and evacuations,” said police.
London Fire Brigade Assistant Commissioner Craig Carter provided an update on the scene at 12:30 p.m., saying that 15 engines and around 100 firefighters “have been tackling the fire at its height, which has affected a ground floor shop and a storage area to the rear, which has partially collapsed.”
He noted that the flats above were not affected but residents were evacuated as a precaution.
“Our specialist Fire Investigators, in conjunction with the Metropolitan Police Service, have worked at pace to establish that the circumstances of the fire are not believed to be suspicious and investigations on the cause and origin of the fire are ongoing,” Carter added.
The news that Kosher Kingdom did not appear to be deliberately targeted comes as a relief to Jewish residents, who have been on edge for months amid a string of attacks. The blaze broke out in the same area where four Hatzola ambulances were torched in March, two Jewish men were stabbed in April and a Jewish man said he was attacked for speaking Hebrew this month.
Rochel Cohen, who lives near the supermarket, is among those whose street has been cordoned off. Her first thought was the incident was another antisemitic attack, she told JTA in a phone interview.
Cohen said she looked out the window around 7 a.m. and saw “just huge plumes of black smoke and we heard all the sirens. And the police have roped off all our roads again.”
That “again,” Cohen said, was because it was the third time in two months that her family had witnessed “crime scenes in our neighborhood.”
“The ambulance fire was just on the next street from us and the stabbing situation was 100 meters down the road from us,” she said.
Prior to the fire department’s update, speculation spread on social media that the fire was electrical, potentially caused by faulty freezers. London has seen an unprecedented heatwave over the last several days, with temperatures soaring over 90 degrees.
Cohen said two of her family members previously worked at Kosher Kingdom. They believed from the outset that there was an electrical fire in the freezers “because it’s exactly from the roof footage that we saw where those freezers are located,” she said.
Nonetheless, another incident in the neighborhood has left her shaken. “It’s just a bit of a nightmare, really,” she said. “It’s all these incidents adding up, and it makes it quite scary, this climate of fear we’re currently in. It’s really oppressive.”
Cohen said she has been traveling to jury service the last several weeks about 10 miles from Golders Green in Wood Green, which has a higher than average crime rate.
“I actually felt safer there than I do walking the street here in Golders Green because I’m constantly turning around, checking what’s going on,” she said. “It’s not a nice feeling.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post Massive fire breaks out at kosher supermarket in London’s Golders Green appeared first on The Forward.
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Reading a Pakistani author’s 30-year-old novel helped me understand my parents’ views on intermarriage
When I was a kid, I was haunted by the threat of my parents rejecting me if I married a non-Jew. Raised on Disney movies and song lyrics about soulmates, I spent almost every moment of high school anticipating the pain of falling in love with a non-Jew and having to choose between him and my family. If I chose him, the estrangement could bode poorly for married life. But if I married a Jewish man, I’d always worry that if he had not been Jewish, our love would not have overcome our religious differences, and therefore was not that strong to begin with.
The psychic burden began to lift only when I went to college at Hunter in New York City and made friends from other minority groups. I bonded with them over our parents’ desire that we marry someone from the same religion or ethnicity. I had always felt like my parents’ demand constituted bigotry against non-Jews, and I was surprised when my non-Jewish friends were more sympathetic to their stance than I was.
In college, I took a class on the history of modern India and learned about the Pakistani author Bapsi Sidhwa, but I didn’t read her until this year. Sidhwa, who died in 2024, grew up in Lahore’s Parsi community — a group of Zoroastrians who trace their roots to pre-Islamic Iran. Even though her books are mostly more than 30 years old, they still feel relevant, and they remind me of my own Iranian Jewish community.
Sidhwa’s 1993 coming-of-age novel An American Brat centers on Feroza, a Parsi girl from Lahore. Feroza’s parents send her to the U.S. to expand her horizons because they think the local culture is making her too conservative. But they wind up being disappointed when her horizons expand too much.
Feroza’s whole extended family goes into a tailspin when she sends word home that she wants to marry a Jewish man named David. She met him when she responded to an ad he placed in the college newspaper about selling his car. The two bond over their families’ shared emphases on religion and education. David’s family’s Shabbat candles recall the significance of fire within Zoroastrianism. But if Feroza marries a non-Zoroastrian, she will be excommunicated from the Parsi community. As Feroza’s mom Zareen prepares to fly to America to intervene, extended family members urge her to stand her ground no matter how nice David is and no matter how big a “tantrum” Feroza throws — but they also advise her not be too harsh either, so as not to push Feroza away.
The reader never learns what objections, if any, David’s Reform Jewish parents might have to his interfaith marriage; over Shabbat dinner, prior to the proposal, they are reserved but polite. Meanwhile, Zareen’s good-cop bad-cop routine is familiar, quaint and pathetic. She lists eligible Parsi bachelors (the Zoroastrian equivalent of ‘nice Jewish boys’) with promising careers and “worthy mothers.” She tries killing with kindness: “You’re too precious. We’re not going to throw you away on the first riffraff that comes your way.” She even tells Feroza cautionary tales about women who married “nons” (Zoroastrian equivalent of goyim) and wound up feeling disconnected from their heritage. These methods all fail, and the book comes to a sobering end when Zareen calls David’s bluff and demands the couple have a huge traditional wedding, scaring him off and exposing the limits of his supposedly liberal values.
Zoroastrians, like Jews, are a small group. In 2022, an Associated Press article estimated the worldwide Zoroastrian population, which at its peak numbered in the millions, was now around 125,000. Lahore’s Parsi community had all of 11 members as of a 2023 Facebook post.
Reading literature from other cultures, just like having friends from other cultures, can teach us about our own. As I read Zareen’s efforts to talk Feroza out of the engagement, it was somehow easier for me to understand than if they were Jewish like me. The author’s empathy makes Zareen’s mom an especially interesting character, like a Zoroastrian Tevye, torn between family pressures and the feminist values that inspired her to send Feroza to the U.S. in the first place.
Students at Hunter have a reputation for being super liberal, but they also have surprising points of departure from what most people would consider liberal. When I told classmates that I struggled with my parents’ insistence that I marry a Jew, I sensed bad energy in the room, as if they were judging me for disrespecting my parents in front of them. Some seemed to think it’s only natural for a person to marry someone who belongs to the same religion or ethnicity. Part of me was disturbed to see that this brand of separatism was so fashionable — but I also felt relieved, like they’d given me permission to appease my parents.
Feroza heals from her breakup with David partly by remembering that no matter the religion of the person she marries, her religion will always be part of her. As for myself, I don’t know what my future holds. But whatever does happen, it will be something that also happened to countless women before me — not only Jewish women but people of all different races and creeds. It is comforting to remember that as your life is playing out, there are people all over the world and across time living out much the same story as you are.
The post Reading a Pakistani author’s 30-year-old novel helped me understand my parents’ views on intermarriage appeared first on The Forward.
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Newly discovered details about Soviet Jewry between 1945 and 1953
די יאָרן צװישן 1945 און 1953, פֿון דעם סוף פֿון דער צװײטער װעלט־מלחמה ביז יאָסיף סטאַלינס טױט, זײַנען געװען די צײַט פֿון נסיונות פֿאַר סאָװעטישע ייִדן. דער דאָזיקער תּקופֿה איז געװידמעט דאָס בוך „דאָס לעבן נאָך דער מלחמה: האָפֿענונגען און שרעק“ פֿון דער היסטאָריקערין אַנאַ שטערנשיס פֿונעם טאָראָנטער אוניװערסיטעט. דאָס איז דער פֿערטער באַנד אין דער אַכט־בענדיקן געשיכטע פֿון ייִדן אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד אונטער דער רעדאַקציע פֿון די היסטאָריקער גענאַדי עסטרײַך און דוד ענגעל פֿון ניו־יאָרקער אוניװערסיטעט.
העכער װי צװײ מיט אַ האַלב מיליאָן ייִדן זײַנען דערמאָרדעט געװאָרן אױפֿן שטח פֿונעם סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד אין די גרענעצן פֿון 1941, וואָס נעמט אויך אַרײַן די געגנטן פֿון פּױלן, ליטע, לעטלאַנד, עסטלאַנד און רומעניע, װאָס זײַנען אַנעקסירט געװאָרן אין 1939 און 1940.
בערך צװײ מיט אַ האַלב מיליאָן ייִדן האָבן איבערגעלעבט דעם חורבן אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד. זײ האָבן זיך געפֿונען מחוץ די אָקופּירטע טעריטאָריעס אָדער געדינט אין דער רױטער אַרמײ. אַרום 100,000 ייִדן זײַנען געבליבן לעבן אױף די אָקופּירטע שטחים, דער עיקר אין די געטאָס פֿון טראַנסניסטריע אין דרום־אוקראַיִנע און מאָלדאָװע, װאָס זײַנען געװען אונטער דער רומענישער אָקופּאַציע.
דער חורבן האָט שטאַרק געענדערט דעם קולטורעל־סאָציאַלן פּראָפֿיל פֿון סאָװעטישן ייִדנטום, שרײַבט שטערנשיס. די ייִנגערע, מער אַסימילירטע, געבילדעטע און מאָבילע מענטשן האָבן געהאַט בעסערע אױסזיכטן אױף אױסצומײַדן דעם טױט. די פּראָסטע שטעטלדיקע בעל־מלאכות, פּױערים און עלטערע ייִדן האָבן אָפֿט מאָל ניט געהאַט קײן מעגלעכקײטן צו אַנטלױפֿן פֿון די דײַטשן.
נאָך דער מלחמה האָבן אַ סך ייִדן ניט געװאָלט זיך אומקערן איז די שטעטלעך פֿון אוקראַיִנע און בעלאַרוס, װאָס האָבן זײ דערמאָנט אָן זײערע דערמאָרדעטע קרובֿים און שכנים. האָבן זיי זיך געפּרוּװט באַזעצן אין גרױסע שטעט, אַזעלכע װי קיִעװ, מינסק, מאָסקװע אָדער לענינגראַד.
כּדי צו האָבן אַ װױנרעכט אין אַ גרױסער שטאָט האָט מען געמוזט האָבן אַן אַרבעט און אַ דירה. דער מצבֿ אין קיִעװ איז געװען באַזונדערס שװער. די שטאָט איז געװען אין חורבֿות, און די געבליבענע װױנונגען זײַנען בעת דער דײַטשישער אָקופּאַציע פֿאַרנומען געװאָרן דורך אָרטיקע אוקראַיִנער.
זײ האָבן פֿײַנט געהאַט ייִדן, װאָס האָבן זיך אומגעקערט פֿון דער עװאַקואַציע אין סיביר אָדער צענטראַל־אַזיע און האָבן איצט געװאָלט צוריק באַקומען זײערע דירות מיט האָב־און־גוטס. דאָס האָט געשאַפֿן שפּאַנונג צװישן ייִדן און אוקראַיִנער און אַרויסגערופֿן אַנטיסעמיטישע געפֿילן.
דאָס רובֿ היסטאָרישע פֿאָרשונגען װעגן סאָװעטישע ייִדן פֿאָקוסירן זיך אױף דער פּאָליטיק און קולטור. שטערנשיס ברענגט אַרײַן נײַע היסטאָרישע מקורים, װאָס עד־היום זײַנען לרובֿ פֿאַרבליבן מחוץ דעם אַקאַדעמישן אינטערעס.
אין משך פֿון העכער װי 20 יאָר פֿאָרש-אַרבעט האָט זי אָנגעזאַמלט הונדערטער בעל־פּהיִקע גבֿית־עדותן װעגן דעם אַמאָליקן ייִדישן לעבן אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד. זײ לאָזן הערן שטימען פֿון מענער און פֿרױען פֿון פֿאַרשײדענע סאָציאַלע שיכטן, פֿון פּראָסטע אַרבעטער ביז הױך־אָנגעשטעלטע פֿיגורן.
עס איז כּדאַי דאָ אָפּצומערקן, אַז אײן װיכטיקער אַספּעקט פֿון דער סאָװעטישער ייִדישער דערפֿאַרונג פֿאַרבלײַבט נאָך אַלץ ניט דערפֿאָרשט. אַ היפּשע צאָל ייִדן זײַנען געװען פֿאַרטאָן אין דער אַזױ־גערופֿענער „שאָטן־װירטשאַפֿט“. זײ האָבן געפֿירט קלײנע געשעפֿטן, װאָס זײַנען פֿאָרמעל געװען מלוכישע אָבער פֿאַקטיש זײַנען זײ געװען פּריװאַטע.
פּריװאַטע אונטערנעמונגען זײַנען געװען פֿאַרװערט אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד, אָבער אין דער צײַט פֿון עקאָנאָמישע צרות האָט די מלוכה געקוקט אױף זײ דורך די פֿינגער. אַזאַ מין אַרבעט האָט געלאָזט פֿרומע ייִדן אָפּהיטן שבת און יום־טובֿים. דװקא זײ זײַנען געװען די הױפּט־שטיצער פֿון שילן און פּריװאַטע מנינים.
ספּעציעל אינטערעסאַנט אין שטערנשיסעס בוך זײַנען די באַריכטן װעגן פֿאַרשײדענע פֿאָלק־אַקטיװיטעטן װאָס ייִדן האָבן אָרגאַניזירט אָן קײן שום שטיצה מצד דער מלוכה. מען האָט געזאַמלט געלט צו בױען דענקמעלער אױף די ערטער פֿון מאַסנמאָרד און צו אָרגאַניזירן הזכּרה־צערעמאָניעס.
די ערשטע פּאָר יאָר נאָך דער צווייטער וועלט־מלחמה זײַנען געװען אַ צײַט פֿון גרױסע האָפֿענונגען. נאָכן נצחון איבער דײַטשלאַנד האָט מען געהאָפֿט, אַז די סאָװעטישע מאַכט װעט אָנערקענען די יסורים פֿון ייִדן און װעט זײ העלפֿן װידער אױפֿבױען דאָס ייִדישע לעבן.
די סאַמע אַקטיװסטע קהילות זײַנען געװען אין װילנע און טשערנאָװיץ, די ייִדישע צענטערס, װאָס זײַנען געװאָרן סאָװעטיש ערשט אין 1939 און 1940. אין װילנע האָט מען געשאַפֿן דעם ערשטן חורבן־מוזײ אין דער װעלט און טשערנאָװיץ איז געװאָרן אַ נײַע הײם פֿאַרן קיִעװער ייִדישן טעאַטער.
אָבער דער אױפֿלעב האָט געדױערט בלױז אַ פּאָר יאָר. אַ סך כּלל־טוער (צװישן זײ — דער דיכטער אַבֿרהם סוצקעװער), װאָס פֿאַר דער מלחמה זײַנען געװען פּױלישע אָדער רומענישע בירגער, האָבן באַקומען דערלױבעניש צו פֿאַרלאָזן דעם סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד אין 1945־1946.
אַרום 1947 האָבן זיך באַװיזן סימנים פֿון ענדערונגען אין דער פּאָליטיק לגבי ייִדן. אײניקע היסטאָריקער פֿאַרבינדן זײ מיטן אָנהײב פֿון דער קאַלטער מלחמה צװישן דעם סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד און די פֿאַראײניקטע שטאַטן און מיטן אױפֿקום פֿון מדינת־ישׂראל.
שטערנשיס איז מסכּים, אַז דאָס זײַנען געװען װיכטיקע סיבות. אָבער זי האַלט, אַז אַ היפּשע ראָלע האָבן אױך געשפּילט אַנטיסעמיטישע שטימונגען אין דער סאָװעטישער באַפֿעלקערונג. אַנטיסעמיטיזם איז געװען ספּעציעל שטאַרק אין די געגנטן, װאָס זײַנען געװען אונטער דער דײַטשישער אָקופּאַציע. די נאַציסטישע פּראָפּאַגאַנדע האָט געהאַט אַ שטאַרקע השפּעה אױפֿן פּראָסטן פֿאָלק.
אַנטיסעמיטיזם איז געװען פּאָפּולער אױך אין די „הױכע פֿענצטער“ פֿון דער קאָמוניסטישער פּאַרטײ. נאָך דער מלחמה האָט די רעגירונג געהאַט אַ סך שװערע סאָציאַלע און עקאָנאָמישע פּראָבלעמען און האָט זיך גענײטיקט אין דער שטיצע פֿון די מאַסן.
אַן אימאַזש פֿון אַ שׂונא װאָלט געהאָלפֿן אָפּצוציִען דעם אױפֿמערק פֿון די דאָזיקע פּראָבלעמען, פֿאַרסך־הכּלט שטערנשיס. דערצו נאָך האָבן אַ סך ייִדן אַרױסגעװיזן התלהבֿות לגבי מדינת־ישׂראל, און דאָס האָט אַרויסגערופֿט חשד בײַ סטאַלינען.
בײַ ס׳רובֿ ייִדן איז דער דאָזיקער קלאַפּ געקומען אומדערװאַרט. מער פֿון אַלעמען האָבן געליטן די ייִדישע כּלל־ און קולטור־טוער פֿונעם ייִדישן אַנטיפֿאַשיסטישן קאָמיטעט.
דער אַקטיאָר שלמה מיכאָעלס איז דערמאָרדעט געװאָרן אין אַן אינסצענירטן אױטאָ־אומגליק אין יאַנואַר פֿון 1948. די דיכטער איציק פֿעפֿער, דוד האָפֿשטײן, פּרץ מאַרקיש, לײב קװיטקאָ און דער שרײַבער דוד בערגעלסאָן זײַנען באַשולדיקט געװאָרן אין שפּיאָנאַזש, פֿאַרמישפּט געוואָרן צום טױט און דערשאָסן געוואָרן דעם 12טן אױגוסט 1952
אַרום אײן טױזנט ייִדן זײַנען אַרעסטירט געװאָרן פֿאַר „ייִדישן נאַציאָנאַליזם“ און געשיקט געוואָרן אין די תּפֿיסה־לאַגערן. טױזנטער מענטשן האָבן פֿאַרלױרן זײער אַרבעט־שטעלעס. אַלע ייִדישע אַנשטאַלטן זײַנען פֿאַרמאַכט געװאָרן.
די אַנטיסעמיטישע כװאַליע האָט דערגרײכט דעם שפּיץ אָנהײב 1953. אַ גרופּע חשובֿע דאָקטױרים, ס’רובֿ ייִדן, זײַנען באַשולדיקט געװאָרן אין אָפּסמען אָנפֿירער פֿון דער קאָמוניסטישער פּאַרטײ. אײנצײַטיק זײַנען אַרומגעגאַנגען קלאַנגען, אַז סטאַלין איז אױסן צו דעפּאָרטירן ייִדן קײן סיביר.
אַזאַ אַקציע װאָלט ניט געװען קײן יוצא־דופֿן אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד. צו יענער צײַט האָט סטאַלין שױן געהאַט דעפּאָרטירט עטלעכע עטנישע עדות: די טאָטערן פֿון קרים, די טשעטשענצעס און די אינגושן פֿון קאַװקאַז און נאָך אַנדערע. אָבער היסטאָריקער האָבן ניט געפֿונען קײן דאָקומענטאַלע ראַיות פֿון אַ פּלאַן צו דעפּאָרטירן ייִדן.
אַזױ אָדער אַנדערש זײַנען ייִדן געראַטעװעט געװאָרן פֿון סטאַלינס לעצטער גזירה װײַל ער איז געשטאָרבן דעם 5טן מאַרץ 1953, גלײַך נאָך פּורים. בהדרגה האָט מען אָפּגעשטעלט די אַנטיסעמיטישע פּראָפּאַגאַנדע און באַפֿרײַט די פֿאַרמישפּטע פֿונעם גולאַג. אָבער מען האָט פֿאָרט נישט אָנגעהױבן דרוקן ייִדישע ביכער אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד ביז 1959.
שטערנשיס האָט אָנגעשריבן אַ דראַמאַטישע געשיכטע פֿולגעפּאַקט מיט פּרטים, װאָס לאָזן דעם לײענער זיך אױסמאָלן דאָס טאָג־טעגלעכע לעבן פֿון ייִדן אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד. דערצו נאָך באַקומט דער לײענער אַ גוטן פֿאַרשטאַנד פֿון די ברײטערע פּאָליטישע, עקאָנאָמישע און סאָציאַלע טענדענצן, װאָס האָבן באַװירקט סײַ ייִדן סײַ די גאַנצע סאָװעטישע באַפֿעלקערונג.
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