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Chabad women come together once a year in person. The rest of the time, there’s Instagram.
(JTA) — The first post on Rivky Hertzel’s Instagram account — which she and her husband signed up for last year ahead of a planned move to Zambia — depicts a classic Chabad activity: a mock matzah bake for children that the couple organized in Lusaka, the country’s capital, ahead of last Passover.
But like many Instagram posts, the cheerful photo didn’t exactly tell the whole story:
The kids’ chef hats were made out of paper, their aprons were made out of garbage bags, and their rolling pins were actually the detached handles of toilet plungers — wrapped in Saran Wrap — that Hertzel picked up on the fly at a local store when she realized she was short on baking supplies.
Only after the bake was done did Hertzel, 22, reveal the origins of the “rolling pins.” Much to her relief, the kids’ parents had a good laugh about it.
And months later, in a “Throwback Thursday” post, Hertzel shared a photo of the deconstructed toilet plungers themselves. The red ends of the plungers sat in rows next to the separated handles.
“What do you think we used the plungers for?” she wrote. One viewer responded, “Moshe’s staff.” Another wrote, “As a plunger:).” She then revealed that they were rolling pins, to her followers’ delight.
“I have friends in Alaska and in New York and anywhere else, and I think they were excited and kind of inspired by that,” Hertzel told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “When you’re living in New York, what are you thinking about Jewish kids in Africa? No one’s thinking about it. They were inspired by the lengths that we were willing to go to make a special Jewish experience for kids.”
Hertzel’s experience is an example of the increasingly significant and versatile role Instagram is playing in the lives of Chabad’s women emissaries, known as shluchos. Nearly 4,000 shluchos gathered this past weekend for a conference that concluded with a massive gala dinner at a New Jersey convention center. But during the rest of the year, many of the emissaries live without a robust local Orthodox support system, often taking the lead in organizing Jewish activities in far-flung locales with few, if any, other observant Jews.
To fill that gap, some have turned to Instagram as a vehicle to document both their work and personal lives. And as a younger generation of emissaries begins taking up posts around the world, the way they portray their Jewish outreach cuts across Instagram’s many vibes. Some stick to curating a beautiful photo grid, while others use the platform to broadcast the messier parts of raising a family while running a Jewish community. Some keep their accounts private, viewing social media primarily as a way to reach friends and relatives across the globe.
“There’s so many wonderful, beautiful things that social media can be used for,” said Chavie Bruk, the Chabad emissary in Bozeman, Montana. “The more we can talk about the day-to-day struggles and the day-to-day life and the not-glorified part about being a shlucha, I feel like it just creates community and comfort and support.”
Bruk, 38, has been on Instagram for about 10 years, and started using it regularly about three years ago. Her Instagram is a combination of colorful family photos on the permanent grid, and front-camera facing 24-hour stories where she “doesn’t sugarcoat things” about her life as parent to five adopted children, one of whom is Black and another has a seizure disorder, living in a mostly rural state with only 5,000 Jews.
On Wednesday, she posted a story about a blockage in the septic tank of her house, which is not connected to the city sewer system.
“This has been two days of trying to figure out where is the blockage and they cannot figure it out,” Bruk says in the video. “And we’ve tried everything. Which means we haven’t really been able to use a lot of water in the house. So now it means that we have to get a backhoe. We’re very lucky that our neighbor has one. So Montana!”
Until the blockage is found, Bruk says in the video, her family has to limit their consumption of water.
“I show up how I am,” Bruk told JTA. “Just because you’re doing something really awesome and just because you even love what you’re doing, doesn’t mean it’s not going to be hard.”
She added, “My parents’ generation, there wasn’t room for that. There wasn’t room for expressing hardship. I think [in] that generation, the shluchos were looked at as superhuman. They just were able to pull it all off without their hair being ruffled… We need to embrace that and really be like, ‘You know what? No. We’re shluchos, we do amazing things. We do things that are superhuman, but we’re not superhuman.’”
Other emissaries use Instagram as a way to broadcast a fashionable version of themselves in an effort to connect with young Jews. Emunah Wircberg, 31, a shlucha and director of a Philadelphia art gallery called Old City Jewish Arts Center, is also a fashion blogger. Wircberg and her husband Zalman primarily serve Jews in their 20s and 30s, and they usually meet at the gallery for art-themed social events, networking opportunities and chic Shabbat dinners.
Wirchberg’s Instagram is largely beige, black and white, showing off her modest style of silky skirts layered with chunky knits, oversized blazers and coats, and a variety of wide brim hats, all with a loose silhouette. Some of the photos are shot in Philadelphia and others are taken in Israel, posing in front of the iconic Jerusalem stone.
Wircberg also posts stylized pictures of her family life and Jewish ritual, such as shots of her family’s Purim costumes, Hanukkah and pre-Shabbat candle lighting. Some of them are inflected with Chabad teachings, including references to Chaya Mushka Schneerson, the wife of Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the late Chabad leader known as the Rebbe.
Emunah Wircberg is a Chabad emissary and a modest fashion blogger. (Screenshots via Instagram)
With 20,000 followers, Wircberg’s friends have asked her why she doesn’t try to monetize the page, though she does include links to donate to local Jewish institutions. “I view my Instagram as part of my shluchos, so I don’t want it to be a place where I’m trying to make money,” she said.
Wircberg also posts videos of her Shabbat cooking — recounting one time when she accidentally used an unkosher mustard for a chicken that she had to throw out — and shares artist-centered events and other activities.
Wirchberg said she appreciates “every opportunity that you have to show your life as a shlucha, Chabad Hasidic woman.” She added, “Showing that to the world and showing that to your followers and connecting with them in that way is actually a really cool, great channel to be able to do that.”
Other shluchos shy away from using Instagram as a public platform. For Esther Hecht, the 26-year-old emissary in Auckland, New Zealand, making phone calls to her friends and family in England and the United States often feels like an impossible task — a distaste that, polling shows, she shares with other members of her generation.
Instead, she finds the asynchronous nature of social media to be a helpful alternative when it comes to catching up with people.
At the conference, in between speaking at the podium in front of the nearly 4,000 guests, she found herself handing out her phone to exchange social media handles. Asked why she focuses on the platforms, she said, “It keeps me connected.”
Esther Hecht, the shlucha for Auckland, New Zealand, speaks at the annual conference for Chabad women emissaries. (Courtesy of Chabad)
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The post Chabad women come together once a year in person. The rest of the time, there’s Instagram. appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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‘Growing Pogrom-Like Atmosphere’: German Antisemitism Commissioner Issues Warning After Synagogue Arson Attack
Anti-Israel protesters march in Germany, March 26, 2025. Photo: Sebastian Willnow/dpa via Reuters Connect
The commissioner to combat antisemitism in the German state of Hesse has sounded the alarm after an arson attack on a local synagogue in the town of Giessen, warning that it reflects a “growing pogrom-like atmosphere” threatening Jewish life across Germany as Jews and Israelis continue to face an increasingly hostile climate.
In an interview with the German newspaper Tagesspiegel, Uwe Becker — who has served in his role since 2019 — condemned the latest attack, saying it occurred “in a poisoned antisemitic climate that is steadily worsening.”
The horrific act occurred in a “growing pogrom-like atmosphere that, as a society in Germany and Europe, we are currently not doing enough to counter,” the German official said.
On Tuesday, a 32-year-old man was arrested after allegedly setting fire to a trash can outside a local synagogue in Giessen, west-central Germany, in an attack that damaged a roller shutter and entrance gate, though no one was harmed.
According to local reports, a Giessen district judge has ordered the suspect to be placed in a psychiatric hospital, citing signs that he may be suffering from a mental illness.
However, the suspect remains in police custody as local authorities investigate the circumstances and motive of the attack, including whether it was politically motivated.
This latest attack came just a week after Andreas Büttner, the commissioner for antisemitism in Brandenburg, northeastern Germany, was targeted for the second time in less than a week after receiving a death threat.
According to the German newspaper Potsdamer Neueste Nachrichten (PNN), the Brandenburg state parliament received a letter earlier this month threatening Büttner’s life, with the words “We will kill you” and an inverted red triangle, the symbol of support for the Islamist terrorist group Hamas.
Authorities are now probing the incident as part of an ongoing investigation into threats against the German official, after his private property in Templin — about 43 miles north of Berlin — was also targeted in an arson attack and a red Hamas triangle was spray-painted on his house.
A former police officer and member of the Left Party, Büttner took office as commissioner for antisemitism in 2024 and has faced repeated attacks since.
“The symbol sends a clear message. The red Hamas triangle is widely recognized as a sign of jihadist violence and antisemitic incitement,” Büttner said in a statement after the incident.
“Anyone who uses such a thing wants to intimidate and glorify terror. This is not a protest, it is a threat,” he continued.
Hamas uses inverted red triangles in its propaganda videos to indicate Israeli targets about to be attacked. The symbol, a common staple at pro-Hamas rallies, has come to represent the Palestinian terrorist group and glorify its use of violence.
In August 2024, swastikas and other antisemitic symbols and threats were also spray-painted on Büttner’s personal car.
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How Alvin Ailey’s ‘Revelations’ evokes Yom Kippur for me
My last semester of college, I had an Alvin Ailey phase.
My time in Philadelphia was rapidly coming to a close and I felt an urge to make it to as many of the performing arts venues in the city as I could (not an easy feat). With a close family friend, I attended my first Alvin Ailey performance at the Forrest Theatre. Soon after, I went to a talk at the African American Museum in Philadelphia about Ailey and the piece The River. That weekend, I also watched the 2021 documentary Ailey. Then I found myself doing a sociolinguistical analysis of Ailey’s most famous work, Revelations, for a class.
To call my interest in Ailey a phase is actually a misnomer since, two years later, I am still an Ailey fan — and now the owner of an actual Alvin Ailey-branded hand fan. Last June, I attended a performance during their run at the Brooklyn Academy of Music and fell in love with Grace, choreographed by Ronald K. Brown. I bought a ticket to see it again, along with Revelations and two shorter works, during their winter season at New York City Center.
While the end of Grace — in which a dozen dancers take a nearly 30-minute-long journey to a promised land — made me tear up, it wasn’t until Revelations that I actually began to cry. It happened during the duet “Fix Me, Jesus,” in which a female dancer searches for spiritual guidance and a male figure depicts divine support.
I was aware of the irony. As a lifelong Jew, I have never wanted Jesus to “fix” me. But the piece moved me to tears nonetheless. Within the gospel music, New Testament themes and African American cultural imagery of Revelations — composed of multiple smaller pieces — is a universal story of desire for redemption and turning to faith in times of great suffering.
The choir that accompanies the dance sings “fix me for my long white robe,” a reference to Revelation 6:11, where those that have lived their life without sin are told they will be given white robes for their ascension to Heaven. I was reminded of the kittel, a plain white robe some in the Ashkenazi tradition wear on Yom Kippur. Some rabbis have interpreted the robe to symbolize the blank slate we are creating for ourselves in the new year. Dressing plainly can also be another way of resisting earthly pleasures on the Day of Atonement. Since some people are also buried in their kittel, another interpretation is that wearing it helps one consider their death and what legacy they want to leave behind, thinking of how they may “fix” themselves to be ready for when they will be brought before G-d.
These echoes of Yom Kippur make another appearance in Ailey’s Revelations in the solo “I Wanna Be Ready.” The single dancer dressed in white alternates between contracting and expanding their body, kneeling and prostrating on the ground, as if they are repenting for something. The choir chants that they want to be ready to put on their long white robes and the lead singer explains he has avoided the temptation to sin so his soul will be ready for death.
This deviates slightly from how I think of preparing for the Day of Judgment. For me, Yom Kippur has always been about acknowledging that we will sin, that we are human, flawed, prone to jealousy and gossip and all those other things we list as we beat our chests during the confessional. In the Reconstructionist Press version of the Prayerbook for the Days of Awe, Rabbi Rami M. Shapiro writes that “we freely admit our failings” in order to “create our atonements.” In the confessional, we are instructed not to tell G-d that “we are righteous, and we have not sinned,” for “indeed we have sinned.”
I have always experienced Yom Kippur as an intense emotional journey to find within myself the ability to do better, be better, perhaps with some divine guidance. This is what I recognized in “Fix Me, Jesus,” this burning desire to exceed our own expectations.
But the yearning of Revelations is not just about individual spiritual reckoning. Throughout the work, you can feel Black Americans pushing toward freedom as they emerge from the degradation of slavery and Jim Crow.
I connect with this existential cultural aspiration to escape systemic degradation both as a Black American and as a Jewish American, descended from enslaved people on one side and pogrom survivors on the other. Although Revelations originated in a specific cultural context — born from Ailey’s experiences growing up in the Black church in 1930s Texas — its broader message about redemption feels unifying across cultural divides. I have imagined seeing Revelations with my paternal grandmother, an active and dedicated member of the Black Presbyterian church. Even if we were to appreciate the dance’s spirituality for different reasons — her for the work’s reflection of her faith in Jesus, me for its raw portrayal of an intense desire to improve — it’s something that would move both of us.
Probably my tears were triggered by the intensity of the piece and the beauty of its dancers and not by some spiritual awakening. Still, despite — or really, because of — the emotional unrest Alvin Ailey put me through, they will probably be seeing me again soon.
The post How Alvin Ailey’s ‘Revelations’ evokes Yom Kippur for me appeared first on The Forward.
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Police Chief in UK Retires After Facing Scrutiny for Banning Israeli Maccabi Tel Aviv Fans From Soccer Match
WMP Chief Constable Craig Guildford speaking before the Home Affairs Committee on Jan. 6, 2026. Photo: Screenshot
West Midlands Police (WMP) Chief Constable Craig Guildford retired on Friday effective immediately after increasing public scrutiny and revelations over his use of “exaggerated or simply untrue” intelligence to justify a ban prohibiting Maccabi Tel Aviv soccer fans from attending a match late last year.
Simon Foster, the police and crime commissioner of WMP, announced Guildford’s retirement in a formal statement delivered outside Birmingham’s Lloyd House, which is the headquarters of the West Midlands police force. Guildford will collect his full pension after three decades of service. Foster thanked Guildford for his service and said he welcomes the chief constable’s decision to retire. He added that Guildford’s stepping down is in the “best interest” of the police force and the local community.
Guildford’s retirement follows the decision of the Birmingham City Council Safety Advisory Group, based on the recommendation of West Midlands Police, to ban traveling Maccabi Tel Aviv soccer fans from attending the Europa League soccer match between Aston Villa and the Israeli team on Nov. 6, 2025, at Villa Park in Birmingham due to “public safety concerns.”
The announcement also comes just two days after British Home Secretary Shabana Mahmood told the British Parliament that she has lost confidence in Guildford. The minister said she came to the conclusion after receiving a “damning” and “devastating” report by Sir Andy Cooke, his Majesty’s chief inspector of constabulary, on Wednesday that revealed several failings by the WMP force in relation to its recommendation to ban Maccabi soccer fans, including “misleading” public statements and “misinformation” promoted by the police.
Foster acknowledged on Thursday that the police forced faced “understandable intense and significant oversight and scrutiny.”
“The findings of the chief inspector were damning. They set out a catalogue of failings that have harmed trust in West Midlands Police,” Mahmood said in a statement following Thursday’s announcement. “By stepping down, Craig Guildford has done the right thing today … Today marks a crucial first step to rebuilding trust and confidence in the force amongst all the communities they serve.”