Uncategorized
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)
—
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.
Uncategorized
What I discovered during my visit to the Swedish paradise
נאָך אַ רעפֿעראַט וועגן דעם מצבֿ פֿון ייִדיש אין שוועדן, האָט פּראָפֿ׳ אַנאַ שטערנשיס אַ מאָל געזאָגט: „שוועדן איז אַ מין גן־עדן פֿאַר ייִדיש“.
איך בין לעצטנס געפֿאָרן קיין שטאָקהאָלם, כּדי צו האַלטן אַ לעקציע פֿאַר די אָרטיקע ייִדישיסטן — האָב איך געהאַט אַ געלעגנהייט צו זען דעם דאָזיקן גן־עדן מיט די אייגענע אויגן. פֿריִער האָט ער עקסיסטירט נאָר אין די לעגענדעס, וואָס אַנדערע ייִדישיסטן האָבן דערציילט: אַ לאַנד, וווּ ייִדיש איז אַן אָפֿיציעלע מינדערהייט־שפּראַך; אַ לאַנד וואָס שטיצט ייִדיש נישט בלויז מיט ווערטער, נאָר מיט אמתע געלטער; וווּ די מלוכה העלפֿט אַרויסצוגעבן ייִדישע ביכער, רעקאָרדירונגען, טעלעוויזיע און ראַדיאָ־פּראָגראַמען; וווּ עטלעכע פּראָפֿעסאָרן לערנען די שפּראַך אין אוניוועריסיטעט; וווּ יעדעס קינד האָט אַ רעכט צו פֿאָדערן דעם ייִדיש־לימוד און יעדע ביבליאָטעק דאַרף קויפֿן ייִדישע ביכער, אויב אַ בירגער וויל זיי לייענען.
פֿאַר מײַן נסיעה האָב איך געכאַפּט אַ שמועס מיט אַ רבֿ פֿון דער וואַרשעווער קהילה, וואָס איז געבוירן געוואָרן אין שטאָקהאָלם: הרבֿ יצחק ראַפּאָפּאָרט. שפּעטער האָב איך אויך געטראָפֿן הרבֿ ראַפּאָפּאָרטס מאַמע, וואָס וווינט אין שטאָקהאָלם, כאָטש זי שטאַמט פֿון פּוילן. זייער קוק אויף שוועדן איז ווייניקער גן־עדנדיק. למשל, אין שוועדן גייט הרבֿ ראַפּאָפּאָרט נישט אויף דער גאַס טראָגנדיק אַ יאַרמקלע, אַזוי ווי אין וואַרשע. אין שוועדן קען עס זײַן אַ סכּנה. טראָגט ער דאָרט אַ היטל איבער דער יאַרמלקע.
אָבער בשעת מײַן וויזיט האָב איך נישט געזען וואָס מורא צו האָבן, נישט קיין אַנטי־ישׂראל־פּראָטעסטן אָדער קיין גראַפֿיטי, ווי מע זעט אין אַ סך אייראָפּעיִשע שטעט. איך האָב יאָ געזען אַ סך יונגע משפּחות מיט קליינע קינדער, וואָס לויפֿן אַרום פֿראַנק און פֿרײַ אין אַלע עפֿנטלעכע ערטער. דאָס איז אַ סימן פֿון אַ לאַנד, וווּ מענטשן פֿילן זיך זיכער און פֿאַרזיכערט. אָבער, צוריק גערעדט, האָב איך זיך געדרייט בלויז אין צענטער שטאָט, אין די רײַכע, טוריסטישע געגנטן. דאָרט זענען מסתּמא נישט פֿאַראַן קיין סך אַנטיסעמיטן און טעראָריסטן.
אָבער פּלוצלינג האָט מיר פּאַסירט אַן אומגליק. איך בין אַרויס פֿון טראַמווײַ און זיך געכאַפּט, אַז איך האָב נישט מײַן טעלעפֿאָן. איך בין נאָכגעלאָפֿן דעם טראַמווײַ, אָבער — פֿאַרפֿאַלן. ער איז אַוועק מיט מײַן טעלעפֿאָן אָן אַ זײַ געזונט. די איבעריקע טעג פֿון מײַן וויזיט האָב איך פֿאַרבראַכט ווי אַ טוריסט פֿון די 1990ער יאָרן: נישט וויסנדיק וווּ איך פֿאָר און נישט וויסנדיק וואָס איך זע.
פֿון דעסט וועגן, האָב איך געזען, אַז שוועדן איז אַ געבענטשט לאַנד: שיין און ריין און אָן קיין אמתע פּראָבלעמען, אַחוץ אפֿשר דעם קאַלטן ווינטער. שוועדן האָט נישט געהאַט קיין מלחמה זײַט איבער צוויי הונדערט יאָר. קומענדיק פֿון פּוילן, וווּ מלחמות האָבן כּסדר חרובֿ געמאַכט דאָס לאַנד אין משך פֿון דער גאַנצער געשיכטע, איז געווען אינטערעסאַנט צו זען אַן אָרט, וווּ גאָרנישט איז נישט חרובֿ געוואָרן.
די הײַנטיקע שוועדן זענען אָבער גאָר נישט ענלעך צו די אַמאָליקע. הײַנט איז שוועדן אַ לאַנד פֿון ליבעראַליזם, פֿעמיניזם, און טאָלעראַנץ. מיט הונדערטער יאָרן פֿריִער האָבן די שוועדישע אַרמייען געוואָרפֿן אַ פּחד אויף גאַנץ אייראָפּע. אין פּוילן געדענקט מען נאָך די „שוועדישע פֿאַרפֿלייצונג“ פֿון 17טן י״ה, ווען די שוועדישע סאָלדאַטן האָבן פֿאַרוויסט און באַראַבעוועט דאָס לאַנד. אין משך פֿון די מלחמות דעמאָלטס איז אומגעקומען אַ דריטל פֿון דער פּוילישער באַפֿעלקערונג. אין די שוועדישע מוזייען קען מען נאָך הײַנט זען שיינע קונסטווערק און סקולפּטורן, און פֿון די אויפֿשריפֿטן לעבן די חפֿצים דערוויסט מען זיך, אַז דאָס האָבן די שוועדן אין יענע יאָרן געגנבֿעט פֿון די פּוילישע פּאַלאַצן.
סוף־כּל־סוף זענען די שוועדן געוואָרן מיד פֿון די אַלע מלחמות. די געווינערס זענען סײַ ווי געווען נישט די שוועדן און נישט די פּאָליאַקן, נאָר די רוסן. רוסלאַנד האָט פֿאַרכאַפּט די שוועדישע אימפּעריע בײַם באַלטישן ים, אַרײַנגערעכנט פֿינלאַנד. זײַט דעמאָלטס איז שוועדן געוואָרן אַ לאַנד פֿון שלום און ראַציאָנאַליזם.
בשעת דער צווייטער וועלט־מלחמה האָט די שוועדישע רעגירונג געהאָלפֿן צו ראַטעווען טויזנטער ייִדן. אין 1943 האָבן די שוועדן מיטגעאַרבעט מיט די דענער, וואָס זענען געווען אונטער דער דײַטשער אָקופּאַציע, כּדי אַריבערצושמוגלען די דענישע ייִדן קיין שוועדן. דענישע פֿישערס האָבן אין זייערע שיפֿלעך אַריבערגעבראַכט קיין שוועדן איבער 7,000 ייִדן. אין 1944, בעת די דעפּאָרטאַציעס פֿון אונגערישע ייִדן קיין אוישוויץ, האָט די שוועדישע רעגירונג געשיקט דעם דיפּלאָמאַט ראַוּל וואַלענבערג קיין בודאַפּעשט, כּדי צו ראַטעווען וואָס מער ייִדן. וואַלענבערג האָט צעטיילט „שוצפּאַסן“, וואָס האָבן געמאַכט די ייִדן פֿאַר פּאָטענציעלע שוועדישע בירגער. ער האָט באַהויזט עטלעכע טויזנט אונגערישע ייִדן אין געוויסע בנינים, וואָס מע האָט גערופֿן די „שוועדישע הײַזער“. אַזוי זענען איבער פֿיר טויזנט ייִדן געראַטעוועט געוואָרן.
נאָך דער מלחמה זענען טויזנטער ייִדישע פּליטים געקומען קיין שוועדן. אַ סך זענען ווײַטער געפֿאָרן קיין ישׂראל אָדער אַמעריקע, אָבער אַ טייל זענען געבליבן. אַ סך פּליטים זענען געקומען דווקא פֿון פּוילן און דערפֿאַר רעדן די שוועדישע ייִדן — אויב זיי קענען ייִדיש — געוויינלעך פּויליש ייִדיש. איך האָב געהאַלטן אַ לעקציע מיטן טיטל „פּויליש ייִדיש איז דאָס בעסטע ייִדיש“ און דאָס איז אַלעמען געפֿעלן — אַחוץ איין ליטוואַטשקע (הרבֿ ראַפּאָפּאָרטס מאַמע).
איך האָב גערעדט מיט עטלעכע ייִדן פֿונעם „דור פֿון 1968“. אין יענעם יאָר האָט די פּוילישע רעגירונג דורכגעפֿירט אַן אַנטיסעמיטישע קאַמפּאַניע און פֿאַרטריבן די מערסטע ייִדן פֿון לאַנד. איין פֿרוי האָט מיר געזאָגט, אַז זי וויל אַפֿילו נישט באַזוכן פּוילן. זי איז נאָך אַלץ אין כּעס איבער דעם אופֿן, ווי אַזוי די פּאָליאַקן — די פּשוטע מענטשן, נישט די רעגירונג — האָבן זי באַהאַנדלט מיט 60 יאָר צוריק. זיי האָבן אויסגעכאַפּט די געלעגנהייט אויסצודריקן זייער אַנטיסעמיטיזם. איך האָב איר געזאָגט, אַז די הײַנטיקע פּאָליאַקן זענען גאַנץ אַנדערש, אָבער עס איז שווער איבערצורעדן אַן עלטערן מענטשן.
ייִדן זאָגן: אַ גאַסט אויף אַ ווײַל זעט אויף אַ מײַל. אַ באַזוכער זעט זאַכן, וואָס די אײַנוווינערס זעען נישט, ווײַל זיי זענען אַזוי צוגעוווינט צום אָרט, אויך צו זײַנע חסרונות. אָבער אין מײַן פֿאַל איז דאָס ווערטל פֿאַלש, ווײַל איך האָב נישט באַוויזן זיי צו זען.
The post What I discovered during my visit to the Swedish paradise appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
An Israeli dissident filmmaker finds tainted love amid the Gaza rubble
Nadav Lapid started writing his Oct. 7 movie in summer 2021 — before the events that shaped it took place. He says it hasn’t changed much, and that it’s not really about Oct. 7.
“It’s the same bitter reflection about the place of the artist,” Lapid told me on a Zoom call, a day after arriving in New York for the American debut of Yes, his withering satire of Israeli complacency.
“In a way, in the first version, you could notice the shadow of a catastrophe, the shadow of a disaster and a society on the edge of the abyss,” he said. “With the second version, this society made another few steps and went and fell down from the hill to the valley of hell”
As the title might suggest, Yes — which is sometimes styled with an exclamation mark — is about a kind of maximalist version of affirmative consent that ends in complicity. It follows Y (Ariel Bronz), a jazz pianist, who with his wife, Yasmin (Efrat Dor), serves as a willing entertainer and sex slave for the Israeli elite. The couple submit to almost anything, no questions asked. But when a Russian oligarch commissions Y to write an “anthem for the victory generation,” with bloodthirsty lyrics about annihilating Gaza, it’s (almost) too big of an ask.
What follows is a kind of Israeli Mephisto, alternating from orgiastic spectacle (fellated baguettes, geysers of cherry tomatoes, drugs) to biblical indictment (Y is pelted with stones from heaven for cravenly taking his hasbara assignment).
The film is well within Lapid’s oeuvre, which has skewered Israeli masculinity (Synonyms) and Israeli restrictions on free expression (Ahed’s Knee, which also featured a protagonist named Y, who contra our present hero is characterized by defiance). But the film has ratcheted up its critique along with its experimentation, seeming to say yes to its every outlandish idea.
Lapid was living in Paris on Oct. 7, 2023. He returned to Tel Aviv a couple of weeks later to see the aftermath with his own eyes, and later to begin filming.
“Almost immediately, when the airplane landed, I was taken by two, I think, contradictory feelings,” Lapid said the first was an “unfamiliar empathy” (he is famously conflicted about his home country) and a sense that the nation was partaking in a “collective shiva.”
At first there was a rare tenderness.
“It didn’t last long,” he said. “It was quickly replaced by what you see in the movie, by the kind of morbid vivacity, this ecstatic, dark party by a nation which, in a way, deeply knows that it’s giving up all its limits.”
Lapid saw his fellow artists throwing their weight behind the war and lending their talents to the government. He started production on Yes while drones were still bombarding Gaza. He filmed the smoke plumes from the border, guerilla style. It was an active military zone and he was only allowed to stay on thanks to the intercession of an interested officer, who peppered them with questions about the cameras. (When crew members learned the film was critical of the war, some walked off set — a career first for Lapid.)
In a film with extravagant, overstimulating set pieces, the sequence that takes place at the border stands out for its stillness.
During a road trip to find inspiration for his chest-thumping anthem, Y’s ex-girlfriend Leah (Naama Preis) explains to him the Hamas crimes she translates for the government on social media. It’s a gutting list of real-life murders and maimings. She interrupts the litany with the dismissive comments she sees daily, a signal of the world’s limited empathy.
Lapid chose to film this sequence simply in a static shot, emphasizing what he calls the “destabilizing power of the accumulation of facts.” Facts, he says, that many who he agrees with politically have difficulty acknowledging over a “childish lack of complexity, in the incapacity of looking at reality as it is.”
He sees the scene as a complement to the film’s main subject: the Israeli blindness to the humanitarian crisis in Gaza.
The director lets the weight of Leah’s words sink in, but doesn’t offer them as an excuse. Even these horrors are commoditized by our opportunistic hero. The next shot shows Y trudging up a hill overlooking Gaza, muttering the Hamas atrocities Leah recited. He’s using them to find the melody for a song that lauds how Israel will “exterminate our enemies.” (The camera then pans to Gaza, and we hear Leah and Y, unbothered, making out.)
The lyrics Y is tasked with working off are from an actual altered version of Haim Gouri’s poem “The Brotherhood” that emerged during the Gaza war. Asked if the song, in its original form from 1949, represented a purer vision of Israel, Lapid offered a kind of yes and.
“On one hand, of course, there’s a huge gap between a genocidal anthem and the song talking about, you know, brotherhood in battlefield,” Lapid said. At the same time, both versions refer in their chorus to a “love sanctified by blood,” what he thinks may be the “most important collective myth in Israel.”
“In the heart of Yes there is also this question whether it’s possible in such a society, in such a place, to love,” Lapid said of Israel, which he deems a failed experiment. “And the answer is ‘no.’ The answer is that at the very end, everything will be stained, will be polluted, will be contaminated.”
With a new war in Iran only a month old, Lapid thinks the film is only growing more relevant, reflecting a society mixing vulgarity and nationalism, communicating only in slogans.
But he’s a more even-handed critic of slogans than some seem to think. He was surprised that most reviews of the film overlook a moment critiquing performative activism in the west. The film isn’t just taking aim at the Israeli institutions and hardliners that have ended up condemning it.
“I haven’t done this movie in order to flatter or to polish the ego, or to give a kind of audiovisual demonstration of the theory of anyone,” he said. “I think the artist, filmmaker shouldn’t and doesn’t belong to any camp. His only real place and true place is in the contradiction.”
The post An Israeli dissident filmmaker finds tainted love amid the Gaza rubble appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
Iran Sees US Peace Plan as ‘One-Sided’ as Trump Presses for Deal
A view of a residential building damaged by a strike, amid the US-Israeli conflict with Iran, in Tehran, Iran, March 23, 2026. Photo: Majid Asgaripour/WANA (West Asia News Agency) via REUTERS
A US proposal for ending nearly four weeks of fighting is “one-sided and unfair,” a senior Iranian official told Reuters on Thursday, while US President Donald Trump said Iran must make a deal or face a continued onslaught.
The Iranian official said the proposal, conveyed to Tehran by Pakistan, “was reviewed in detail on Wednesday night by senior Iranian officials and the representative of Iran‘s Supreme Leader.”
It lacked the minimum requirements for success and served only US and Israeli interests, the official said, while stressing that diplomacy had not ended despite the lack for now of a realistic plan for peace talks.
Trump described the Iranians as “great negotiators” but added that he was not sure he was “willing to make a deal with them to end the war.”
Iran has launched strikes against Israel as well as US bases and civilian sites in the Gulf states. The Iranian regime has also effectively blocked Middle East fuel exports via the Strait of Hormuz since the US and Israel attacked Iran on Feb. 28.
“They now have the chance, that is Iran, to permanently abandon their nuclear ambitions and to join a new path forward,” Trump said during a Cabinet meeting at the White House.
“We’ll see if they want to do it. If they don’t, we’re their worst nightmare. In the meantime, we’ll just keep blowing them away.”
Oil jumped to $105 a barrel on Thursday and stock markets fell on renewed pessimism over ceasefire prospects as global plastics, technology, retail, and tourism struggled with the impact.
STRAIT OF HORMUZ A CRUCIAL ISSUE
Trump suggested on Thursday that Iran let 10 oil tankers transit the Strait of Hormuz as a goodwill gesture in negotiations, including some Pakistan-flagged vessels, elaborating on what he had described as a “present” from Iran.
The president, who is expected to send thousands of troops to the Middle East, driving expectations of a ground invasion, also said taking control of Iran‘s oil was an option but gave no further details.
A note seen by Reuters on Tuesday to the United Nations from Iran said “non-hostile vessels” could transit the strait if they coordinated with Iranian authorities.
A Thai oil tanker has passed through the strait following diplomatic coordination with Iran, and Malaysia said its vessels were also being allowed to transit in a sign that restrictions were loosening for some countries. Iran would be receptive to any request from Spain related to the strait, its embassy in Madrid said, in the first such offer to an EU state.
US Special Envoy Steve Witkoff confirmed that the US had sent a “15-point action list” as a basis for negotiations to end the war.
Pakistan’s foreign minister said “indirect talks” between the US and Iran were taking place through messages relayed by Islamabad, with other states including Turkey and Egypt also supporting mediation efforts.
Any talks, were they to happen, would likely prove very difficult given the positions laid out by both sides.
According to sources and reports, the 15-point proposal includes demands ranging from dismantling Iran‘s nuclear program and curbing its missiles to effectively handing over control of the strait.
Iran has hardened its stance since the war began, demanding guarantees against future military action, compensation for losses, and formal control of the strait, Iranian sources say.
It also told intermediaries that Lebanon must be included in any ceasefire deal, regional sources said.
Trump has not identified who the US is negotiating with in Iran, with many high-ranking officials among the thousands of people killed in the war across the Middle East.
Israel removed Iranian Foreign Minister Abbas Araqchi and Parliamentary Speaker Mohammad Baqer Qalibaf from its hit list after Pakistan urged Washington to press Israel not to target them, a Pakistani source with knowledge of the discussions told Reuters. An Israeli military spokesperson declined to comment.
A Western diplomat said the US had taken a “maximalist” position and it was not clear if Washington was seeking to end the war or to calm markets before a potential ground operation.
WAVES OF MISSILES
On Thursday, Iran launched multiple waves of missiles at Israel, striking Tel Aviv, Haifa and other areas, including a Palestinian town in central Israel.
At least one ballistic missile hit Tel Aviv, according to the military, while others carried cluster munitions that dispersed smaller explosives, damaging homes and cars. Israel’s ambulance service said a man was killed in Nahariya after Hezbollah fired a rocket barrage at the northern city.
In Iran, strikes hit a residential zone in the southern city of Bandar Abbas and a village on the outskirts of the southern city of Shiraz, where two teenage brothers were killed, Iran‘s Tasnim news agency said. A university building in Isfahan was reported to have been hit.
US and Israeli officials said Israel had killed the naval commander of Iran‘s Revolutionary Guards, and that it had many more targets left as it degraded Iranian capabilities.