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How one special Pink Day helps save and support cancer patients
When Rachel Wojnilower was an undergraduate at American University in Washington, D.C., she did all kinds of activities with her Jewish sorority, Alpha Epsilon Phi. Now 36, Wojnilower has let most of them fade from memory.
But in retrospect, one in particular stands out.
That’s because about five years after graduating, Wojnilower got married and underwent genetic testing along with her husband as they both prepared for future children. They were surprised when they each tested positive as carriers of a potentially dangerous mutation, and even more so when Wojnilower learned, after additional testing, that she also carried a mutation in the BRCA1 gene.
Such mutations, which are 10 times more common among Ashkenazi Jewish men and women than among the general U.S. population, significantly elevate the risks for breast cancer and ovarian cancer, and also increase the risks for melanoma, pancreatic and prostate cancers.
Without any intervention, there was a 50-50 chance that the couple would pass down this dangerous mutation to their children. Wojnilower didn’t know what to do.
“As you can imagine, my stress and anxiety levels were through the roof,” Wojnilower recalled. “I didn’t know a single person who had ever gone through this before.”
Then she remembered one of the volunteer opportunities she had done with Alpha Epsilon Phi: a fundraising drive for Sharsheret, the national Jewish breast cancer and ovarian cancer organization.
Wojnilower reached out to Sharsheret and spoke to one of organization’s social workers, who explained more about the mutation and what measures she could take to protect her health and that of her future children. The social worker connected Wojnilower with a trained peer supporter — another young woman who had had a very similar experience.
Ultimately, Wojnilower and her husband decided to pursue pre-implantation genetic diagnosis (PGD) — a cutting-edge procedure used with in-vitro fertilization (IVF) to screen embryos. This enabled them to identify which embryos were lower-risk and thereby reduce the chances of passing on the BRCA mutation.
Wojnilower has since given birth to two healthy children, both free of the genetic mutations that she and her husband carry.
“That’s really the essence of what we do at Sharsheret, which is Hebrew for the word chain. We are connecting women, families, and communities to each other and to life-changing and, quite frankly, lifesaving resources,” said Jordana Altman, Sharsheret’s director of marketing and communications. “Whatever the issue may be, you’re not alone, and we have skilled trained professionals and a community of thousands who together form a chain of support and information.”
Sharsheret Pink Day events, like this student-run fundraiser at Binghamton University, now take place at more than 150 college campuses, Jewish day schools and companies around the world. (Courtesy of Phi Mu Chapter of Alpha Epsilon Phi at Binghamton University)
In the years since Wojnilower was a student, Sharsheret has expanded its activities on college campuses and in Jewish day schools much more widely. One centerpiece of Sharsheret’s activities on campus is Sharsheret Pink Day — an annual day in February dedicated to the cause during which students and faculty dress in pink and undertake other activities to raise awareness of the risks for breast cancer and ovarian cancer as well as Sharsheret’s critical support programs.
The goal of Pink Day is to engage young people to participate in activities that they will remember later in life so that when one of them confronts a cancer-related challenge or helps someone who is, they’ll remember the resources Sharsheret offers. This year, Sharsheret hosted Pink Day activities around the United States at college campuses, Jewish high schools and day schools.
“We are planting seeds about Sharsheret,” said Ellen Kleinhaus, Sharsheret’s regional director of education and outreach. “While today you may only need Sharsheret to better understand your risk, you or someone you love will need Sharsheret for support in the future. There isn’t a family or a community out there that is not touched by breast cancer or ovarian cancer.”
Pink Day’s origins can be traced to 2006, when a New Jersey Jewish high school organized a dedicated day for students to support Sharsheret by wearing pink and sharing resources with their parents.
“It was such a memorable part of my high school experience,” said Tzvi Solomon, one of the students who initiated Sharsheret Pink Day. “People really rallied around it.”
Solomon was so inspired by the event that when he went to Israel for his gap year, he asked peers in the United States and Israel to bring Pink Day to their schools. Now an international initiative, the program engages thousands of participants at more than 150 schools and companies globally.
“I think it’s a reflection of our community being sensitive and recognizing the importance of having an organization like Sharsheret,” said Solomon, whose young son wore a pink shirt to school on this year’s Sharsheret Pink Day.
Amanda Goldsmith, 28, has been involved with Sharsheret since her Jewish day school hosted a Pink Day. Years later, while attending New York University, Goldsmith remembered Sharsheret when her parents called her one morning to inform her that her mother had just been diagnosed with breast cancer. Goldsmith immediately turned to Sharsheret for help and information, and she referred her mother to the organization’s peer support network.
During her mother’s treatment, Goldsmith vowed that once her mother was cancer free she’d start an initiative to get college students in New York City more involved with Sharsheret. She ended up establishing a local student board for the organization in New York City.
On Sharsheret Pink Day last year, Goldsmith, a human resource professional, implemented Wear Pink at Work, where her colleagues gave a $5 donation to Sharsheret and wore pink to the office. Her family also established a new Sharsheret program for young adults called YAD: The Young Adult Corner, which helps young adults understand their loved ones’ diagnoses, provides peer support and manages a website about cancer for young adults.
“It’s really just about spreading Sharsheret’s mission because they do so much good for so many people,” said Goldsmith, whose mother is now cancer free. “Pink Day might seem like something relatively small, but it’s hugely important.”
To learn more about Sharsheret, YAD: Young ADult Caring Corner or Sharsheret Pink Day 2024, email info@sharsheret.org.
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The post How one special Pink Day helps save and support cancer patients appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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At Eurovision, Israel’s near triumph shows the limits of tolerance
VIENNA — A keffiyeh was blocking my view, and it bothered me less than I would have expected.
It was around 9:45 pm, and I was standing outside Vienna’s city hall, where the city had erected a “Eurovision village.” The pan-European singing competition was taking place in the former Habsburg capital, grand architecture framing massive public viewing screens.
Security was tight. Visitors weren’t allowed to bring bags inside the area, and we were patted down by two separate guards before we were allowed to enter. In August 2024, a foiled terror attack led to the cancellation of three Taylor Swift concerts, an international embarrassment authorities were keen not to repeat.
And then there were the protests over Israel’s participation.
The day before, an anti-Israel solidarity concert had featured a video call with Unorthodox author Deborah Feldman, who said she was protesting the “whitewashing” of a genocide. A separate “song protest” reportedly escalated from chants of “One love” to “Death, death IDF.” Earlier that day, demonstrators had marched along Vienna’s main shopping boulevard. By the time evening rolled around, a group of clowns had gathered outside the parliament, practicing creepy, Joker-like laughs and holding signs that said “United by Genocide,” a play on the Eurovision Song Contest’s slogan. “United by Music.”
For a contest that insists on being apolitical, Eurovision had become unmistakably political.
I didn’t care much for the music, but world events were unfolding here in Vienna, and I wanted to see them up close.
Israeli singer Noam Bettan was the third to perform. As he got on stage and started singing “Michelle,” a couple of people in the crowd I was standing in started shouting “Free Palestine” at the screen. The chants weren’t loud enough to drown out the performance
Then, someone in front of me raised a keffiyeh, stretching it between both hands and waving it in the air. It blocked my view. I considered asking him to lower it. But did I really want to risk a confrontation? Instead, I stepped sideways – slightly annoyed, but telling myself this was the price of tolerance.
Only later that night did I begin to wonder whether tolerance was, in fact, a shared value.
Back home, I watched the voting. Just before 1 a.m. the audience vote catapulted the Israeli act into the lead. In the previous two years, Israeli entries had also performed strongly with viewers, placing first and second in the public vote without winning overall. The reasons have been debated: diaspora support, savvy promotion, or simply songs that fit the Eurovision formula — catchy, theatrical, sung with a powerful voice. (Israel has won the competition four times, most recently in 2018.)
Israel’s promotional efforts have drawn criticism, but no evidence of manipulation has emerged, and the public broadcaster KAN has responded quickly to European Broadcasting Union reprimands.
It didn’t matter. Social media filled with accusations that Israel had cheated. In the arena, just before Bulgaria’s points were announced, the booing aimed at Israel’s entry grew so loud it was clearly audible on the broadcast.
Bulgaria won, Israel came in second, and I felt something close to relief. At a time when several countries had already stayed away and others were wavering, it seemed less like a celebration than a breaking point. I wouldn’t want to witness what would happen if Eurovision were to be held in Israel next year.
It had been easy to move when the keffiyeh blocked my view. One step to the side, and the problem was gone. However, there was no stepping aside from what came later. Freedom of speech is about making space, but it can also be used to close it.
The post At Eurovision, Israel’s near triumph shows the limits of tolerance appeared first on The Forward.
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Israel’s Noam Bettan takes 2nd at Eurovision, buoyed by scrutinized public vote
(JTA) — The Israeli contestant in the Eurovision Song Contest won second place for the second year in a row, drawing a strong public vote despite protests over Israel’s inclusion in the contest.
Noam Bettan and his song “Michelle” ranked third in the public vote and eighth in the jury vote, which combined to give him second place behind the entry from Bulgaria, which won the contest for the first time.
Bettan thanked his fans in a post on Instagram after leaving the stage.
“I’m still processing everything and trying to find the words for this incredible journey. You guys are amazing and this is all because of you. I love every single one of you!” he wrote. “This is just the beginning, there are so many amazing things in the way! 🤍Am Israel Chai!!!”
Five countries boycotted the contest this year over Israel’s inclusion, citing Israel’s military operations in Gaza. After the competition, a spokesperson for VRT, Belgium’s national broadcaster, said the country was unlikely to participate next year unless the European Broadcasting Union, which runs the contest, makes “a clear statement against war and violence and for respect for human rights.” Belgium came in 21st of 25 competitors in the final.
Bettan faced a smattering of boos both during the semifinal on Tuesday and during the final on Saturday in Vienna, as well as when Israel briefly led the leaderboard during the announcement of the audience votes. He told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency ahead of the final that he believed he had more fans than detractors and that he would focus on them.
Israel scored 220 points in the public vote after drawing a formal warning from the EBU for its campaign urging supporters to send all 10 of their votes to Bettan. Israel’s broadcaster called off the campaign after being told it was “not in line with our rules nor the spirit of the competition.”
Israel also drew 123 points from national juries, more than twice what it earned last year when 22 countries awarded Israel no points at all in a result seen as driven in part by political tensions.
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post Israel’s Noam Bettan takes 2nd at Eurovision, buoyed by scrutinized public vote appeared first on The Forward.
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It looks like a kaffiyeh, but this pro-Israel influencer wants you to wear a sudra
In a recent viral Jubilee video viewed more than 1.5 million times, pro-Israel activist Rudy Rochman sits across from a group of 20 pro-Palestinian activists, debating the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Draped around his neck is a black-and-gray checkered scarf that looks almost identical to a kaffiyeh.
Look closer, and the pattern resolves into something else: tiny Stars of David clustered together, alongside Hebrew lettering spelling out Am Yisrael Chai — “the people of Israel live,” which has became a mantra after Oct. 7 and the hostage crisis. It’s not a kaffiyeh, Rochman says, but a modern twist on the sudra, a cloth head covering once worn by Jews across the Middle East — and he wants to bring it back.
Since the Gaza War, the kaffiyeh has become an increasingly visible symbol of pro-Palestinian activism. Now, Rochman is part of a small but growing effort to revive the sudra as a marker of Jewish identity rooted in the Middle East. He runs the company My Sudra, promoting and selling the garment online. It has been embraced by a niche but visible group of young pro-Israel influencers.
Rochman, a 32-year-old Jew of Moroccan and Algerian descent, said he and his family wore sudras during celebrations like bar mitzvahs and weddings. In old family albums, Rochman says most photos of his grandfather and great-grandfather show them donning the garment in Morocco.
As a child, Rochman understood the head covering as Middle Eastern rather than distinctly Jewish. Once he learned about its connection to Judaism, he set out to revive it, beginning to create sudras in 2016 while a student at Columbia University.
The term sudra appears in rabbinic literature, including the Mishnah and Talmud, as a general term for a cloth typically worn as the religiously prescribed head covering, though some sources describe Jews wearing it around their necks. Experts say Jews across the Middle East wore sudras, likely before the Middle Ages, with styles varying by region and period.
From the Middle Ages into the modern era, Jews in the Middle East, classified as dhimmis, sometimes faced legal restrictions on dress. One notable prohibition during certain periods was the wearing of a headscarf or turban by Jews, including the sudra.
“This form of headgear by Jewish men was not tolerated in many communities,” said Gillian Vogelsang-Eastwood, a textile historian specializing in Middle Eastern dress. “Men could wear the kippah, but nothing significant in public on the head.”
Over time, she said, those constraints contributed to the fading of the custom.
“For me, it’s about reviving an aspect of our culture that was beaten out of us by force,” said Rochman. “It’s not like we consciously made a decision. ‘Hey, we want to stop wearing sudras.’ We were forced to stop wearing it.”
Historically, sudras did not usually feature identifiably Jewish symbols. The Kurdish sudra is an exception, incorporating circles and dots with religious meaning. Even in Rochman’s own family photos, his ancestors typically wore plain white sudras.
Rochman, however, has deliberately added Jewish symbols to make the garment legibly Jewish to contemporary eyes.
Rochman sells sudras in various colors, including a black and white version that looks exceptionally similar to the Palestinian version of the kaffiyeh. Instead of the pattern of zig-zag stripes and criss-crossed squares that can be found on that kaffiyeh, Rochman’s sudra has stars of David juxtaposed to create a similar checkered pattern, as well as Jewish symbols like the menorah, along with the phrase Am Yisrael Chai.
The resemblance to the kaffiyeh is not accidental.
The kaffiyeh is widely seen today as a symbol of Palestinian identity and resistance, but it did not always carry that meaning.
According to Vogelsang, “The kaffiyeh is basically regarded as a 19th-century development worn by farmers in Syria,” she said. “The Jordanian army later adopted it as part of their uniforms.”
Vogelsang says its political symbolism developed in the 20th century, particularly through its association with Palestinian nationalism and figures such as PLO leader Yasser Arafat, who popularized the black-and-white kaffiyeh widely worn today.
Some say the patterns on the Palestinian black-and-white kaffiyeh represent different aspects of Palestinian culture. The criss-cross lines represent the Palestinian ties to the Mediterranean Sea because of their resemblance to fishnets; the black stripes symbolize trade routes through Palestine; and the curved lines are said to symbolize olive trees.
But Vogelsang and other experts say that this symbolism is a modern interpretation of older patterns. “They didn’t have these meanings. The Palestinian community has given them these meanings,” she said.
Patterns like checks and stripes were often used for garments in the Middle East, not because of any particular symbolism, but because “they are just an easy, convenient design to make,” said Vogelsang. Both Jews and Muslims used whichever fabrics were locally available, often checkered and striped patterns commonly associated with the modern-day kaffiyeh.
In a similar way, Rochman’s sudra takes on explicit political meaning through the inclusion of the phrase Am Yisrael Chai, popularized in the 1960s as a rallying cry for Soviet Jewry and now widely used at pro-Israel demonstrations. In that sense, his garment does not just revive a historical practice, but imbues it with ideological significance.
“Being a Zionist outwardly was kind of seen as excessive before Oct. 7, but after Oct. 7 it became something that was cool again,” Rochman said, adding that interest in — and sales of — his sudras increased following the attacks and the war in Gaza that followed.
I asked Rochman if he’s ever worried about being mistaken for wearing a kaffiyeh or accused of cultural appropriation. Dozens of Reddit threads are dedicated to the topic online. In the Jubilee video, one Palestinian activist tells him, “Are you going to pretend that the kaffiyeh you’re wearing is not a culturally appropriated kaffiyeh? And you just added the Hebrew and all of that to it.”
But he is not particularly bothered by either accusation.
“I look at it as just an opportunity to tell that person, whether a Jew or not a Jew, that doesn’t know anything about a part of Jewish culture, who we are and what we are.”
And while Rochman’s main goal is to help younger generations of Jews understand a part of their history that has faded, he hopes that more Jews wearing the sudra will also foster a greater understanding of Jewish history in the Middle East.
“We need to know where we’re from,” Rochman said. “And if it helps us connect with other Middle Eastern peoples, that’s amazing too.”
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