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Judaism doesn’t want you to wander and live just anywhere — or does it?
(JTA) — I was a remote worker long before the pandemic made it a thing, but it was only last month that I really took advantage of it. Early on the morning of New Year’s Day, I boarded a plane from Connecticut bound for Mexico, where I spent a full month sleeping in thatch-roofed palapas, eating more tacos than was probably wise and bathing every day in the Pacific. I’ll spare you the glorious details, but suffice it to say, it wasn’t a bad way to spend a January.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, I found myself again and again coming into contact with expats who had traded in their urban lives in northern climes for a more laid-back life in the tropics. There was the recently divorced motorcycle enthusiast slowly wending his way southward by bike as he continued to work a design job for a major American bank. There was the yoga instructor born not far from where I live in Massachusetts who owned an open-air rooftop studio just steps from the waves. There were the countless couples who had chosen to spend their days running beachfront bars or small hotels on the sand. And then there were the seemingly endless number and variety of middle-aged northerners rebooting their lives in perpetual sunshine.
Such people have long mystified me. It’s not hard to understand the lure of beachside living, and part of me envies the freedom to design your own life from the ground up. But there’s also something scary about it. Arriving in middle age in a country where you know nobody, whose language is not your own, whose laws and cultural mores, seasons and flora, are all unfamiliar — it feels like the essence of shallow-rootedness, like a life devoid of all the things that give one (or at least me) a sense of comfort and security and place. The thought of exercising the right to live literally anywhere and any way I choose opens up a space so vast and limitless it provokes an almost vertiginous fear of disconnection and a life adrift.
Clearly, this feeling isn’t universally shared. And the fact that I have it probably owes a lot to my upbringing. I grew up in an Orthodox family, which by necessity meant life was lived in a fairly small bubble. Our house was within walking distance of our synagogue, as it had to be since walking was the only way to get there on Shabbat and holidays. I attended a small Jewish day school, where virtually all of my friends came from families with similar religious commitments. Keeping kosher and the other constraints of a religious life had a similarly narrowing effect on the horizons of my world and thus my sense of life’s possibilities. Or at least that’s how it often felt.
What must it be like — pardon the non-kosher expression — to feel as if the world is your oyster? That you could live anywhere, love anyone, eat anything and make your life whatever you want it to be? Thrilling, yes — but also frightening. The sense of boundless possibility I could feel emanating from those sun-baked Mexicans-by-choice was seductive, but tempered by aversion to a life so unmoored.
The tension between freedom and obligation is baked into Jewish life. The twin poles of our national narrative are the Exodus from Egypt and the revelation at Sinai, each commemorated by festivals separated by exactly seven weeks in the calendar, starting with Passover. The conventional understanding is that this juxtaposition isn’t accidental. God didn’t liberate the Israelites from slavery so they could live free of encumbrances on the Mayan Riviera. Freedom had a purpose, expressed in the giving of the Torah at Sinai, with all its attendant rules and restrictions and obligations. Freedom is a central value of Jewish life — Jews are commanded to remember the Exodus every day. But Jewish freedom doesn’t mean the right to live however you want.
Except it might mean the right to live any place you want. In the 25th chapter of Leviticus, God gives the Israelites the commandment of the Jubilee year, known as yovel in Hebrew. Observed every 50 years in biblical times, the Jubilee has many similarities to the shmita (sabbatical) year, but with some additional rituals. The text instructs: “And you shall hallow the 50th year. You shall proclaim liberty throughout the land for all its inhabitants. It shall be a jubilee for you: each of you shall return to your holding and each of you shall return to your family.”
Among the requirements of the Jubilee was that ancestral lands be returned to their original owners. Yet the word for liberty is a curious one: “d’ror.” The Talmud explains its etymology this way: “It is like a man who dwells [medayer] in any dwelling and moves merchandise around the entire country” (Rosh Hashanah 9b).
The liberty of the Jubilee year could thus be said to have two contrary meanings — individuals had the right to return to their ancestral lands, but they were also free not to. They could live in any dwelling they chose. The sense of liberty connoted by the biblical text is a specifically residential one: the freedom to live where one chooses. Which pretty well describes the world we live in today. Jewish ancestral lands are freely available to any Jew who wants to live there. And roughly half the Jews of the world choose not to.
Clearly, I’m among them. And while I technically could live anywhere, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to. I like where I live — not because of any particular qualities of this place, though I do love its seasons and its smells and its proximity to the people I care about and the few weeks every fall when the trees become a riotous kaleidoscope. But mostly because it’s mine.
A version of this essay appeared in My Jewish Learning’s Recharge Shabbat newsletter. Subscribe here.
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Why Does the Palestinian Authority Still Promote Holocaust Denial? Because It Starts at the Top
Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas looks on as he visits the Istishari Cancer Center in Ramallah, in the West Bank, May 14, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Mohammed Torokman
Official Palestinian Authority (PA) television recently aired yet another segment questioning the reality of the Holocaust.
On Oct. 8, 2025, PA TV brought on Tunisian journalist Sufian Al-Arfawi to claim that the Jewish “victim narrative” is collapsing, and the PA TV host added that even the gas chambers could be dismissed with “simple evidence.”
Tunisian journalist Sufian Al-Arfawi: “The moral issue that they [the Jews] were victims and the issue that they were subjected to extermination by Hitler allowed them to receive support and a global popular embrace, because there was sympathy. This [victim] narrative has begun to collapse and to go in the right direction…”
Official PA TV host: “There is the narrative that says that the [German] soldier used to drag the Jews to the crematorium while calmly eating a sandwich. How does someone drag a person into a crematorium that has toxic gas and isn’t harmed by it? Meaning, even the narrative can be undone with very simple evidence.” [emphasis adde]
[Official PA TV, Capital of Capitals – Tunis, Oct. 8, 2025]
According to the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance’s working definition of Holocaust denial and distortion, “Holocaust denial may include publicly denying or calling into doubt the use of principal mechanisms of destruction (such as gas chambers, mass shooting, starvation and torture) or the intentionality of the genocide of the Jewish people.”
Given the ideology of the PA’s leadership, this denial is entirely predictable.
PA leader Mahmoud Abbas himself laid the groundwork for this narrative decades ago in his doctoral thesis, later published as The Other Side.
Abbas argued that Zionists intentionally inflated the number of Holocaust victims for political gain and that the real number of Jews killed was only “a few hundred thousand.” He even claimed that Jews were “offered up” to increase the victim count.
Having more victims meant greater rights and stronger privilege to join the negotiation table for dividing the spoils of war once it was over. However, since Zionism was not a fighting partner – suffering victims in a battle – it had no escape but to offer up human beings, under any name, to raise the number of victims, which they could then boast of at the moment of accounting …
It seems that the interest of the Zionist movement…is to inflate this figure so that their gains will be greater. This led them to emphasize this figure in order to gain the solidarity of international public opinion with Zionism. Many scholars have debated the figure of six million and reached stunning conclusions — fixing the number of Jewish victims at only a few hundred thousand.” [emphasis adde]
When the head of the PA has distorted the memory of the Holocaust throughout his life, such as when he suggested that Hitler killed Jews out of self-defense because “they caused ruin” and because of Jews’ “social role,” it is no surprise that PA TV echoes them.
This is not a new narrative; rather, it is a continuation of the Holocaust distortion that Mahmoud Abbas embedded into PA ideology and that its media still carries forward today.
Ephraim D. Tepler is a contributor to Palestinian Media Watch (PMW). Itamar Marcus is the Founder and Director of PMW, where a version of this article first appeared.
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Israel Exposed Hamas’s Terror Network Across Europe. Will UK Media Now Stop Treating Its Leaders With Kid Gloves?
Basem Naim, a senior Hamas official in Gaza, speaks during an interview with Reuters in Istanbul, Turkey, Oct. 16, 2024. Photo: REUTERS/Murad Sezer
Over the past two years, senior Hamas official Basem Naim has been granted multiple high‑profile interviews on UK platforms such as Sky News and the BBC — remarkable visibility for someone with a leadership position in a designated terrorist group. Now, in light of a startling disclosure by Israel’s intelligence agency Mossad concerning a Europe‑wide terror infrastructure attributed to Hamas, those media appearances demand re‑examination.
The Israeli Prime Minister’s Office released a statement this week on behalf of the Mossad saying the agency, in cooperation with European counterparts, has dismantled a network of terror cells across Germany, Austria, and beyond — cells that stockpiled weapons and stood ready to strike Jewish and Israeli targets on the continent.
Among the most striking details was a weapons cache seized in Vienna last September, consisting of pistols and explosives and traced to a certain Muhammad Naim, who was identified by Israeli intelligence as the son of Basem Naim. Investigators reportedly uncovered a meeting in Qatar between father and son, allegedly signaling leadership‑level approval of the European operation.
When one considers that Basem Naim has been treated in the UK media as a mainstream political figure, flattered with copious airtime, speaking from Istanbul and Doha, questions must be asked.
On Oct. 10, Sky News’ lightweight foreign news presenter Yalda Hakim interviewed Naim in Doha (perhaps she flew there on Sky News’ weather forecast sponsor Qatar Airways’ own fleet), where she didn’t once question Hamas’s international terrorism aimed at Jews. Instead, Naim was given time to claim Hamas was prepared to relinquish governing Gaza but would not agree to disarm.
Hakim’s three softball interviews of Naim never one challenged the terrorist and his organization’s evil, sadistic behaviors or ideology in as aggressive a way as she badgered me for doubting the discredited and disproven Hamas-supplied casualty figures during the Gaza war. Earlier, a BBC “HardTalk” session with Sarah Montague on Jan. 29 featured Naim on Gaza’s future, once again without evident interrogation of his organization’s international terror links.
I myself appeared on Hakim’s Sky studio show back in February 2024, immediately after another segment with Naim, and openly criticized the absurdity of the interview — from Turkey, during active warfare in Gaza — where no questions were asked about Hamas’s torture of its own people or its transnational terror ambitions. I pointed out that he had served as minister of health in the first government of arch-terrorist Ismael Haniyeh, only for the other guest, Baroness Sayeeda Warsi, to jump in and suggest that his willingness to perpetuate the suffering of Gazans while he was safe in Turkey was somehow akin to Yair Netanyahu, the son of the Israeli Prime Minister and a private citizen, living in the US. In conversion outside the studio, she insisted to me that Israel’s main problem was its democratically elected leader but, when challenged, couldn’t name a single other Israeli leader who she thought would act differently in the circumstances. I’m not sure she could name any other Israeli politicians at all. No criticism of Dr. Naim, though.
Having highlighted this at the time, I hope that now the mainstream media and establishment’s choice to confer legitimacy on Naim without substantive challenge on important issues is reconsidered. (I haven’t had the opportunity to ask Hakim or Warsi since then).
To dismiss Palestinian terrorism as only a local Israeli problem is to ignore how Hamas has long viewed itself: as a regional, even global, movement, and an offshoot of the Muslim Brotherhood — a transnational Islamic jihadist movement. Indeed, senior Hamas leadership in Gaza have, for years, framed their cause not simply as liberation of the enclave but as vanguard of a broader “resistance” spanning all of Israel, with their own founding charter clear on its views of Jews in general. They want us dead. To anyone who claims it’s all just rhetoric, the European arrests and weapon caches expose their ambitions in operational form.
The recent arrest in London of a British man accused of helping move firearms into Europe for attacks on Jewish and Israeli targets should dispel any lingering doubt about how far these networks extend.
German authorities say the suspect was detained in the UK on a German warrant after a monthslong investigation into a Hamas-linked cell operating across Germany and Austria. According to Germany’s Federal Prosecutor, he was a member of Hamas and twice traveled to Berlin over the summer to meet a German citizen referred to as Abed Al G, who was arrested earlier alongside two others described as “foreign operatives” alleged to have been seeking weapons for attacks on Jewish sites. During those arrests police seized an AK-47, several handguns, and quantities of ammunition. Prosecutors say the suspect had already taken delivery of five handguns and ammunition and transported them to Vienna for safekeeping.
The picture emerging is of a network that now reaches into Britain itself.
In this context, Britain’s recent decision to admit young Palestinian students from Gaza with fully‑funded scholarships — and dependent family members — is disturbing. On the face of it, the initiative is humanitarian. But when set against the backdrop of a terror network active on European soil, rooted into Hamas leadership and stretched into host‑countries, it smacks of policy naïveté, or worse, “suicidal empathy.”
Granting access to students and their families from a territory under Hamas control where generations have been educated to idolize terrorists and carry out attacks like the Oct. 7, 2023, invasion of southern Israel seems more than a little foolish. UK campuses are experiencing rising extremism as it is, and radicalization is a known problem without importing the children of a Gazan education system built on antisemitism and violence.
The threat, it seems, is not only on Israel’s doorstep — it may be on our own. And while compassion is a noble instinct, in a world of asymmetric warfare, porous borders, and subterranean terror networks, we risk opening doors without knowing what, or whom, may walk through.
When the media treats a senior Hamas figure as legitimate without challenge, when Western academic institutions open their doors to students from societies led by terrorist groups, and when intelligence agencies expose the apparatus of terror on our continent, can we still afford to view Palestinian terrorism as someone else’s problem? Or have we now become part of that problem ourselves?
Jonathan Sacerdoti, a writer and broadcaster, is now a contributor to The Algemeiner.
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Parshat Toldot: Appearances Can Fool Us, But Divine Purpose Never Does
Fans of Victorian England may be familiar with the unusual legal drama known as the “Tichborne Case.” It was part mystery, part tragedy, and part social spectacle. The story has all the elements of a potboiler novel: a ship lost at sea, a grieving mother, a missing heir, a large inheritance, and, in the end, an imposter chasing the money.
In 1854, Roger Charles Tichborne, the young heir to an English baronetcy and a vast fortune, boarded a ship in South America called The Bella. The ship vanished off the coast of Brazil on its way to Jamaica, and everybody on board was thought to have died at sea. Everyone believed Roger had drowned — everyone, that is, except his mother, Lady Henriette Tichborne.
Lady Henriette was French, the illegitimate daughter of a British Member of Parliament, Henry Seymour, who had arranged her marriage to his friend, Sir James Tichborne, Roger’s father.
Known for her emotional temperament, Lady Henriette could not accept her son’s death. She and Roger had lived together in Paris before he left to travel the world, and she kept his room untouched, still writing him letters as if he were just away for a while.
When rumors spread that some survivors of The Bella had been rescued and taken to Australia, Lady Henriette placed ads in Australian newspapers, offering a handsome reward for any information about her missing son.
In 1865, she received a letter from New South Wales about a man claiming to be Roger — a butcher from Wagga Wagga named Thomas Castro. Delighted, she arranged for him to come to France.
But when they met, it was immediately apparent that Castro looked nothing like the slim, tall, dark-haired youth who had disappeared eleven years earlier — a fluent French speaker who also spoke the Queen’s English. This man was obese, fair-haired, spoke no French at all — and his English had a pronounced Cockney accent.
Castro could not recall even basic details of Roger’s childhood or the names of close relatives. Still, Lady Henriette insisted he was her son, dismissing all the startling changes as the result of years of hardship and separation.
Intriguingly, her servants and advisers supported her, insisting that this corpulent stranger was Roger. But the rest of the Tichborne family, the press, and the public considered him a complete fraud.
Scotland Yard detective Jack Whicher soon discovered that “the Claimant” was in fact Arthur Orton, the son of a butcher from London’s East End who had emigrated to Australia.
Even so, Lady Henriette’s faith in him remained unshaken. She gave him a generous allowance and defended him fiercely, as only a mother could. Even after she died in 1868, her implausible opinion seemed to haunt the courtroom as “Sir Roger” sued the Tichborne family for his inheritance.
The sensational trials at Westminster became a national obsession. Crowds packed the galleries and newspapers breathlessly reported every detail. Nearly a hundred witnesses swore he was the true heir. The two trials — one civil, one criminal — lasted 291 days, and the closing statements of the second alone took 62 days.
The jury deliberated for just 35 minutes. Orton was found guilty of perjury and sentenced to fourteen years in prison. He was released a decade later, destitute, and died in poverty in 1898 — having finally confessed that he was indeed Arthur Orton.
But the real mystery lies not in his deception, but in Lady Henriette’s firm conviction that this obvious imposter was her son — a mother so certain of what her heart told her that she became a willing party to Orton’s fraud.
And it is that same strange mixture of blindness and conviction — love triumphing over reason — that we find at the heart of Parshat Toldot. Isaac, old and sightless, summons his older son Esau, whom he loves despite his unrighteous behavior, to receive the family blessing.
But while Esau is out hunting for food to feed Isaac, Rebecca urges her younger son Jacob to disguise himself as Esau, covering his smooth arms with goatskins to imitate Esau’s hairy skin, and to claim the blessing instead.
Jacob hesitates, but obeys his mother. When he enters Isaac’s tent, the scene could almost come from a Victorian melodrama: the blind father reaching out, the reluctant son trembling, the air thick with tension.
Isaac hears the voice of his son and frowns. “The voice is the voice of Jacob,” he says, “but the hands are the hands of Esau” (Gen. 27:22). Then, like Lady Henriette, Isaac allows his emotions to override his doubts. His love for Esau blinds him completely. He blesses Jacob, believing him to be Esau.
But this is where the similarity to the Victorian story ends. The Tichborne claimant was a fraud, but Jacob was not. His act may seem deceitful — pretending to be his brother to get something that isn’t his. But the Torah and its commentators make clear it was not deceit — it was destiny.
Earlier in Toldot, Esau had sold his birthright to Jacob for a bowl of lentil stew. That sale was not just symbolic — it was legally binding. Esau did not value the birthright, but Jacob did. The blessing Isaac intended to give was tied to that birthright. Jacob was not stealing — he was taking what he had rightfully acquired.
As for Rebecca, she wasn’t a meddling mother — she was following what God had told her. Before her twins were born, God said (Gen. 25:23): “Two nations are in your womb… and the elder shall serve the younger.” She knew Jacob, not Esau, was meant to continue the path of Abraham’s covenant. Her plan was not for unfair gain, but to fulfill prophecy.
Some commentators, like the Ramban, even suggest that Isaac may have suspected the truth. The Torah hints at this, quoting Isaac as saying: “See, the smell of my son is like the smell of a field blessed by God” (Gen. 27:27). This is why Isaac’s blessing focused on spiritual destiny, not on hunting or power as it might have for Esau.
Arthur Orton’s fraudulent identity hid a lie and caused years of pain and suffering. Lady Henriette’s refusal to accept her son’s death blinded her to reality, and her embrace of Orton brought her family needless grief.
Isaac’s love blinded him too — but through that blindness, God’s plan came into focus: a wrong was righted, and a precious legacy was preserved. Jacob’s disguise did not conceal a lie — on the contrary, it revealed the truth. Esau’s disregard for the covenant made him unfit to inherit it. Jacob’s deception was not a betrayal of destiny but its fulfillment.
The Tichborne Case ended in shame and imprisonment. The Jacob Case ended in a nation of faith, and an enduring covenant with God. Jacob’s blessing shows us that sometimes destiny is hidden in confusion. What seems like a mistake may be God’s way of making sure a blessing goes where it truly belongs.
Maybe that is the real lesson: appearances can fool us, but divine purpose never does. The voice may sound like Jacob and the hands may feel like Esau, but Heaven knows the truth, and in time, so will we.
The author is a writer and rabbi in Beverly Hills, California.


