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One rabbi’s lifesaving solution to help Odessa’s vulnerable Jews: jerry-rigged car batteries
This winter, the city of Odessa, Ukraine, feels like the heart of darkness.
The city is constant bombardment by the Russian military, freezing nighttime temperatures commonly fall below zero, and electricity is only available for six hours per day: three in the morning and three at night.
Amid these desperate circumstances, Avraham Wolff, the chief rabbi of Odessa and southern Ukraine, is trying to bring some light — and heat.
He’s doing so with jerry-rigged car batteries to provide warmth and electricity to about 400 Holocaust survivors in the city — the most vulnerable of the vulnerable.
“The ones at greatest risk of starving to death or freezing to death are the Holocaust survivors who were not able to flee this place,” Wolff said in a phone interview from Odessa. “Holocaust survivors are staring death in the face for the second time, and we can’t avert our eyes.”
Wolff is trying to raise $500,000 in funds to purchase heating units powered by car batteries. Placed inside a home, the two car batteries connect to special transistors, which generate sufficient electricity to heat an apartment. Each unit costs $1,400, and Wolff’s organization, Mishpacha Chabad Odessa, is trying to organize 357 units: one for each apartment where a Holocaust survivor lives. Accounting for spouses, the units will provide enough electricity for about 500 people.
This literally can stave off death, Wolff says — not only by providing lifesaving heat, but also the electricity essential to the elderly and frail.
“If they go to the bathroom in the dark and they fall and break their hip, that’s the beginning of the end,” he said. When there is no power, Wolff said, “it’s darkness. But not just darkness. Also cold and hunger.”
About 20,000 Jews remain in wartime Odessa. That’s less than half the Jewish population of 50,000 that was there just a year ago, before Russian invaded Ukraine. Since then, most have fled to safer places either in western Ukraine, elsewhere in Europe or Israel. Odessa’s Jewish schools once taught 1,000 children. Now, only 200 students remain.
Jerry-rigged heating units use a pair of car batteries connecting to transistors to generate the power needed to heat an apartment. (Courtesy of Mishpacha Odessa)
The Holocaust survivors in their 80s and 90s who remain in the city are either too old or infirm to endure a dangerous journey or unwilling to leave the place where their spouse is buried.
“Someone over 90 cannot start life over as a refugee,” Wolff said.
Air raid sirens go off four or five times a day. Most of the incoming Russian rockets are shot down by defense systems, but there are hits on infrastructure, including power plants. Even the six hours per day of light and heat are not reliable, according to Wolff.
“Two days ago, they hit two power plants, so the city had no electricity for 24 hours,” he said on Monday. “We’re constantly under this pressure. We’ve been living in a war zone for a long time.”
Aside from caring for the Holocaust survivors, Mishpacha Chabad Odessa organizes monthly food deliveries of basic supplies to the homebound Jewish elderly, including such essentials as rice, cooking oil, potatoes, meat and hygiene items, and run Jewish schools and preschools still operating in Odessa.
“We want to help these people not just spiritually, but physically,” the rabbi said. “Elderly Holocaust survivors are currently the highest-risk group, but we help everyone.”
Odessa once was home to the world’s second-largest Jewish community. In the 19th century, the city became a major center of Jewish life and culture, with a large and diverse Jewish population. Many Jewish immigrants came to Odessa during this period, fleeing persecution and poverty in other parts of Europe and the Russian Empire.
Before the Holocaust, one-third of Odessa’s population was Jewish. Then the Nazis came, and Jews were subjected to forced relocation, property confiscation and mass extermination. Approximately 25,000 Jews were killed in the city and its surroundings.
A year ago, before the current war, 1.1 million people lived in Odessa. Hundreds of thousands have fled.
Wolff, 52, has lived in Odessa since 1992, when he came to the country from Israel as an emissary of Chabad, the Jewish outreach movement. When war broke out last February, he left Ukraine temporarily to settle a group of orphans in Germany. Then he returned.
After the Russian invasion, many Ukrainian Jewish communities crumbled. People fled, and Jewish institutions and landmarks like synagogues, community centers and cemeteries were destroyed by Russian bombs.
“There is so much destruction,” Wolff said. “We’re going to do all we can to rebuild, with God’s help.”
With the Russian military targeting infrastructure like power plants, residents of Odessa, Ukraine, use candles for the scant electricity and heat they provide. (Courtesy of Mishpacha Odessa)
Despite the immense dangers and challenges, Wolff says he is optimistic about the future.
“I’m sure that after Ukraine wins, and life and peace returns, there will be a rapid return of those who left, and I think others will come because there will be an economic and building boom,” Wolff said. “I believe there’s a bright future.”
Part of Wolff’s job as a Jewish leader and Chabadnik is not only to provide physical aid, but positive morale and spiritual inspiration.
“When I was a child, I heard a story from an old Jew who had been imprisoned in Siberia,” Wolff recalled. “One day, he got up and he felt he couldn’t say Modeh Ani” — the Jewish morning prayer of gratitude — “because the Russian authorities had taken everything from him: his house, wife, yeshiva, grandkids, tefillin, kippah, tzitzit. He was all alone in a Siberian prison with nothing. But then he realized that the one thing Stalin couldn’t take from him was the ability to say Modeh Ani.”
Even in these grim times, Wolff said, there is a spirit that Russian President Vladimir Putin, who is prosecuting this war, cannot take away from Ukraine’s Jews.
“There’s a war, there are challenges, nothing is easy. It’s dark, it’s cold,” Wolff said. “But the ability to smile Putin didn’t take from us and can’t take away. This is what I try to show the community. In the end we’ll win, so let’s smile now, too.”
Those interested in supporting this effort can make a contribution here to fund the battery-powered heating units being deployed to help Odessa’s Holocaust survivors survive this winter.
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The post One rabbi’s lifesaving solution to help Odessa’s vulnerable Jews: jerry-rigged car batteries appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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In ‘Something We Said,’ Richard Pryor’s daughter finds words to discuss the unspeakable
Elizabeth Stordeur Pryor didn’t set out to write a memoir. A professor of history at Smith College with a focus on race, she had published an article on the etymology of the n-word in 2016 and wanted to continue her work in a book. But as she began to explore the word’s history in America, it became clear there would be no way to tackle the issue without writing about her father Richard Pryor.
“Why I make the connection between me and my father isn’t simply because he was famous, but because he put the n-word on the pop culture map,” Pryor told me in an interview, adding that he specifically used “the Black version of the n-word in a subversive way in his comedy — and then a decade later disavowed it.”
Richard Pryor was one of the first Black comedians to use the n-word on stage and he did so boldly, in a way no Black performer really had. He embraced it as a way to assert his identity and as a way to mock white racism. He used it to connect him to his Black audience who could understand the jokes he made about racial trauma in America in a way non-Black audiences couldn’t. The n-word, Pryor writes, was a staple in many of her father’s jokes, was featured in the title of two of his most famous comedy albums, and became his “comedic trademark.” But after he traveled to Kenya in the 1980s, Richard Pryor had a revelation about race and stopped using it.

In her new book Something We Said, Pryor, the daughter of the legendary comedian and actor and his first serious white (and Jewish) girlfriend Maxine, skillfully traces her relationship with her father as she was growing up, her relationship to the n-word as a professor of Black history, and the story of the n-word in America. It starts in the 2010s, when a white student said the n-word in one of Pryor’s classes, then rewinds to the beginning of her relationship with her father, who she met for the first time when she was six years old in 1974. The book toggles between the timelines over the course of its 265 pages. Interspersed are what Pryor labels “Interludes,” which track the history of the n-word from the American slave trade to the modern day.
The history of the n-word is far more complex than most people know — and, Pryor reveals, so was her father. He had both a tender and tough side, he could be closed off and also incredibly giving. Although he often presented himself with an impenetrable confidence and swagger, he could never stand up to his domineering grandmother, who he saw pimp out his mom.
The book challenges people’s knee-jerk reactions to the word and discusses the duality of its significance, how it is a word with a hate-filled past that has also been a signal of solidarity. And its reclamation by Black Americans isn’t a new phenomenon. Pryor traces it all the way back to the era of American slavery, including in a work song about a Black folk hero.
Pryor noted that there’s a tendency to “blame artists like my father and of course, hip hop” for the popularity of the n-word among African-Americans today, but pointed to its politically subversive nature as the source of its endurance in the Black community.
Pryor said she hopes the book will help people “understand that the n-word isn’t just part of a national trauma, like a relic of our past as a nation” but that “it causes these really intimate wounds and becomes a really personal trauma that’s worth exploring and talking about.”
Writing something that is simultaneously deeply personal and intricately historical is not an easy feat — although Pryor’s time jumps feel effortless.
“Many of the things that happened to me were sort of locked in a little memory bubble,” Pryor said. “And I had only interacted with them as that 11 year old, as that 16 year old, as that 22 year old, and had not interacted with them again, as a mother and a wife and a professor, et cetera, as an adult.”
This digging provoked a lot of personal reflection. In one story in Something We Said, Pryor recounts being the only Black girl at a friend’s bat mitzvah in the 80s. Trying to impress a boy and remembering how her father’s use of the n-word made people laugh, Pryor gave her friends permission to call her the n-word, a decision she quickly regretted.
“I had to do a lot of digging about, like, why did I do that? Like, why did I invite that even though I hated that word?”
This story captures the often inexplicable nature of navigating the complexity of race and belonging in America, something that can be complicated for anyone but especially someone of mixed-race heritage. Pryor also had to contend with being a minority in Jewish spaces.

“My mother had me in temple in like second and third grade as soon as we moved to LA and literally nobody there could figure it out,” Pryor said. “Like it was a math problem that was unfathomable. It was pi. Like they could not figure out how I was Black and Jewish.”
While Pryor includes many jaw-dropping stories from her life and from American history, what may baffle people the most is that until the 2010s, Pryor had never watched one of her father’s films or listened to any of his comedy records all the way through (she had kind of listened to one before was when she was a little girl and she fell asleep to it). She wrote that “not knowing my father as a public figure made me feel closer to him as a private man.”
She never went out of her way to make it known that she was Richard Pryor’s daughter. In 2016, during a talk she gave at Smith on the n-word, Pryor finally went public. I asked her how it felt to now be known as his daughter.
“I think I was surprised by how much I like it,” she told me with a laugh.
“I was always proud of my father,” she said. “I just was tired of people and their forward curiosity.”
“What’s happened, in some ways by coming out as his daughter has been so the opposite of that,” Pryor said. “I’ve heard how deeply he touched so many people in a way that maybe I couldn’t hear it before, or I haven’t heard it before.”
Something We Said has given Pryor even more ways to connect with her father.
“One of the highlights for me about writing this book is the kind of healing that happened from it,” she said, noting that she felt closer to him than she “remembered feeling when he was alive.”
“When he died in 2005, I was like, ‘Wow, that’s it. That’s our story.’ And I just feel like it’s really powerful how the universe works, that that didn’t have to be our story, that our story continues.”
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In the race for Jerry Nadler’s seat, much talk on Israel but little disagreement
With U.S. aid to Israel and the wars in Gaza and Lebanon pressing for voters in many Democratic primaries, the race to succeed Rep. Jerrold Nadler in Manhattan stands out for the relative consensus among the leading candidates on Israel.
Nadler, who is retiring after 33 years in the House, represents a heavily Jewish district and served as the leading voice in Congress for liberal Jews, making the choice of his successor a significant one nationally.
During a televised debate on Thursday between top contenders, New York Assemblymembers Alex Bores and Micah Lasher, political scion Jack Schlossberg and attorney Goergie Conway spent more time sparring over super PAC money, artificial intelligence and Donald Trump than on the Middle East conflict.
The three largely shared a broad agreement on support for Israel. None embraced the characterisation of Israel’s military campaign in Gaza as a genocide. They all touted support for a two-state solution and backed continued U.S. funding for Israel’s Iron Dome missile defense system.
The contrast with other competitive Democratic primaries was striking. In congressional races in New York City and some others nationally, debates have been dominated by contentious exchanges over military aid to Israel, accusations of genocide and the growing influence of anti-AIPAC politics within the party. Earlier this week, Israel consumed a significant portion of the televised debate between Rep. Dan Goldman and former New York City Comptroller Brad Lander in a neighboring congressional district.
In another neighboring district, former Columbia University Gaza War encampment activist Daraliza Avila Chevalier is challenging Rep. Adriano Espaillat with his support for Israel front and center. And in a TV debate this week in the race to replace retiring Rep. Nydia Velazquez in Brooklyn, democratic socialist Assemblymember Claire Valdez — who like Lander and Avilla Chevalier has been endorsed by Mayor Zohran Mamdani — called Israel’s actions in Gaza “U.S.-funded genocide.”
The relative consensus in Nadler’s district reflects the politics of the district they hope to represent. Jewish voters make up an estimated 30% of the Democratic primary electorate, which stretches across Manhattan’s Upper East and Upper West sides.. When Nadler ran for reelection in 2022 after redistricting forced him to go head to head with Rep. Carolyn Maloney, he campaigned on the need to preserve Jewish representation from New York City in Congress.
The candidates themselves have close ties to the Jewish community. Lasher, Nadler’s endorsed successor, is Jewish. Schlossberg, a grandson of President John F. Kennedy, was raised Catholic by his mother, Caroline Kennedy, but identifies as Jewish. Bores’ wife, Darya Moldavskaya, is Jewish, and the couple are raising their son Jewish.
Another factor distinguishing the race from other Democratic primaries is the district’s political makeup.
In last year’s Democratic mayoral primary, New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani, an outspoken critic of Israel who rose to power by embracing pro-Palestinian activism, won handily in the Goldman and Espaillat districts, but the 12th District split almost evenly between Mamdani and former Gov. Andrew Cuomo. The candidates also took different approaches to Mamdani. Lasher and Bores did not endorse Mamdani until after he secured the Democratic nomination, mirroring Nadler’s own cautious approach. By contrast, Schlossberg endorsed Mamdani in the primary and has generally been the most critical in the field of Israeli government policies.
Mamdani, who resides in Gracie Mansion in the district, has said he won’t endorse in the race, but intends to cast a ballot. In Thursday’s debate, the candidates gave Mamdani A- and B grades.
Polling suggests the race remains highly competitive. A recent Emerson College survey showed Lasher with a slim advantage over Bores, while Schlossberg and Conway trailed behind. But most significantly, 32% of likely voters had yet to make up their minds.
In an online poll of 700 debate viewers by host PIX11, 42% said Bores won the debate, compared with 33% for Lasher and 24% for Schlossberg.
The leading candidates
Micah Lasher, 44, enters the race with perhaps the deepest roots in New York politics. A longtime Democratic operative and protégé of Nadler, Lasher has assembled support from many of the district’s traditional political leaders.
Lasher started his public career as a special assistant to Nadler in 2007. He previously worked for former New York State Attorney General Eric Schneiderman, New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg and Gov. Kathy Hochul. At 17, he was an informal adviser to then-Assemblymember Scott Stringer, who is also Jewish. He is serving his first term in the State Assembly.
Growing up in the Upper West Side, Lasher first gained attention as a magician.
His campaign reflects continuity with the brand of liberal Zionism long represented by Nadler, co-chair of the Congressional Jewish Caucus: support for Israel’s security, opposition to Benjamin Netanyahu’s government and a commitment to a two-state solution.
Alex Bores, 35, has emerged as the progressive coalition-builder trying to bridge fierce Israel critics and mainstream Jewish voters. He attracted support from organizations aligned with the Democratic Party’s left flank, such as the Bernie Sanders-aligned Our Revolution, New York Progressive Action Network and PSC-CUNY, despite describing himself as a Zionist supporter of Israel.
Bores, a former Palantir data scientist, also serves in the state Assembly. His congressional campaign has become a focal point of a major political proxy war over the regulation of AI.
Some Jewish leaders have expressed concern over how Bores would align with the groups who backed him in Congress, as tensions between progressive activists and Zionist organizations continue to grow. Bores also faced scrutiny over social media posts of his father, William, some equating between Nazis and Zionists. Bores told Jewish Insider he disagrees with his father’s views.
Jack Schlossberg, 33, has become the race’s most recognizable figure because of his family name and social media presence. He has touted the younger generation’s voice wrestling publicly with questions of Jewish identity and Israel.
Raised Catholic but identifying as Jewish through his father, Schlossberg frequently references his Jewish heritage when discussing Israel and antisemitism. At the same time, he has adopted positions that place him to the left of many Jewish organizations, particularly his support for halting transfers of offensive weapons to Israel.
Schlossberg repeatedly shares that contrast on X as he challenges his rivals on Israel policy.
The online influencer turned political candidate made Jewish security a central pillar of his campaign. He said that if elected, he would immediately introduce legislation to nearly double federal funding for security upgrades at synagogues and other Jewish institutions.
Their views on U.S. military assistance for Israel
At Thursday’s debate, as previously, the leading candidates voiced support for funding Israel’s Iron Dome missile defense system amid growing calls for ending all U.S. aid to Israel.
Arms sales and aid for offensive weapons represented the clearest divide among the candidates.
Lasher said he’d support certain conditions on military aid in accordance with the Leahy laws, which enable the State Department to prohibit military aid to foreign countries when there is credible evidence that they have committed gross human rights violations.
Bores said he’d “strengthen those laws significantly” so they apply equally to Israel, Saudi Arabia and Egypt.
Schlossberg, however, said he would support Democratic efforts to block transfers of 1,000-pound bombs and oppose the sale of bulldozers that could be used for demolitions in Gaza or the occupied West Bank. He went on to accuse his rivals of lacking the “courage” to challenge the status quo.
“The Leahy laws give Donald Trump and Marco Rubio full discretion over what constitutes a humanitarian crime,” Schlossberg said. “I’m not comfortable passing the buck to them, and I think the candidates on this stage should be strong enough and have enough courage to actually answer the question.”
The war in Gaza
All three candidates voiced criticism of Israel’s handling of the war in Gaza, citing the dire humanitarian situation and the civilian death toll. However, when asked whether Israel’s actions in Gaza constitute genocide, they declined to use the term.
Lasher maintained that the debate over definitions often “does more to divide people of good faith than it does to find common ground. He called the killing of tens of thousands of people in Gaza “horrific,” while emphasizing the need to recognize the loss of civilian life.
Bores similarly said he’s “not comfortable” using that word “because of the high intent threshold that is required as part of it.” He said that while there are ongoing international investigations, the United States should focus on ending atrocities and expanding humanitarian aid.
Schlossberg also stopped short of calling the war genocide, though he delivered the sharpest criticism of Israel’s military conduct. “Israel had every right to defend itself following Oct. 7, but what has happened since then has gone above and beyond,” Schlossberg said. He added that the more important question was what policymakers would do next, pointing to his position on halting offensive weapon transfers.
Conway, a former Never-Trump Republican who is running on a platform to impeach President Donald Trump, said that while Israel ”did too much” in the name of self-defense, I don’t think it meets the threshold of genocide … and I don’t believe that we should abandon Israel as an ally.”
The debate followed a candidate forum Wednesday at which the candidates spoke at greater length about their attachment to Israel, support for a settlement between Israel and the Palestinians, and their opposition to Netanyahu.
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A Hasidic wedding entertainer tries to keep up with the times — if his ego will let him
When Israeli director Gidi Dar made his film Ushpizin in 2004, it was one of the first pieces of Israeli media to humanize the Hasidic community for a secular audience. Now, more than 20 years later, during which he focused on his music and other film projects, he’s returned to the Hasidic world with The Wedding Entertainer (The Tale of Moishe Badhan), a humorous and heartfelt look at Hasidic wedding performers.
In an interview, Dar told me he had thought he was done with movies about Hasids. But when his friend Shruli Rand, the lead actor in Ushpizin and co-writer of Dar’s animated film Legend of Destruction, told him about badhans — professional wedding entertainers who have a history dating back to the Talmudic age — they quickly came up with a story.
“I’m always looking to connect to my heritage, to my tradition,” Dar said. “I’m not religious. I try to connect to the narrative, to the history of our storytelling.”
Moishe Striker, played by Rand, is a formerly famous badhan in Jerusalem who has been struggling to find work due to his alcoholism. When his daughter becomes set on getting married, Moishe has to find a way to raise the money for the wedding. Luckily, his wealthy childhood friend is about to marry his son to the daughter of an Israeli tea mogul.
The American-raised son is set on having flashy wedding entertainer Mehsulem Kaliker, played by comedian Elon Gold. But Moishe and his crafty kabbalah-practicing daughter find a way to get Moishe involved, hoping to reestablish his reputation, with a little help from kabbalah — and blackmail.
The story, co-developed by Dar and Rand, teeters between being a lighthearted farcical comedy and a drama about unfulfilled potential. Moishe’s ambition causes him to take comically big swings but also pushes him towards self-destruction. It’s not just the alcoholism he has to keep under control, which is hard to do in a community that celebrates almost every occasion by drinking, but his own ego.
The film fully immerses viewers in the Hasidic world — not one character is from outside of the community. The actors also speak Yiddish, which two of the actors — both ex-Hasids — knew already; Rand and his wife — who plays his wife in the movie — had to learn.
Although the tension in the film is between an Israeli and an American badhan, Dar explained that the conflict is really between old traditions and modern trends.

According to Dar, the badhan traditions Moishe uses originated in the shtetls of Eastern Europe in the 18th century and 19th centuries.
Meshulem doesn’t rely on old fashioned jokes and songs set to Klezmer music like Moishe does; he performs with backup singers, strobe lights, and a blaring electronic-dance music soundtrack. His style fits with that of the groom, who is first seen in Jerusalem with his tallit hanging down from under a designer hoodie.
Traditional badhans may not be flashy, but Dar believes they hold an important spot in Jewish culture.
“I think they’re in a way the origin of Jewish humor,” Dar said. “This specific humor, as we know it, is coming from this era of the diaspora, the late era of the diaspora, of the shtetls, and those who carried it were those badhans.”
Dar hopes this film, like Ushpizin, will help secular Jews connect with their Hasidic neighbors.
“The relationship between the Hasidic and the secular in Israel is very harsh,” Dar told me, but noted that cinema can create empathy. “You do identify with those people once you get in.”
Although The Wedding Entertainer depicts a culturally specific custom, Dar thinks the message is “something far more universal.”
“It deals with the limelight and with the desire for an audience for your art, as a comedian, as an actor,” Dar said. “And what are you willing to do for that? How far would you go?”
The Wedding Entertainer (The Tale of Moishe Badhan) will be screening at the Tribeca Film Festival on June 7 and June 14.
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