Uncategorized
Rabbi arrested, banned from Cleveland universities over his anti-Palestinian activism
(JTA) – For days, students and police at Cleveland State University had been trying to figure out who stole a banner belonging to a campus Palestinian rights group.
The banner, which belonged to the student group Palestinian Human Rights Organization, read “CSU Solidarity for Palestinian Rights” and was illustrated with an outline of Israel, the West Bank and the Gaza Strip collectively emblazoned in the Palestinian flag. A dove holding an olive branch appeared on top of the image.
Then, on Jan. 19, police charged their top suspect: a local Orthodox rabbi, whose presence on campus had become all too familiar. A few days later the man confessed to the theft on Instagram, announcing that he had stolen the banner from the school’s student center “as an act of civil disobedience.”
“This incitement to annihilation of Israel should have never been permitted at CSU,” Rabbi Alexander Popivker, a 46-year-old Cleveland Heights resident whose neighborhood is six miles from the school, wrote on social media accompanied by a picture of the flag he stole.
It was far from Popivker’s only recent run-in with local university students.
A former Chabad-Lubavitch emissary in Naples, Italy, who now works in the Cleveland area as a handyman and part-time rabbi for a Russian-speaking Jewish community, Popivker has become known around town as a vigilant and omnipresent pro-Israel advocate. He can often be spotted counter-protesting at local pro-Palestinian demonstrations, or putting on displays of his own, with his wife Sarah on hand filming every contentious encounter.
One major theme of his protests, and his worldview, as he explained to the Jewish Telegraphic Agency: “Palestinians and Nazis are the same thing.”
For the last year, Popivker had been making weekly trips to Cleveland State, occasionally accompanied by other students or community members, to give public demonstrations that elaborate on that idea — sometimes with the aid of swastika-emblazoned props. In the early going, the university provided him with police protection and said his visits to campus were protected by free speech laws.
But he also sought out students online and in-person whom he deemed to be “brainwashed” by anti-Zionist messaging. One such online campaign against a law student prompted the student to file an order of protection against Popivker last fall, an order supported by a prominent Jewish dean at the university. Popivker promptly violated the order by returning to campus.
Cleveland State University main campus, Cleveland, Ohio. (Getty Images)
In late January, university authorities had enough. They arrested Popivker and, following a hearing, declared him persona non grata on campus, banning him from the university grounds for at least two years. Popivker has also been banned from nearby Case Western Reserve University, where he had advocated before focusing on Cleveland State.
In the midst of a nationwide university climate in which pro-Israel advocates claim Jewish students face regular antisemitic harassment for their real or perceived Zionist beliefs, here was a documented case of the opposite: a Jew and outspoken Zionist, who has no affiliation with the schools at which he advocates, accused of harassing anyone he perceived as a threat to Israel, including students who had never sought him out directly.
The Ohio chapter of the Council on American-Islamic Relations has spoken out numerous times against Popivker and praised university police for arresting him; a petition the group backed, labeled “Stop harassment on campus” and mentioning Popivker by name, has garnered close to 700 signatures.
Jewish groups, including civil rights groups, have been less forthcoming about situation. Hillel International declined to comment for this story, and the directors of Cleveland’s regional American Jewish Committee and Jewish Community Relations Council offices did not return requests for comment. Jewish on Campus, a nationwide university antisemitism watchdog group that tracks what it defines as anti-Zionist social media harassment of Jewish students, also did not return a request for comment.
Jared Isaacson, the executive director of Cleveland Hillel, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency that the center was “not very familiar with this story.” Cleveland Hillel coordinates Jewish student life at a consortium of Jewish universities including Cleveland State and Case Western, where its student center is located, as well as at least one other school where Popivker has made his presence on campus known in some form.
But, Isaacson said, “Cleveland Hillel is deeply committed to countering antisemitism and hate in all forms, and we believe that no student — Jewish or otherwise — should ever feel threatened or intimidated because of their identity.”
Popivker says he has support from the New York-based Lawfare Project, which bills itself as an “international pro-Israel litigation fund.” He told JTA that the organization “is watching over my cases and providing guidance.”
In a statement, the Lawfare Project called Popivker “a Jewish civil rights activist” but did not confirm that it is backing him, saying only that the group is “currently reviewing the matter.”
The group, which frequently files lawsuits on behalf of students who allege antisemitism on their campuses, said in a statement to JTA that the order of protection was a “double standard” that “should be alarming to anyone who cares about the fight against Jew-hatred.”
Lawfar recently settled a multi-year lawsuit with San Francisco State University over student reports of antisemitic harassment on campus stemming from anti-Zionist activists disrupting an event featuring the mayor of Jerusalem. The settlement compelled the university to hire a coordinator of Jewish student life.
Popivker will have his work cut out for him if he fights the charges. He had exhibited “behavior detrimental to the university community” by stealing the Palestinian banner and separately affixing an Israeli flag to university property, Matthew Kibbon, Cleveland State’s associate vice president of facility services, wrote in the university’s decision declaring him persona non grata.
The rabbi “was not banned for the content of his speech, but how he chose to exercise it,” a Cleveland State spokesperson told JTA in a statement. The university also provided JTA a list of recent campus police interactions with him, including the initial Jan. 11 report of the banner’s theft; Popivker’s visit to campus on Jan. 18, during which police advised him that the student’s order of protection did not permit him to be there; and his return visit on Jan. 25, during which he was arrested.
From Popivker’s perspective, he is simply speaking out on Israel’s behalf for a campus that has a large pro-Palestinian activist presence but few Jewish students. (There are fewer than 200 Jewish undergraduates on Cleveland State’s campus out of 11,784 students, according to Hillel International.) His goal is to educate, he says, informed by his status as a Jewish refugee from the Soviet Union. And he believes he is being targeted by local pro-Palestinian activists, who, he said, have gone after his kippah and Israeli flags.
“I never attacked anyone. I never raised my hand up to anyone,” he told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency, saying that he was motivated by civil rights icons Martin Luther King Jr. and John Lewis. “I’m going to a public university. I’m staying in the free speech zone. And I raise awareness about what’s going on. There’s a bunch of students that have become my friends that come to study with me regularly.”
One of those students, senior Tyler Jarosz, told JTA he became friends with Popivker after seeing him visiting campus to advocate for Israel. Not knowing much about Jews or Israel himself — “I thought Israel was a very peaceful state,” Jarosz said — the student was taken with Popivker’s demonstrations and said he learned a great deal from them.
“He didn’t just lecture me like a teacher would,” Jarosz said. “He was actually very engaging. He asked questions.”
Jarosz said he never witnessed the rabbi harassing anyone on campus, and said he always tried to engage people in peaceful dialogue, despite what he described as harassment directed at him by some Muslim students. He recalled one Popivker visit to campus for Israel’s independence day, when the rabbi was offering falafel to students, and said he witnessed one student throw the falafel back at him and threaten to “rape” him.
Other students tell a different story. One campus paper, the Cauldron, reported that the rabbi has targeted visibly Muslim and Arab students on campus, demanding to know their views on Israel. Popivker “makes me wary of coming into campus,” a student member of the Palestinian Human Rights Organization group told the Cauldron. “I’m forced to be on constant edge and take the longer way to class in order to avoid him.” Another student told a different campus newspaper, “It’s almost as though he deliberately looks for Palestinian individuals just to target them.”
The chair of the law school’s National Lawyers Guild student chapter told the Cleveland Jewish News that their group’s efforts to engage Popivker in reasonable dialogue failed when he began using “racial slurs and insulting language.”
A swastika Alexander Popivker drew on a Palestinian scarf (alleged by some students to be a keffiyeh, or ritual Muslim prayer scarf) while mounting a pro-Israel demonstration on the campus of Cleveland State University. Popivker then shared the image to his Instagram, Feb. 3, 2023. (Screenshot)
In images from one Popivker demonstration, the rabbi can be seen drawing a swastika with a Sharpie marker on what the Cauldron reported was a keffiyeh, a scarf worn by Arabic men, but which Popivker told JTA was a Palestinian scarf with no spiritual significance. He has also yelled phrases including “Palestinians are Nazis” and “Palestinians are the KKK,” and constructed a stage with images further linking Palestinians to Naziism, according to reports. Popivker’s own Instagram videos show him approaching groups of students to argue about Israel as he films them, calling some of them “terrorists” when they go after his flags. One of his video captions mentions “a Middle Eastern looking student.”
Cleveland State increased its safety protocols as a result of Popivker’s activities, locking some additional entrances around campus. But much of his activities have been online, too.
Last fall Popivker trained his attention on a law student who was involved with campus Palestinian rights groups and had made some anti-Israel posts online, including sharing an image of a child whom pro-Palestinian groups claimed had been a victim of an Israeli bombing, and sharing a socialist group’s post quoting, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.”
Documents show that Popivker emailed and called the student’s employer and law school seeking to have her disciplined for her beliefs, writing among other things that she was a “mouthpiece of terrorism and racism against Jews.” He also made Instagram posts targeting her. In response, the student filed for and received the order of protection against him, which Popivker later claimed was unwarranted because he had never met the student in person.
In its statement to JTA, the Lawfare Project homed in on this sequence of events, saying that Popivker’s decision to email the student’s school and employer about what he believed to be antisemitic social media posts was “a tool routinely used by civil rights activists to fight discrimination.”
Popivker asked Jarosz to send a letter attesting to his character for the order of protection hearing, which he did. “Alex understands and respects everyone of every background that he comes across,” the student wrote in his letter. “I have personally witnessed the demonization they have done of him.” Speaking to JTA weeks later, Jarosz said the court case was “bogus,” but said he was unaware of the emails, social media records and phone transcripts reviewed by JTA showing that Popivker had contacted the student’s employer and school.
At the order of protection hearing, a transcript of which Popivker sent to JTA, a key witness who advocated for the restriction was law school dean Lee Fisher, a former attorney general and lieutenant governor of Ohio. Fisher is Jewish.
“We share a hatred of antisemitism,” Fisher told Popivker during the hearing, according to the transcript. The dean also identified himself as “pro-Israel, very much so.” But Fisher made clear he was critical of Popivker’s activities on campus. Asked by Popivker about a specific social media post the student had made, Fisher responded, “Even if she made a mistake by posting it, it did not warrant the kind of reaction I believe that you had.”
Fisher had also met with Popivker previously, in a session mediated by a local rabbi who was a friend of Popivker. “I told him that I was concerned for the health and safety of our students,” the dean said during the hearing. He had implored Popivker to stop his campus activities, but the rabbi refused.
It’s the initial order of protection, which Popivker said had already effectively banned him from campus, that the rabbi says he truly opposes. He saw it as evidence that “they were basically working together with Palestinians” to “cover up the fact that they have an antisemitic group that openly propagates a destruction of Israel.” Popivker visited campus several times after receiving the order of protection but was permitted to stay with only a warning from campus police, Jarosz recalled.
This state of affairs lasted until the rabbi stole the Palestinian student group banner to, he said, “shine a light on this antisemitism.” Popivker described to JTA how he entered the student building, walked up to the third floor where he knew the banner was, and used scissors to remove it and take it with him: “Clip, clip, clip.” He was subsequently thrown in jail — his second such stint in Cleveland for pro-Israel activities, he said, criticizing local law enforcement for not providing him with kosher food while he was behind bars.
Outside of campus, Popivker is active in other areas. Last year, he organized a GoFundMe to support the family of a former classmate of his who was killed by an Islamic State supporter in a terrorist attack in Beersheba, Israel. He also applied to fill a January vacancy on the Cleveland Heights city council, but later withdrew his application.
After being barred from Cleveland State University, Rabbi Alex Popivker took to holding his anti-Palestinian protests on a street outside a local casino. (Courtesy Popivker)
While Popivker may preach nonviolence, his social media activity points to more radical ideologies, as well. On Instagram, he has shared an image of the flag of the Jewish Defense League, an extremist Jewish group that advocates violence against enemies of Jews, founded by convicted terrorist Rabbi Meir Kahane, as well as an image with a logo of Im Tirtzu, a right-wing Israeli group that has in the past been accused of inciting violence against Israeli human rights groups. Popivker told JTA he is not a member of either group, but that “if I think it’s aligned with what I believe in, I’ll share it.”
Popivker says that, for now, he’s done with his brand of “civil disobedience” and won’t be making his weekly visits to Cleveland State’s campus. “I do have five wonderful boys and a loving wife, and as much as Cuyahoga [County’s] jail is an educational experience in life in many ways, I do not want to go there every week,” he said.
Instead, days after his arrest and campus ban, Popivker posted a photo of himself with an Israeli flag to social media — this time outside a casino a mile away from campus.
—
The post Rabbi arrested, banned from Cleveland universities over his anti-Palestinian activism appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
Uncategorized
‘You would have thought Jews were being targeted, but no, Mom — It was America.’
Dear Mom,
The anniversary of 9/11 falls on Rosh Hashanah this year. It’s hard to believe it’s been 25 years since you’ve been gone when you are constantly on my mind. Even though you’re buried next to Dad in Florida, I don’t need to visit your grave on the anniversary of your death; I talk to you almost daily. We had a special relationship, you and I, one that didn’t include Dad or little sister Ellen. We protected one another and shared potato pierogies and corned beef sandwiches even until the very end.
Mom, I cannot understand what the hell happened that day. In a way, I’m glad you weren’t alert and had no clue because you would have freaked out. I know you would have thought Jews were being targeted, but no, Mom. It was America.
I saw the planes go into the buildings and watched the towers come down. We ran when they told us to get out. You, thankfully, were at Village Nursing Home. I couldn’t imagine wheeling you up Greenwich Street fast enough to get away from that ball of dust.
When I returned the next day, our building was in lockdown. You wouldn’t have been able to go home. And where would I have put you?
I didn’t want you to be moved into hospice; I fought tooth and nail to keep you at Village Nursing. The staff knew you and had become comfortable with our family’s deafness and how to communicate with us. I wished I could take care of you myself. I knew what you liked, what you would eat, how to bathe you. But you couldn’t eat anymore, and I could barely lift you.
Every day after volunteering a few hours at Ground Zero, I came to see you. I hoped you would open your eyes or talk to me, but you lay motionless. Even when I lay beside you, you didn’t respond. You could feel me. I knew that. I watched you wither away day after day.
And now it’s Rosh Hashanah. I remember how you placed the scarf on your head, lit the candles and in silence, said your prayers. You always told me Rosh Hashanah was the time to forgive and not carry baggage into the New Year. Easier said than done, right, Mom?
I also remember how you would break your fast with a Hershey’s Kiss or peanut M&M’s. You’d hide them in your pocket and, when you thought no one was looking, pop one into your mouth.
On Oct. 6, I came to see you after Ground Zero. That night, I lay beside you and put my hand on your arm. You pushed it away.
I thought I was dreaming. I tried again. With all the strength you could muster, you moved my hand away.
I knew you were telling me to go. It was time to say goodbye.
I held you in an embrace and left.
Not long after I returned to my hotel, the nursing home called. You had passed.
Today, you would be wowed by all the changes and development around the old Twin Towers. I know you would still want to head over to our favorite pierogi place on Second Ave. So much has changed, but it’s still there.
The post ‘You would have thought Jews were being targeted, but no, Mom — It was America.’ appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
How Warsaw became the center of Yiddish culture
אױפֿן שװעל פֿונעם צװאַנציקסטן יאָרהונדערט האָט װאַרשע געהאַט די גרעסטע צאָל ייִדישע תּושבֿים אין אײראָפּע, בערך אַ פֿערטל מיליאָן נפֿשות. אָבער די דאָזיקע באַפֿעלקערונג איז באַשטאַנען פֿון דרײַ פֿאַרשײדענע סאָציאַלע און קולטורעלע גרופּעס: אַסימילירטע פּױלישע ייִדן, חסידים און ליטװאַקעס. צװישן זיך האָבן זײ גערעדט ייִדיש, פּױליש, רוסיש און אַ ביסל דײַטש.
יאָאַנאַ נאַלעװאַיקאָ־קוליקאָװ (היסטאָרישער אינסטיטוט בײַ דער פּױלישער װיסנשאַפֿט־אַקאַדעמיע) באַװײַזט אין איר בוך „דאָס רעדן אין אונדזער אייגענעם נאָמען: ייִדישע פּרעסע און דאָס שאַפֿן פֿון דער ייִדישער נאַציאָנאַלער אידענטיטעט אינעם לאַנגן נײַנצנטן יאָרהונדערט“, אַז דװקא די טעגלעכע ייִדישע פּרעסע, װאָס איז אַנטשטאַנען אין די ערשטע צענדליק יאָר פֿונעם צװאַנציקסטן יאָרהונדערט, האָט געמאַכט ייִדיש פֿאַר דער כּלל־שפּראַך פֿון עפֿנטלעכע דיסקוסיעס אין דער ייִדישער סבֿיבֿה.
זי רופֿט דאָס אַ „סאָציאַלע רעװאָלוציע“ פֿאַר ייִדן אין דער רוסישער אימפּעריע בכּלל און אין פּױלן, װאָס איז דעמאָלט געװען אַ טײל פֿון דער אימפּעריע, בפֿרט. אַ דאַנק די צײַטונגען „האָבן די מאַסן גענומען לײענען, און זײ האָבן אָנגעהױבן צו לײענען אין זײער אײגענער שפּראַך“.
די ייִדישע פּרעסע איז געװאָרן אַ קולטורעלער שטח, װוּ די אינטעליגענציע האָט זיך געטראָפֿן מיט די מאַסן. די פּרעסע האָט אױך געשאַפֿן דעם עקאָנאָמישן יסוד פֿאַר דער ייִדישער ליטעראַטור און דערלאָזט ייִדישע ליטעראַטן ציִען פּרנסה פֿון זײערע װערק. אָבער די ייִדישע פּרעסע איז ניט געװען סתּם אַ געשעפֿט. אַלע צײַטונגען האָבן זיך אַקטיװ באַטײליקט אין פּאָליטיק.
ערבֿ דער ערשטער װעלט־מלחמה האָט דער טיראַזש פֿון „הײַנט“, דער גרעסטער װאַרשעװער ייִדישער טאָגצײַטונג, דערגרײכט 100,000 עקזעמפּלאַרן, גלײַך מיט דער גרעסטער פּױלישער מאַסן־צײַטונג.
צװישן די, װאָס האָבן געשריבן פֿאַר „הײַנט“, זײַנען געװען די באַרימטסטע ייִדישע שרײַבער: יצחק לײבוש פּרץ, הערש דוד נאָמבערג, הילל צײטלין, דוד פֿרישמאַן, דער קריטיקער בעל־מחשבֿות און אַנדערע.
„הײַנט“ האָט געדרוקט שלום עליכמס ראָמאַנען „מנחם מענדלס בריװ“ און „דער בלוטיקער שפּאַס“, װי אױך שלום אַשעס „קידוש־השם“ און „פּעטערבורג“.
די רוסישע מאַכט האָט דעמאָלט דערשטיקט די פּױלישע שפּראַך און קולטור. דאָס האָט געשאַפֿן אַ שאַרפֿע פּאָליטישע פּראָבלעם פֿאַר ייִדן. אײניקע האָבן געשטיצט פּאָליאַקן אין זײער קאַמף פֿאַר אומאָפּהענגיקײט, אײניקע זײַנען געװען אױפֿן רוסישן צד, אָבער דאָס רובֿ ייִדן האָבן זיך געהאַלטן בײַ דער זײַט אינעם דאָזיקן שטרײַט פֿון צװײ סלאַװישע פֿעלקער.
נאַלעװאַיקאָ־קוליקאָװ דערמאָנט דעם לײענער אָן אַ װיכטיקן היסטאָרישן פֿאַקט: דאָס רובֿ צײַטונג־מענטשן אין װאַרשע זײַנען געװען ליטװאַקעס, װאָס זײַנען געקומען פֿון שטעט און שטעטלעך פֿון דער הײַנטיקער ליטע און בעלאַרוס. כאָטש מען דאַרף האָבן אין זינען, אַז אַ היפּשע צאָל װאַרשעװער ייִדן האָבן געהאַלטן פֿאַר „ליטװאַקעס“ אַלע ייִדן, װאָס האָבן גערעדט אױף ייִדיש אַנדערש פֿון זײ.
דװקא די ליטװאַקעס האָבן אַרײַנגעבראַכט קײן װאַרשע דעם באַגריף פֿונעם ייִדישן פֿאָלק װי אַ פּאָליטישע נאַציע. די מיגראַציע פֿון ליטװאַקעס קײן װאַרשע האָט גורם געװען אַ פֿײַנטשאַפֿט סײַ מצד אַסימילירטע פּױלישע ייִדן, װאָס האָבן זיך געהאַלטן פֿאַר „פּאָליאַקן פֿון משה רבינוס אמונה“, און סײַ מצד פּױלישע נאַציאָנאַליסטן.
סײַ די, סײַ יענע האָבן געהאַלטן די ליטװאַקעס פֿאַר „שליחים פֿון סאַנקט־פּעטערבורג“ — דאָס הײסט, שטיצער פֿון דער רוסיפֿיקאַציע־פּאָליטיק פֿון פּױלן. די דאָזיקע דעה איז ביזן הײַנטיקן טאָג פֿאַרבליבן בײַ אײניקע פּױלישע היסטאָריקער, באַמערקט נאַלעװאַיקאָ־קוליקאָװ.
זי שאַצט אָפּ דעם ליטװאַקישן בײַטראָג אינעם װאַרשעװער ייִדישן לעבן מער פּאָזיטיװ. זי מאָלט אַ לעבעדיק און רײַך בילד פֿון ייִדישער װאַרשע אין די לעצטע צענדליק יאָר פֿאַר דער ערשטער װעלט־מלחמה. דאָס דאָזיקע בילד שטעלט זיך צונױף פֿון שטיקלעך מיטצײַטלערישע אַרטיקלען און פֿון שפּעטערע זכרונות אױף ייִדיש, העברעיִש, פּױליש און רוסיש.
אױפֿן סמך פֿון אַרכיװאַלע דאָקומענטן אַנטפּלעקט נאַלעװאַיִקאָ־קוליקאָװ דעם פֿאַרפּלאָנטערטן ביוראָקראַטישן פּראָצעס פֿון קריגן פּובליקאַציע־דערלױבענישן בײַ די הױכע פֿענצטער פֿון דער רוסישער אַדמיניסטראַציע.
נאָך דער רעװאָלוציע פֿון 1905 איז דער פּאָליטישער קלימאַט אין דער רוסישער אימפּעריע געװאָרן מילדער, און אין 1906 זײַנען דערשינען פֿינעף נײַע צײַטונגען.
צװישן זײ איז געװען דאָס „ייִדישעס טאַגעבלאַט“. דער רעדאַקטאָר איז געװען שמואל־יעקב יאַצקאַן (1874־1936), אַ געוועזענער ישיבֿה־בחור װאָס האָט אָנגעהױבן זײַן זשורנאַליסטישע קאַריערע אין דער העברעיִשער פּרעסע. מען האָט געזאָגט אַז ער האָט גערעדט זיבן שפּראַכן, אַלע מיטן ליטװאַקישן אַקצענט.
יאַצקאַן איז געװאָרן דער ערשטער ייִדישער צײַטונגס־מענטש, װאָס האָט זיך געװענדט צו די ייִדישע מאַסן אױף זײער אײגענעם לשון. אין 1908 האָט ער אין אײנעם מיט אַנדערע מיטאַרבעטער פֿון „ייִדישעס טאַגעבלאַט“ געשאַפֿן „הײַנט“. דאָס איז געװען די ערשטע טאָגצײַטונג אױף ייִדיש אינעם מאָדערנעם פֿאָרמאַט מיט ספּעציעלע אָפּטײלן פֿאַר נײַעס, רעפּאָרטאַזשן, עדיטאָריאַלן, קאָמענטאַרן, אַנאָנסן און רעקלאַמע.
אָבער דער סאַמע פּאָפּולערער זשאַנער איז געװען דער „געשפּאַנטער“ ראָמאַן אין המשכים, װי למשל „אין נעץ פֿון זינד“. דער דאָזיקער ראָמאַן האָט שטאַרק געהעכערט דעם טיראַזש אָבער אַרױסגערופֿן שאַרפֿע קריטיק מצד ייִדישע אינטעליגענטן. זײ האָבן באַשולדיקט יאַצקאַן אין פֿאַרדאַרבן דעם געשמאַק פֿונעם ייִדישן מאַסן־לײענער.
אין אַלגעמײן איז נאַלעװײַקאָ־קוליקאָװס אָפּשאַצונג פֿון דער ראָלע פֿון „הײַנט“ פּאָזיטיװ: „עס איז מסתּמא ניט קײן גוזמא צו זאָגן, אַז אַ דאַנק ׳הײַנט׳ האָבן זיך ייִדישע לײענער פּלוצעם אױפֿגעװעקט אינעם צװאַנציקסטן יאָרהונדערט און אַנטדעקט, אַז זײ באַלאַנגען צו דער גרױסער װעלט און ניט בלױז צו זײער שטעטל אָדער קװאַרטאַל“.
אין גיכן האָט „הײַנט“ באַקומען אַ שטאַרקן קאָנקורענט. אין 1910 האָט צבֿי פּרילוצקי געשאַפֿן דעם „מאָמענט“. דאָס איז געװען אַ מער „בירגערלעכע“ צײַטונג, װאָס האָט אױסגעמיטן דעם סענסאַציאָנעלן סטיל און ניט געדרוקט קײן „שונד“־ראָמאַנען.
ניט אַלע ייִדישע צײַטונגען האָבן איבערגעלעבט די שװערע מלחמה־יאָרן צװישן 1914 און 1918. אין 1915 איז װאַרשע געפֿאַלן אונטער דער דײַטשישער אָקופּאַציע און ייִדן האָבן געמוזט זיך צופּאַסן צו די נײַע בעלי־בתּים. אָבער „הײַנט“ און „דער מאָמענט“ זײַנען פֿאַרבליבן די װיכטיקסטע טאָג־צוטײַנגען ביז די סאַמע לעצטע טעג פֿון דער פּױלישער רעפּובליק. זײערע לעצטע נומערן זײַנען אַרױס װען היטלערס חיילות זײַנען אַרײַן אין װאַרשע, אין די לעצטע טעג פֿון סעפּטעמבער 1939.
The post How Warsaw became the center of Yiddish culture appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
Nobody can tell me how many animals die for a shtreimel
I’m a wildlife ecologist who has spent the better part of a half-century studying, among other topics, what makes mammal populations resilient and what pushes them toward collapse. Most of this work has been on the raccoon, one of North America’s most common furbearers. So, I found myself wondering how many animals go into the creation of a shtreimel, the broad ring-shaped hat of fur typically worn by married Hasidic men (aside from Chabad Lubavitchers) on Shabbat, holidays, and other celebrations, and how many individual mammals that adds up to in any given year.
The question of particular interest was whether the number of animals “harvested” in shtreimel manufacturing is sustainable, i.e., if the furbearer populations behind this endeavor can be maintained in a healthy state over the foreseeable future. I decided to investigate this matter based upon the fundamental principles of wildlife management.
I initially expected that somewhere along the supply chain, someone would be able to provide some basic information. Instead, I found out that the most basic data needed to assess the fur trade behind shtreimels do not appear to be compiled at all. These would be found in the answers to such questions as: How many hats are made annually? Which species are used? What places did the animals come from? What is the status of the populations of these animals? And were they wild-caught, farmed or taken from an existing stock of individuals used for other items such as coats?
That uncertainty matters because a shtreimel is not simply just another fur product. It is a visible expression of religious identity and communal belonging. For the men who wear one, the hat can mark a life stage, a community and a connection to their ancestors. That should make issues about its production more profound than just a conventional debate over fashion. What does Jewish tradition ask us to consider when a religious object depends on animals?
A brief history of the shtreimel
The shtreimel was not originally a distinctively Hasidic garment: According to the historian Levi Cooper, Mitnagdic rabbis in the Vilna Gaon’s circle in the 18th century wore fur hats as well. He also suggests that the shtreimel may not have even become an exclusive marker of Hasidic identity until after World War II. He also maintains that the story that Polish authorities forced Jews to wear animal tails as a humiliation, which Jews then transformed into a badge of pride, is unsupported by the evidence. Finally, Cooper discusses that the type of shtreimel varies within the Hasidic world. Hasidim from Galicia, Hungary, Romania and Ukraine typically wear the more well-known broad shtreimel, while many Polish Hasidim wear a taller, narrower fur hat known as a spodik. Such particularities are meaningful within these communities.
The physical construction of the hat also varies considerably. A U.S. patent for shtreimel manufacturing describes the use of fur “plates” made by splitting, flattening and reassembling tails so that the finished hat appears to be a continuous piece of fur. Older designs used about 13 tails, whereas the patent describes a design using closer to 36. Dan Arnon’s book Kova’im ba-Rosh notes that some makers favor 13, 18 or 26 tails. But a tail is not an animal as one tail can become several pieces. The hat’s fur therefore cannot tell us how many animals died to make it.
Such opacity is hardly unique to the shtreimel. Anyone buying a fur-trimmed parka might well face the same unanswerable calculations. I’m focusing on the shtreimel not because its supply chain is especially mysterious, but because of what the garment itself represents: a marker of religious identity. A garment carrying that much meaning should be worth at least the same scrutiny I’d give to any product dependent upon the harvesting of wildlife.
Nor is there a reliable count of how many shtreimels are made each year. A 2009 Sydney Morning Herald article quoted an Israeli shtreimelmacher who estimated that 10,000 hats are sold annually worldwide. That might be a useful clue, but it is not a suitable statistic for wildlife management. It is only an anecdotal estimate from a single maker, with no known methodology behind it.
Confusion also arises from the names of the animals used in producing shtreimels. Their fur is usually described as coming from sable, marten and fox. But these common names do not provide the information a wildlife biologist needs. What are the exact species? A fox alone can be several different ones. Which population are they from, and which region? What was the harvest rate of each population? A species might be abundant over most of its range while a particular population could be small or declining. The Pacific marten offers a useful cautionary example: A coastal population in northern California and Oregon has been listed as threatened, with trapping among the pressures that contributed to its decline. While there is no evidence that any shtreimel fur came from that population, the point is that the use of the name “marten” tells us precious little to draw a conclusion about the population these animals are from.
A distinction between sustainability and animal welfare is important to recognize. The taking of animals by hunting or trapping, i.e., the harvest, can be sustainable at the population level but still involves methods and actions that raise ethical questions about the killing of animals for their fur. Trapping methods differ: Some traps are intended to kill quickly, while others might hold an animal alive until the trapper returns to finish the job. Canada and Russia are the major sources of shtreimel fur. The degree to which these countries adhere to humane trapping standards is not certain, and even so, it does not settle the moral question of whether killing a wild animal for its fur is justifiable.
The difference between a supply that would exist anyway and a supply created by the demand for new individual animals is another important consideration. If shtreimel-grade tails are largely or even partially a byproduct of a fur trade that operates without the Hasidic shtreimel market (e.g., for coats), the additional pressure on a furbearer population attributable to shtreimels could be relatively small. Alternately, if the demand for particular tails makes certain animals or populations more valuable to trappers, the dynamics of the furbearer populations would be affected. Only supply-chain information from the trappers and other entities can tell us about the circumstances we are dealing with.
What the Talmud says about using animals for shtreimels
The Jewish community has addressed some of these concerns. When Israel restricted its commercial fur trade in 2021, it created an exemption for fur used in religious practices, thus allowing fur for shtreimels to continue to be imported. This exception acknowledged that the use of fur for religious reasons is not simply another form of fashion. Nevertheless, according to Jewish law, the shtreimel has no special religious significance, though the wearing of two head coverings is considered to add additional spiritual merit. (The shtreimel is always worn over a kippah.) Yet, while Israel’s granting permission to import the fur resolved a legal question, it did not take into account certain ecological and ethical issues. Its exemption for the shtreimel does not address whether the populations supplying that fur are sustainable or whether the animals were trapped humanely.
The Talmud provides an expression that addresses the suffering of animals: Tza’ar ba’alei chayim, the prohibition against causing animals unnecessary suffering. I am not suggesting that this principle yields a ruling about shtreimels; Judaism does not prohibit the use of animal products. But this belief does make the welfare of the animal a legitimate subject of Jewish ethical inquiry. As a wildlife ecologist, I arrive at the issue from a different direction: What did this product cost the population from which the animal came? Perhaps this perspective is not as foreign to Jewish thought as it might first appear, in this case, when one reflects on the health of an entire population of animals.
I cannot determine whether the fur used in shtreimels is harvested sustainably or whether it is obtained by methods that minimize suffering. Neither can I, based on the information available, confidently say that it is not. A useful next step is to seek transparency in the process of creating shtreimels. Makers should document the sources of their fur. Suppliers should more carefully identify the species, their geographic origins, and assess whether their pelts are wild-caught, farmed or drawn from existing inventory. Wildlife organizations could ask for that information as a matter of responsible stewardship. Researchers could then evaluate the data to determine whether the harvests of these furbearing mammals are being done in a sustainable manner.
Such inquiries could produce illuminating answers. They might show that the majority of shtreimel fur comes from stable, well-managed populations and that the demand for it adds little pressure on wild furbearers. A religious tradition can thus be even more cherished knowing that its materials are harvested in a sustainable manner (while recognizing that questions remain about the morality of killing animals for their fur). For a garment that carries so much meaning, it is worth finding out the answers to these questions.
The post Nobody can tell me how many animals die for a shtreimel appeared first on The Forward.
