Uncategorized
Standing on Albania’s Jew Street, I learned firsthand the country’s lifesaving culture of hospitality
BERAT, Albania (JTA) — Stone paths wind through the Ottoman-style houses built into the hillside of Berat, Albania. They lead to an imposing 13th-century castle at the peak — the top priority for most visitors to this 60,000-person town 90 minutes south of the capital, Tirana. I had other plans.
Albanians take pride in their ancient code of “besa,” which translates to “keep the promise” and leads them to prioritize guests and religion in their homes. For Albanian Jews or those who fled there from elsewhere in the Balkan Peninsula as German forces advanced during World War II, it promised safe harbor with Albanian families and even throughout entire towns. Albania is the only country in Europe whose Jewish population grew during the war.
Berat’s Solomoni Museum explains this history and that of earlier Jews in the area. At least, so I hear: Under the stone arches off the plaza, I found only locked doors.
Some people collect souvenir spoons or Starbucks city mugs when they travel, others collect memories. I collect fragments of Jewish identity. Planning this trip to Albania with friends, I insisted on a stop in Berat to see the small museum and wasn’t about to give up.
“I’ll call her,” offered the woman behind the desk at the Ethnographic Museum across the street. “Her” referred to the caretaker, the widow of the Orthodox Christian professor who started the museum — Albania’s only one dedicated to Jewish history — as a passion project funded by his pension. After Simon Vrusho’s death in 2019, the museum closed until a French-Albanian businessman heard the story and donated funds for it to reopen in a larger, permanent location.
But the call ended with bad news: The caretaker was sick, and the museum would remain closed. I grimaced. Seeing my reaction, the Ethnographic Museum docent did what all Albanians do — anything she could to make me feel better, to make sure I enjoyed my stay in her town. In this moment, that meant explaining everything she knew about Jews in Albania.
A view of the exterior of the Solomoni Museum, the country’s only museum about its Jewish history. (Naomi Tomky)
Jews first arrived in the country as Roman captives, almost 2,000 years ago. But the first major wave, especially to Berat, came from Spanish Jews fleeing the Inquisition. The Ottoman Empire, which ruled the area at the time, offered nominal religious freedom.
This month, the country’s prime minister announced plans to open a museum in Tirana dedicated to the stories of Albanian citizens who sheltered Jews during the Holocaust, when the country was occupied by both fascist Italy and later Nazi Germany. Yad Vashem, Israel’s Holocaust remembrance authority, has recognized at least 75 Albanians as Righteous Among the Nations for saving Jews.
“You can see the street where the Jews lived,” the docent noted. I perked up and jotted down her directions.
Six blocks away, I found a simple black plaque with white lettering, barely the size of my forearm and posted high on a white brick wall. It read, “Rruga Hebrentje.” I stared at it. Two millennia of Jewish history in the country, and one closed museum forced me to take heart in a little sign saying “Jew Street.”
A sign in Berat, Albania, reads Rruga Hebrentje, or Jew Street. (Naomi Tomky)
Jews have company in this razing of history: The brutal post-World War II communist regime of dictator Enver Hoxha shuttered all religious institutions in 1967, declaring Albania the world’s first atheist state. His forces destroyed more than 2,000 mosques, churches and other sacred buildings, arresting priests, clerics and imams, many of whom disappeared forever into labor camps and hidden graves. “Religion is the opium of the people,” Hoxha wrote, quoting Karl Marx.
It felt selfish to pout about the lack of Jewish history when so much religion, so many people and huge swaths of Albanian culture had been so recently and violently erased. I joined my friends to explore Berat’s exceptions to the wanton destruction, starting at the Sultan’s Mosque, which dates to the 15th century and boasts an intricately carved wooden ceiling. We expected to admire just the outside, since our guidebook said the doors opened only around Friday prayer.
But as we stared at the somewhat ordinary façade, a friendly gentleman chatted us up. He spoke Albanian, Greek and a bit of Italian, the last of which proved useful at matching up to our Spanish and French. He told us a little about the mosque and the casual styles of observance by most Albanian Muslims, but we only realized he worked there when he invited us inside, retrieving a key when we responded with excitement.
We marveled at the green, red and gold ceiling, illuminated by a round chandelier. He asked if we wanted to climb up the minaret, warning us about the ascent. Narrower than the width of my hips, the tightly coiled spiral of 94 stairs featured a layer of dust and cobwebs that stuck to our bare feet. But at the top, swallowing my fear of heights, confined spaces and bugs, I reaped the reward: a 360-degree view of the “thousand windows” that give the town its nickname, flanking both banks of the Osumi River, and the double eagle of Albania’s red flag flying proudly above it all from the castle.
A view of the ceiling inside the Sultans Mosque in Berat. (Naomi Tomky)
Back on the ground, we thanked the man profusely and dropped donations in the box outside the mosque door as we prepared to say goodbye. Instead, he led us across the square to another building – the Halveti Tekke, or Teqe. Light flowed through the high stained-glass windows onto the walls of the 700-year-old gathering place belonging to the mystic order of Sufi Muslims called Bektashi. Chains hung from the ornate gold-leaf-decorated ceiling over a space where, according to our new friend, the bektashi, or dervishes, used to perform their whirling rituals.
“You want to go up?” he asked my friend’s eight-year-old daughter. She nodded excitedly, and he tossed her a ring of keys, pointing the way to the balcony. As she climbed the stairs, I noticed a pair of six-pointed stars framing the main doorway, a reminder of my original mission, even if they were likely not Stars of David.
But if I felt sad about missing out on the Jewish museum, I was heartened by what I did receive: a first-hand lesson on Albania’s life-saving culture of hospitality.
—
The post Standing on Albania’s Jew Street, I learned firsthand the country’s lifesaving culture of hospitality appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
Uncategorized
When ‘Nuke Jews, Save Lives’ note was left at the Center for Jewish History, its message was a window into antisemitic thinking
As hate manifestoes go, this one was terse: “Nuke Jews, Save Lives.”
Our security team at the Center for Jewish History, where I serve as president, recently discovered a notecard bearing this hateful message by our front entrance, just blocks from Union Square in Manhattan.
The Center for Jewish History was created a quarter century ago to help scholars research the Jewish past and disseminate that knowledge to the public. An institution that is sometimes likened to the national archives of Diaspora Jewry, the Center houses more than 65 million documents and artifacts painstakingly collected by its distinguished partner organizations. Countless books and articles on Jewish history have been published using this archival source material, all pursuing the goal of historical understanding.
This hateful note was a direct rebuke to our mission and a window into antisemitic thinking. The declaration confirmed antisemites’ tendency to see their hatred as virtuous. By claiming that “saving lives” was their ultimate goal, the author sought to avoid any suspicion of ulterior motives. Hitler did something similar in Mein Kampf, writing that by combating the Jews he was “fighting for the work of the Lord.”
The historical record also teaches that while the charges brought by antisemites against Jews vary considerably, they serve a consistent function. Whatever threat Jews are accused of posing – whatever the reason why “lives” need to be “saved” – the accusation channels society’s deeper fears. These fears often differ between the left and right political positions, but they converge in the antisemite’s belief that a solution rests with solving the Jewish “problem.”
Jews have traditionally believed that understanding history can solve the problem of antisemitism. From antiquity to modernity, Jews have penned eloquent, historically informed rebuttals to antisemitic accusations, believing that public opinion can be swayed by truth. Whether Flavius Josephus’s reply to the hostile claims of the Egyptian scholar, Apion, in the first century C. E. or the Central Association of German Citizens of the Jewish Faith’s response to the Nazis in the 1930s, history shows that Jews have consistently sought to defend themselves through rational argument.
The Center for Jewish History is no different. We regularly organize public programs on a range of topics in the interest of fostering knowledge and dialogue. Of late, out of necessity, we have been sponsoring events that address the history of antisemitism.
Shortly before the hateful note was left on our doorstep, the Silicon Valley investor, Michael Moritz, was in conversation with The New York Times Company CEO, Meredith Kopit Levien, about his new book, Ausländer, which movingly chronicles the tragic story of his German Jewish family in the Nazi era. The book also raises discomforting comparisons about Jew hatred yesterday and today.
The event was a bittersweet affair. While we were gratified that our fully packed auditorium validated our institutional mission, the conversation’s main takeaway – that what was old is new again – was sobering.
That feeling was further compounded when we encountered the words, “Nuke Jews, Save Lives,” one week later. We could easily have thrown up our hands in despair at the futility of our mission. That, of course, would have served the antisemite’s goal.
Antisemitism’s impact is akin to that of the heckler’s veto. By wielding crude, simplistic slogans in the spirit of Der Stürmer’s tagline, “The Jews Are Our Misfortune,” antisemites use hate asymmetrically to undermine cultural and intellectual traditions assembled over centuries.
Antisemitism validates the core idea of Brandolini’s Law – that the work needed to refute calumnies dramatically exceeds the work needed to disseminate them. It calls to mind Edmund Burke’s remark in Reflections on the Revolution in France that “rage and phrensy will pull down more in half an hour, than prudence, deliberation, and foresight can build up in a hundred years.”
But my money is on archives.
The 65 million documents housed at the Center do not just numerically exceed the four hateful words left on our doorstep many times over. They testify to the authority of archives. Ever since they were invented in antiquity, archives have wielded tremendous power. Not for nothing does its Greek root, “arch,” denote “ruler” (as in “monarch”).
When belief in truth is challenged by a flood of lies, the archive offers a redoubt. It guards the facticity of history so that people of good faith can defend themselves against their enemies.
The campaign against antisemitism is complex and requires arguments and allies, resources and resolve. It cannot be won easily and may never be won decisively. But one thing is for sure: it cannot be won without facts. In this latest war, the archive can serve as an arsenal.
The post When ‘Nuke Jews, Save Lives’ note was left at the Center for Jewish History, its message was a window into antisemitic thinking appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
NPR investigation finds evidence of widespread fraud at mall kiosks tied to Israeli skincare brand
They are a common feature at American shopping malls across the U.S.: skincare kiosks staffed by charming Israeli salespeople. For American Jews, they can be a place to practice your Hebrew, greet expats or play Jewish geography.
But for hundreds of shoppers, an experience that began with a smile and a free sample at one of those kiosks ended in thousands of dollars of unauthorized credit card charges, according to an investigation published Monday by NPR.
Drawing on court documents, online reviews, consumer complaints obtained through the Freedom of Information Act and interviews with more than 50 customers, NPR linked the apparent fraud to Mazal Group, a conglomerate of dozens of skincare brands owned by Eli Weingarten and Daphna Oded Weingarten, an Israeli American couple who live in the Los Angeles area.
Many of the company’s alleged victims were elderly, disabled or otherwise vulnerable to exploitation, NPR reported.
NPR reported instances of overcharging and forced purchases at thousands of independent kiosks, stores and spas selling Mazal products around the country. An elderly man with dementia in Michigan was unknowingly charged $42,000 for skincare products and devices, NPR reported; in Hawaii, a disabled woman wrote in a complaint to the state that a spa salesperson took her walker, and refused to let her leave for hours until she spent $2,600, NPR said.
A similar pattern was uncovered by the FBI at Mazal-connected kiosks a decade ago — which the agency referred to as a “credit card overcharge scheme.” That investigation culminated in more than a dozen guilty pleas and prison terms for two store owners, Shai Cohen and Omer Gur. Today, the company contracts with some 2,000 stores worldwide, according to a former employee quoted by NPR, though the exact number is unknown.
Mazal Group, which is headquartered in Chatsworth, Calif., responded to NPR’s questions by shifting responsibility for the overcharging onto individual store owners — but as the story was about to be published, the company terminated its own business license. Today, their headquarters bears the logo of Innovation Brands Inc., a company founded by the Weingartens in 2024.
Mazal ran dozens of skincare brands, including Voupre, Avinichi, Introstem, CbGäRDN, Venofye, Lionesse and Orogold Cosmetics.
Though the kiosks are independently owned — sometimes bearing the name of those brands — NPR obtained documents showing Mazal Group’s aggressive pricing recommendations, sometimes with markups of more than 100 times the wholesale cost.
For example, the company suggested selling Voupre’s Cannabis Caviar Transforming Mask for $3,000 — 130 times the wholesale price of $23. Luxury skincare brands rarely stretch the suggested retail price to even 20 times the wholesale cost, according to a retail expert quoted in the article. The products themselves would not have any price tag on them, making it easier for customers to be overcharged at checkout, former employees told NPR.
But NPR also said the makeup itself was a flawed product whose labels may have falsely advertised their contents. Lab testing paid for by NPR showed that a Mazal anti-aging cream called Voupre Anti-Aging Rescue Solution that claimed to contain Vitamin A and Vitamin E appeared to have neither.
Another element of the investigation involved immigration fraud. According to former employees, many kiosk salespeople were Israelis in the U.S. on tourist visas — a direct violation of the terms of the visa, which forbids performing labor or services for pay. When an NPR reporter posing as a prospective employee messaged a recruiter to ask whether it was okay if she only had a tourist visa, the recruiter reportedly said yes.
Mazal Brands could not be reached for comment.
The post NPR investigation finds evidence of widespread fraud at mall kiosks tied to Israeli skincare brand appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
Talarico blames Netanyahu, not the Israeli people, for devastation in Gaza
(JTA) — James Talarico, Texas’ Democratic nominee for the U.S. Senate, said he holds Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, rather than the Israeli people, responsible for civilian devastation in Gaza.
Talarico, a Texas state representative, is running neck and neck against Republican Attorney General Ken Paxton, in a race whose results could affect which party controls the Senate this November. Israel has been one of many sources of disagreement among the candidates, who have sparred on issues ranging from affordability to immigration to reproductive rights.
“I believe that Israel, like any nation, has a right to defend its people,” the candidate said while fielding questions on Wednesday at a CNN town hall. “But I don’t believe that Benjamin Netanyahu has a right to wage war against civilians or use collective punishment or restrict aid to civilians.”
A Texas Politics Project poll, issued by the University of Texas this week, showed Paxton trailing Talarico by 3 percentage points, with 47% to the Democrat’s 50% and a margin of error of 3.34 percentage points.
Talarico said in August that he supported stopping arms sales to the Netanyahu government and conditioning military aid “on ending the death and the destruction in Gaza and the West Bank.” He declined to call the crisis “genocide,” noting that the term is being litigated in the International Court of Justice. But he said he’d “use every bit of our nation’s diplomatic and financial leverage to protect the lives of Palestinians.”
When he was pressed further by Rabbi Holly Levin Cohn of Congregation Beth El Binah in Dallas during the town hall, Talarico stressed the importance of directing his criticisms “toward Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and not the Israeli people.”
Addressing Israelis’ trauma, Talarico acknowledged that the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas attack on Israel “was the deadliest day for the Jewish people since the Holocaust.”
Cohn pushed back on his comments regarding aid restrictions, noting Israeli support of humanitarian efforts and arguing that there’s much more going on in the country than the media may be projecting.
Talarico told the rabbi he recognized that his “words carry weight” and gave her his word that he’s “going to continue to listen to all sides of this conflict.” He also expressed hope that “we can all come together to fight for a two-state solution where we have security for Israel and we have freedom and self-determination for Palestinians.”
Talarico also gave a “shoutout” to a local rabbi, Neil Blumofe at Congregation Agudas Achim in Austin. “I spent my first year of my seminary studies learning the Hebrew scriptures from a local rabbi,” he said. “Shout out Rabbi Neil Blumofe!” Cohn grinned.
The post Talarico blames Netanyahu, not the Israeli people, for devastation in Gaza appeared first on The Forward.
