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‘Stop Cop City’ activists infuse Jewish rituals into their protest against Atlanta’s planned police training center
(JTA) — As the sun set on Feb. 5, signaling the start of Tu Bishvat, a group of Jews carried shovels into the South River Forest southeast of downtown Atlanta.
In the day’s declining light, they planted saplings — seven paw paws, three fig and two peach — to honor the holiday, Judaism’s “new year of the trees.” They recited the Shehechiyanu prayer, and a rabbi led them in singing “Tzadik Katamar”: “The righteous shall flourish like the palm tree and grow like a cedar in Lebanon,” from Psalm 92.
The traditional holiday observance doubled as a protest against “Cop City,” the name that self-described “forest defenders” have given the city of Atlanta’s plan to build a $90 million, 85-acre police and fire training center on 300-plus acres that it owns just over the city line in DeKalb County, Georgia.
Two years into protests against the plans, a “week of action” that began over the weekend swelled the protesters’ ranks and brought an even greater police presence to the site of the planned training center. On Sunday night, a group of activists broke from a nonviolent protest, burning police vehicles and, police said, throwing rocks at officers. Dozens of people were arrested.
The violent turn throws into question other plans for the week, which include a Purim celebration on Monday night and a Shabbat service on Friday, the latest Jewish milestones in nearly two years of controversy and confrontation.
“They’re living Jewish values more legitimately, more sincerely than some of the biggest institutions,” said Rabbi Mike Rothbaum of Atlanta’s Reconstructionist Congregation Bet Haverim, of the Jewish protesters. Rothbaum attended the Tu Bishvat event and is scheduled to lead this week’s Shabbat service; he was speaking before the weekend’s events.
Comparing their worship to a mishkan, the portable sanctuary that the Israelites carried in the desert, Rothbaum said of the protesters, “They go to shul at ‘Cop City.’”
A sukkah constructed in October 2023 at the “Cop City” protest site in the Atlanta forest was destroyed in a police raid in December. (Courtesy of Jewish Bird Watcher Union)
Until about 200 years ago, South River Forest was home to the Muscogee (Creek) tribe, who called it Weelaunee — “brown water,” the name painted on protest banners strung between trees. White settlers drove out the Muscogee, and the land later became a slave plantation, a Civil War battlefield and a city prison farm. Portions have been a police firing range and used for explosives disposal, and it has also been the site of illegal dumping.
In April 2021, Atlanta announced plans to build a police training facility in the forest. Opponents immediately launched a protest. They oppose the redirection of natural resources to the police and want the forest maintained as a natural sanctuary.
After two years as a primarily local issue, national and international attention spiked on Jan. 18, when a protester camped in the woods was killed during what police called a “clearing operation.” The Georgia Bureau of Investigation said Manuel Paez Teran fired a handgun, wounding a Georgia State Police trooper, then was killed by return fire. An independent autopsy reported that the 26-year-old known as “Tortuguita” was struck by at least 13 rounds. An Atlanta police vehicle was torched in a subsequent protest downtown. Charges against more than a dozen of those arrested include violating the state’s domestic terrorism statute.
Across Intrenchment Creek from the city property is a DeKalb County park that bears the waterway’s name and is the subject of an associated protest. Much of the “Stop Cop City” activity has taken place in the 136-acre Intrenchment Creek Park. Legal challenges are pending against a land swap in which the county gave 40 acres to the now-former owner of a film studio, whose crews leveled trees and tore up a paved path until a judge issued a stop work order.
Conservation groups and community organizations in the surrounding majority Black neighborhoods fear that any development will degrade the tree canopy in Atlanta — which calls itself the “city in the forest” — and exacerbate flooding in low-lying areas.
The larger, decentralized protest movement includes a number of Jews, most in their 20s and 30s, who have made their stand by holding Jewish rituals in the forest, some under the banner of the “Jewish Bird Watcher Union.” They have held Shabbat services, performed the Tashlich ritual on Rosh Hashanah, slept in a sukkah during Sukkot, lit Hanukkah candles, and planted trees on Tu Bishvat. Prayer books were adapted for Shabbat and the High Holidays, with illustrations by the Jewish artist Ezra Rose.
Digital fliers advertising Jewish activities during a “week of action” by protesters opposing Atlanta’s planned police training facility. (Shared on social media)
Most of the Jewish events have been held in Intrenchment Creek Park. At the entrance, signs attached to a crumpled gazebo denounce the “film site” property owner. Improvised memorials and slabs of stone bearing spray-painted slogans dot the parking lot. To frustrate machinery drivers, some trails were blocked by barricades formed from downed trees, discarded tires and anything else handy.
The day before Tu Bishvat, three of the young Jewish activists met with a reporter, in an unheated community center a short drive from the forest. Expressing concern about their personal security, given the heated atmosphere around the issue, they spoke on condition that they be identified only by their first names and that their photographs not appear.
Cam, 24, is a labor union activist who grew up in Atlanta, attending Conservative and Reform congregations. Ray, 24, is a software engineer and Georgia Tech graduate, who grew up attending a Reform synagogue in Maryland. Ruth, in her late 20s, works in “regenerative landscaping” and moved to Atlanta with her Israeli family as a child. All said they feel disconnected from the mainstream Jewish community in Atlanta, religiously, politically and ideologically.
“Mainstream Judaism has completely lost touch with the radical history and radical tradition of the Jews,” Ruth said. “The things I like about Judaism, I want to live them in real life.”
She added, “When Sukkot came around and we built a sukkah in the forest, this is the closest I’ve been to relating to the story of traveling, of being in the desert and sleeping under the canopy.”
A makeshift memorial for environmental activist Manuel Paez Teran, who was allegedly killed by law enforcement during a raid to clear the construction site of a police training facility that activists have nicknamed “Cop City” near Atlanta, Georgia, as seen Feb. 6, 2023. (Cheney Orr/AFP via Getty Images)
Upwards of 50 to 60 Jews have participated in the forest-based worship, and hundreds of people have streamed into the “living room” section of the woods. “I don’t know if they’re all gathering for Shabbat or not but they all gathered around with us and listened to us sing prayers and light candles,” Ray said.
Rothbaum said he admired what he saw the Jewish protesters doing. “Whatever your opinion of the activists at ‘Cop City,’ you have to admire their commitment,” he said, adding, “These kids are reacting to the assimilation of a great heritage of meaning and justice.”
The sukkah survived for two months past the end of Sukkot, until a Dec. 13 police raid against encampments on both sides of Intrenchment Creek. A photo posted on Twitter showed the dismantled poles and torn sheets. The disappearance of the large menorah from the Intrenchment Creek parking lot after Hanukkah was blamed on crews working for the film site owner.
May the candle lights of Khanukah ignite the flames of rebellion. @defendATLforest pic.twitter.com/kdh6mqhMHY
— Fayer – פֿײַער (@FayerAtlanta) December 22, 2022
The morning after Tu Bishvat, city and county SWAT teams, along with state police, were deployed as construction equipment was brought into the police training center site. Two weeks later, at a Shabbat dinner in the forest following the Jan. 18 raid, attendees recited a Mourner’s Kaddish for Manuel Paez Teran and sang the traditional prayer “Oseh Shalom Bimromav” — “They who make peace in their high places.”
The Jewish activists see parallels between their activism on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and what’s happening in their local forest.
“Anti-Zionism was a major part of what brought us together in the first place, even before the forest movement,” said Cam, who said he saw the two issues as “related struggles.” Opposing Israel is “a big part of what leads us to feel alienated from most mainstream Jewish communities and the inability to be accepted there, and the necessity of forming our own.”
Ruth participated in activism on behalf of Palestinians while visiting family in Israel last summer. “I was hearing and seeing old ancient olive orchards that were destroyed, burned or cut by settlers in order to disempower Palestinians from living there,” she said. “It made me really feel, like, defend the forest everywhere.”
Atlanta officials say they do not plan to defile the forest and argue that the city’s police training facilities are inadequate. The planned complex would serve the police and fire departments, the 911 call center and K-9 units. It would include a shooting range, a “mock city” (with a gas station, motel, home and nightclub) and a “burn building.” The remainder of the land will be developed for recreational use, officials say.
“This is Atlanta and we know forests. This facility will not be built over a forest,” Atlanta Mayor Andre Dickens said at a January news conference. “The training center will sit on land that has long been cleared of hardwood trees through previous uses of this site decades ago.”
Activists accuse the city and county of a lack of transparency throughout the process. In a February interview with the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, Dickens conceded that the city could have done a better job selling the project. “We didn’t do that. And because we didn’t do that it started getting painted by anybody that had a brush,” he told the newspaper.
The mayor’s words have not deterred activists, whose goal is nothing less than cancellation of the project.
“They have destroyed a lot of the beauty already,” Cam said. “They have created this place of desolation and death and destruction, and that is in opposition to our task as Jews to create a world of beauty and joy and holiness. By coming to this place and planting trees, we are reclaiming it, making a place of peace and joy.”
Rabbi Mike Rothbaum, seen here in Massachusetts in 2017, is an Atlanta rabbi who has participated in “Cop City” protests. (Jonathan Wiggs/The Boston Globe via Getty Images)
The local Jewish protesters have lately gotten a boost from a progressive Jewish organization based in Philadelphia. The Shalom Center launched in the 1980s to oppose nuclear proliferation and now focused largely on climate justice.
“Our sacred text is called ‘The Tree of Life,’” wrote the center’s founder, Rabbi Arthur Waskow, and national organizer Rabbi Nate DeGroot in a Feb. 28 letter to Georgia Gov. Brian Kemp that noted Jewish law’s prohibition on uprooting trees. “We pray that the trees of the Weelaunee Forest remain trees that support the flourishing of sacred life for generations to come.”
Rothbaum said he was inspired by the young Jewish activists. “They are reminding us of the Jewish values that come to us through Torah, through the rabbinic writings, that are timeless,” he said. “They are reminding us of what we’re supposed to be. And we owe them a debt of gratitude.”
Ruth had a message for Atlanta’s Jewish congregations and communal organizations, most of which have not engaged publicly on the issue: “I would invite them to join us, to put their Jewish values into action,” she said. “Everything we’re doing here is really Jewish.”
—
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Tidbits: Yiddish activist in Sweden receives royal medal
Tidbits is a Forverts feature of easy news briefs in Yiddish that you can listen to or read, or both! If you read the article and don’t know a word, just click on it and the translation appears. Listen to the report here:
סוסאַנע שנײַדערמאַן־ריץ, די אָנגעזעענע ייִדיש־אַקטיוויסטקע אין שוועדן און די פּרעזידענטקע פֿונעם שוועדישן צווײַג פֿון דער אַלוועלטלעכער ציוניסטישער פֿרויען־אָרגאַניזאַציע „וויזאָ“ — וועט באַקומען איינע פֿון שוועדנס העכסטע קיניגלעכע אויסצייכענונגען, „דעם קעניגס מעדאַל“, דעם 9טן סעפּטעמבער, אינעם קיניגלעכן פּאַלאַץ אין שטאָקהאָלם.
לויט דער אָפֿיציעלער באַשרײַבונג ווערט שנײַדערמאַן־ריץ אָנערקענט פֿאַר איר „ממשותדיקן בײַשטײַער צו דער מינאָריטעט־שפּראַך, ייִדיש.“ שוין צענדליקער יאָרן וואָס שנײַדערמאַן־ריץ קעמפֿט לטובֿת דעם אָפּהיטן די ייִדישע קולטור אין שוועדן.
שנײַדערמאַן־ריץ איז געווען איינע פֿון די פֿירערס בײַם פֿאַרזיכערן אַן אָפֿיציעלע אָנערקענונג פֿון ייִדיש ווי איינע פֿון שוועדנס נאַציאָנאַלע מינאָריטעט־שפּראַכן. צום סוף האָט די קאַמפּאַניע מצליח געווען. ייִדיש האָט באַקומען אַ לעגאַלן סטאַטוס און דערבײַ דערמעגלעכט אַז די רעגירונג זאָל העלפֿן פֿינאַנצירן דאָס אויפֿהאַלטן און אַנטוויקלען די ייִדישע שפּראַך און קולטור.
די אָנערקענונג ווערט באַטראַכט פֿאַר אַ ווענדפּונקט פֿאַר דער ייִדישער קהילה אין שוועדן, בפֿרט איצט ווען די זאָרג וועגן אַנטיסעמיטיזם וואַקסט פֿון טאָג צו טאָג בײַ ייִדן איבער גאַנץ אייראָפּע.
ייִדיש־אַקטיוויסטן זאָגן, אַז די אָפֿיציעלע שטיצע פֿאַר דער שפּראַך העלפֿט אָפּהיטן אַ וויכטיקן טייל פֿון דער ייִדישער קולטור־ירושה און פֿאַרשטאַרקט דעם אָנדענק פֿון ייִדישן לעבן אין שוועדן במשך פֿון דער געשיכטע.
צו זען דעם אַרטיקל אויף ענגליש גיט אַ קוועטש דאָ.
To see this article in English, click here.
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From a Catskills bungalow in 1969, you can almost see astronauts
Crickets chirp as the audience enters The Laura Pels Theatre. Tall grass rims the front of the stage, and home movies from summer resorts in the Catskills are projected on a screen. Mother and son wave hi from a lake, a boy swims laps and bubbies walk past in their swimsuits.
This is the setting of A Walk on the Moon, a new off-Broadway musical written by Pamela Gray and based on the 1999 film of the same name for which she wrote the screenplay. Inspired by Gray’s childhood summers in a “Borscht Belt” bungalow colony, the show depicts the life of a Brooklyn-accented Jewish family against the backdrop of the Apollo 11 moon landing, the Vietnam War and the Woodstock music festival.
The show opens on Pearl Kantrowitz (Talia Suskauer) looking out wistfully as she stands in front of her summer bungalow. Pearl, who became pregnant with her daughter at 16, is struggling with the concept of domestic life amid a decade filled with excitement and chaos. It’s nearing the end of the ‘60s, and she feels as though she had barely experienced it.
In contrast, Pearl’s husband, Marty (Max Chernin), is a TV repairman entirely resistant to change, even when it comes to the bakery where his “blackout” cake comes from. He’s only in the Catskills for the weekend though, leaving Pearl subject to her temptations for the rest of the week. These desires come in the form of Walker Jerome (Sam Gravitte), a hippie “blouse man” who plans to move to California. Before the curtain closes on Act I, Walker and Pearl begin an affair as a man lands on the moon — and are left to deal with the ramifications in the second act of the show.
Pearl’s journey of self-exploration parallels that of her teenage daughter Allison (Sophie Pollono), who is falling in love with Ross (Oscar Williams), a 16-year-old boy who describes himself as “Big Jewish Hendrix.” Allison, who first appears clutching a Joni Mitchell album, is a headstrong girl who speaks out against the state of the world in any way she can — she lambasts her brother’s cap gun and refuses to attend the colony’s 4th of July celebration. Ross is an aspiring musician who, though he admires the counter-culture singers of the time, is nervous to take tangible action of his own.
As the teenage couple discusses the changing world around them and finds connection over the music of Ross’ guitar, Pearl seeks to regain the teenage years that she lost, experimenting with marijuana, attending Woodstock and attempting to hide her affair from her children and her watchful mother-in-law, Lillian (Andréa Burns).
The moon landing means something different to each character: Allison views it as a U.S. invasion analogous to Vietnam, Walker is inspired by the potential it symbolizes, Ross considers writing a song about it. Though daily life is primarily filled with mah jongg games and visits from the knish man, this tiny colony isn’t immune from the tumultuous time period. Walker discusses his brother who is missing in action and Ross contemplates burning his draft card, singing with Allison about the need for change, lest the “candle in the wind goes out.”
Some plot elements are a tad heavy handed, such as when Pearl buys a tie-dye shirt and sings a song with Marty about it (he finds her shirt too new and different) or the Jewish wives’ discussion and ensuing song about Betty Friedan (“keep your book, cuz we ain’t ready”). The show also glosses over some things, such as how Pearl explains her whereabouts while she’s with Walker and who manages her responsibilities while the two of them are together.
The musical numbers, coupled with dances performed in colorful capris and mod dresses, concern forbidden love, Saturday nights in the Catskills and the momentous nature of the moon landing. While none is particularly groundbreaking, they are well-performed; Suskauer is a vocal standout.
However, these critiques don’t detract from the show’s mission to recreate the Catskills bungalows once prominent in Jewish consciousness. The wives get farputst for dinner; Pearl is said to be “schtupping” the blouse man; the loudspeaker announces that “Shimmy the Pickle Man” is coming to town. The set, a bungalow amidst a sea of trees, creates a nostalgic and intimate ambience supplemented by projected video of the moon landing, protests and napalm bombs.
Catskills colonies are now few, and Woodstock is only a distant memory. For a few hours, though, one can imagine what it’s like to be in the summer of 1969, and Neil Armstrong is about to walk on the moon.
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In Israel’s astonishing new reality, voters expect Netanyahu to try to sabotage elections
Two extraordinary recent developments illustrate how politically unsettled Israel is in advance of elections this year: Supreme Court Justice Noam Solberg, chairman of Israel’s Central Elections Committee, publicly outlined the legal conditions under which elections could possibly be postponed during a national emergency, and former Prime Minister Ehud Barak warned that Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu might try to sabotage elections and have to be physically removed from office.
The fact that such scenarios are now being openly discussed by figures at the center of Israel’s democratic system reveals how close the country’s democracy is to a breakdown — and the country’s character to a fundamental change.
For decades, Israel prided itself on maintaining democratic continuity under impossible conditions. Through wars, terror campaigns, coalition collapses and corruption scandals, there remained an unspoken assumption that elections would occur and governments would leave office when they lost.
Now, for the first time in Israeli history, a substantial portion of the public fears that this assumption no longer stands.
“If Netanyahu tries to sabotage the elections, we will have no choice but to drive him out with sticks and stones,” Barak said, speaking in Hebrew on Israel Radio.
The astonishing thing: no one else on the program was astonished.
The unthinkable, now possible
The atmosphere surrounding the expected election, which must take place before the end of October, has become marked by increasingly apocalyptic rhetoric as Netanyahu faces negative polls. A poll by the Israel Democracy Institute found that 61% of Israelis believe Netanyahu should not run for reelection at all. Another poll found that 63% of Israelis fear for the future of Israeli democracy itself, while 56% said that internal divisions pose a greater threat to Israel than external enemies.
These are extraordinary numbers in a country historically defined by external security fears. Increasingly, many Israelis now believe the gravest threat facing the country is internal democratic collapse.
Justice Solberg’s remarks last week, which took place at a closed academic event and were reported later, added fuel to the fire.
Solberg, who is a conservative and considered politically sympathetic to Netanyahu, outlined six principles that would have to govern any decision to postpone elections, including a clearly defined plan for a return to normal electoral procedures.
Solberg emphasized that no election should be postponed merely because a crisis exists. Rather, authorities must demonstrate that the emergency has materially impaired the country’s ability to conduct free, equal and genuine elections. He concluded by expressing hope that Israel would never face circumstances requiring such a decision.
The fear that Israel is actually quite close to such a postponement cuts across much of Israeli society. I’ve heard it expressed by secular liberals, military veterans, former intelligence officials, legal scholars, journalists, centrist politicians, and even some conservatives who once supported Netanyahu enthusiastically. What unites them is the growing belief that Netanyahu now considers remaining in power to be an existential necessity — and that his radical base will back him no matter what outrage he attempts.
Yair Golan, former deputy IDF chief and leader of the opposition Democrats Party, has become one of the loudest voices warning that the danger is no longer theoretical. Golan warned publicly that Netanyahu’s camp could “sabotage, falsify, lie and intimidate” in order to remain in power. He also warned against attempts to alter election rules before voting takes place, and announced plans for extensive election monitoring operations to try to help safeguard the vote.
A decade ago, such statements from a senior Israeli political figure would have sounded deranged. Today, many Israelis hear them as sober preparation.
Inventing an emergency
Netanyahu’s current term, after a very close election in 2022, has been calamitous, starting with his hugely unpopular effort to eviscerate the judiciary, then continuing with the Oct. 7 Hamas massacre and a three-year multi-front war with unsatisfying conclusions. Most Israelis believe he extended at least one branch of the conflict, in Gaza, to satisfy ultranationalists in his coalition.
Which means there’s precedent for believing Netanyahu might invent or invite an emergency to further his personal goals.
One possibility is yet another external war, involving a manufactured escalation with Iran or Hezbollah, or in the West Bank, where radical settlers terrorize Palestinians while Israeli authorities look the other way. Another, and the most obvious, would involve a sudden change in the status of the Temple Mount — a goal toward which some far-right members of Netanyahu’s coalition have been agitating — or other combustible religious sites.
Any domestic route Netanyahu might choose would invite a direct confrontation between the executive branch and the judiciary over the legitimacy of democratic procedures themselves.
If the Supreme Court ruled against Netanyahu, many fear the coalition could refuse compliance outright. After all, Netanyahu has spent years seeding the idea that the Supreme Court — and also prosecutors, the attorney general, and the civil service — are liberal fronts which do not necessarily need to be obeyed.
Devaluing democracy
The columnist Ravit Hecht recently argued in Haaretz that significant portions of the coalition no longer merely oppose liberal democracy, but reject democracy itself.
As Netanyahu has increasingly aligned himself with these forces, Hecht wrote, he has adopted “more and more dictatorial characteristics,” leading to “real fear for the purity of the coming election or even that it will be held.”
At the same time, much of the right has mainstreamed conspiracy theories surrounding the Oct. 7 attack and the Gaza war. Because of the Netanyahu machine’s jackhammer agitprop, almost a third of Israelis now believe the “betrayal from within” theory in which Israel’s security services assisted Hamas on Oct. 7 to harm Netanyahu.
Figures such as Likud Knesset member Tally Gotliv have openly accused the Shin Bet, military officers, protest leaders, judges and the attorney general of betrayal or collaboration with Hamas. Instead of being marginalized, such rhetoric increasingly receives tacit acceptance from parts of the governing coalition.
Yediot Ahronot columnist Ben-Dror Yemini compared the phenomenon to the Nazi-era “stab-in-the-back” myth after World War I, which blamed Jews for Germany’s humiliation. Yemini warned that societies consumed by conspiracy theories eventually destroy trust in every institution capable of holding democracy together.
Given this level of agitation, it is fair to view Israel’s coming election as something far more significant than a contest between left and right or rival policy agendas. Increasingly, it looks like a referendum on whether the country remains the democracy it has always claimed — and largely managed — to be.
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