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This Israeli village on the Lebanon border was isolated for decades. Now it’s a tourist hotspot.
GHAJAR, Israel (JTA) – A group of 40 tourists filed into Khateb Sweets on a recent Sunday afternoon, bringing chatter — and their cash and credit cards — to what had been a quiet cafe in this equally sedate village in the Golan Heights.
They left after consuming pastries and hot tea spiced with ginger, anise and cinnamon, whereupon an Israeli Jewish couple came in, then an Israeli Arab family and three Canadians.
The steady foot traffic typifies the wave of tourists that since last fall has hit this community of 2,900 people, nearly all Alawites, an Islamic sect.
Ghajar (pronounced RA-zhar) had for decades been unusually cut off from the rest of Israel. Residents could come and go, but outsiders could visit only through prior arrangement with the Israel Defense Forces, which considered the village within a closed military area where Lebanon and Israel’s Galilee and Golan Heights regions intersect.
The IDF’s lifting of the restriction without explanation on Sept. 8 led to an immediate rush of visitors eager to explore Ghajar.
How immediate? Ahmad Khateb, a pastry chef who owns the eponymous cafe, was working that day at his consultancy job at a hotel in the Galilee town of Tzfat, when his employee called to report an unusual stream of tourists entering the shop. The following morning, Khateb resigned to work at his café full time.
People enjoy a food truck in a plaza in Ghajar, Oct. 14, 2022. (Yossi Aloni/Flash90)
Approximately 4,000 people visited Ghajar the day the town opened, he said. Another 6,000 visited the following day — briefly tripling the number of people in town. For day three, a Saturday, Ghajar turned a soccer field into a parking lot.
“It’s like a gift that fell from the sky,” Khateb said of the village’s opening and his subsequent increase in sales. He’s now considering expansion to other locations.
Ghajar possesses a Forbidden City-like attraction for Israelis, who travel extensively inside their own country because it requires a flight to visit others.
“You know why we came here? Because there aren’t a lot of places [in Israel] we haven’t been,” said Shmuel Browns, a Jerusalem-based tour guide accompanying his brother and sister-in-law visiting from his native Toronto. “We wanted to get a sense of what makes this village unique.”
It is also notable as the only Israeli community of Alawites, a Syria-based ethnic minority best known as the group that the country’s dictatorial rulers for the past 52 years — current president Bashar al-Assad and his late father, Hafez — are descended from. Bilal Khatib, who is Ghajar’s accountant and spokesman, said Alawites tend to be secular people who value a person’s character and are respectful of other Muslim sects and different religions. Ghajar contains no mosques, since, except on holy days, people pray individually at home.
People gather in front of a shop in Ghajar, Oct. 14, 2022. (Yossi Aloni/Flash90)
“It’s a way of life,” Khatib said. “We respect people as people. Our religion is to be a good person, love everyone and hold no hatred against anyone, be they Druze, Jew, Christian or Circassian.”
But most unusual is Ghajar’s provenance, on which outsiders tend to stumble. “Ghajar was part of Lebanon, right?” the Israeli couple at the cafe asked Khateb.
No, he responded.
So began a short primer that residents are wont to recite to visitors — a timeline of a village of just one-fifth of a square mile. (The fields on Ghajar’s outskirts constitute an additional five square miles, on which the village plans to expand.)
Israel captured the Golan Heights, including Ghajar, from Syria during 1967’s Six-Day War and officially annexed it in 1981. After Israel ended its 18-year war in Lebanon in 2000, the United Nations certified the IDF’s withdrawal and established the two countries’ border going through, rather than around, Ghajar. Israel later announced plans to withdraw below the U.N. line. That would have split the village into northern and southern sections. Residents protested, preferring to remain under Israeli sovereignty rather than be divided. Ultimately, Israel didn’t erect a barrier inside the village.
A man drives a golf kart in Ghajar, Sept. 7, 2022. (Jalaa Marey/AFP via Getty Images)
“It’s a headache,” Jamal Khatib, a physical education teacher at the village’s lone high school, said of the chronology.
Orna Mizrahi, an analyst at the Tel Aviv-based Institute for National Security Studies, agrees with that characterization. As a member of the National Security Council, she briefed then-Prime Minister Ariel Sharon on Ghajar at what proved to be his last Cabinet meeting hours before he suffered a debilitating and ultimately fatal stroke in 2006.
As to why the IDF recently opened the town, Mizrahi cited the completion of a security fence around Ghajar, along with the lessened threat of cross-border attacks by the Hezbollah terrorist organization, due in large part to the recent maritime border agreement between Israel and Lebanon that incentivizes the government in Beirut to restrain Hezbollah.
“The security considerations are different. The situation in Lebanon is different,” she said.
Exactly why the United Nations associated the town with Lebanon, even though most of its residents are from a Syrian sect, is a point of confusion for many who visit. A 1965 Syrian map that Bilal Khatib printed offers an explanation: It shows Ghajar as an enclave completely inside Lebanon except for a narrow sliver connecting it to Syria proper.
Bilal Khatib (he, Jamal Khatib and Ahmad Khateb are unrelated) lives in the northern section and said he would not want his sister, who lives south of the U.N.’s 2000 demarcation, to be inaccessible.
The U.N.’s dividing point, known as the Blue Line, would be “splitting families,” he said. “We have to be united.” In practice, this line exists only on maps and has no impact on the life of Ghajar residents, who are fully under Israeli rule.
Ghajar residents tend to see themselves as Syrians holding Israeli citizenship. It’s a high-achieving population: According to Jamal Khatib, 400 Ghajar residents hold a college degree, making the town far more educated, on average, than Israeli Arabs overall. He said there are 50 physicians, 30 lawyers, 27 dentists and two professors, most commuting to jobs in the Galilee. Until Syria’s civil war began in 2011, Ghajar residents legally crossed at nearby Kuneitra to attend Syrian universities, he said.
An Israeli soldier secures a checkpoint at the entrance of Ghajar, Sept. 7, 2022. (Jalaa Marey/AFP via Getty Images)
“There’s no profession in Israel that’s not represented here,” he said.
Politically, Ghajar stands out for supporting mostly Jewish-majority parties. In the recent election, Benny Gantz’s centrist party got 24% of the 555 citizens who went to the polls in the village. The Arab party Raam got only 14% of the votes and the rest went to other Jewish lists, including the haredi Orthodox Shas party.
Ghajar puts a premium on livability. Fountains, parks and outdoor sculptures abound, landscaping and building façades are colorful and nary a speck of litter is evident. Homes are large and well-kept, on par with other upscale areas in Israel. Motorcycles and the honking of vehicles’ horns are prohibited. Visitors may not enter between 8 p.m. and 8 a.m., Jamal Khatib said, adding that Ghajar has long banned hotels and bed-and-breakfast inns and does not plan to change the rules in response to the flood of visitors.
Some visitors have littered and urinated in public, even entered residents’ homes without knocking, he said.
“A year ago, you wouldn’t have seen that,” said his son, Ryad, who works as Ghajar’s coordinator of volunteers, including handling traffic control on days when tourists abound.
Unlike many small towns in Israel, Ghajar operates its own sanitation service rather than linking up with other municipalities through a regional council. Doing so is an unusual expenditure, but it’s one that means visitors to the town may see Ghajar’s name on a garbage truck — a potentially powerful symbol.
Tourists explore the streets of Ghajar, Oct. 14, 2022. (Yossi Aloni/Flash90)
“We’re doing it not for you, but for ourselves,” Jamal Khatib said of the village’s quality-of-life values. “I like that people come, but they should respect the rules, respect our privacy.”
For its part, Ghajar projects respect for the wider society. Street signs and storefronts appear in Hebrew and Arabic. The Park of Peace includes a statue of the Virgin Mary, a sculpture of an open Koran, an Alawite sword symbol and a menorah.
“You and I believe in one God,” Jamal Khatib said. “Your deeds speak as to who you are.”
From his back porch a few moments later, a donkey’s braying could be clearly heard, hundreds of sheep observed and calls to prayer drifted over from a mosque – all in Aarab el Louaizeh, a village in Lebanon perhaps 100 yards away.
In a ravine below, soldiers of the United Nations and the Lebanese army in their separate posts walked outside. The U.N. soldiers entered two vehicles and began their twice-daily patrol of the border. Alongside the border road is the Hatzbani River, where Khatib fished as a young man. At his property line, a separate fence on Ghajar’s northern perimeter is nearly complete.
But the fence wasn’t erected to divide people or demarcate boundaries: It’s to keep boars, jackals and porcupines from scaling the slope and entering the village, Khatib said. He soon received an alert on his phone.
“The notification says there are cows on the road,” he explained. “It’s dark. Be careful.”
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Massive fire breaks out at kosher supermarket in London’s Golders Green
(JTA) — A huge fire broke out Tuesday morning at the Kosher Kingdom supermarket in Golders Green, London’s heavily Orthodox Jewish neighborhood. Firefighters were still working to put out the blaze six hours later.
Metropolitan Police posted on X that officers were called to the scene on Golders Green Road around 7 a.m. by the London Fire Brigade. “Officers responded and are at the scene assisting firefighters with road closures and evacuations,” said police.
London Fire Brigade Assistant Commissioner Craig Carter provided an update on the scene at 12:30 p.m., saying that 15 engines and around 100 firefighters “have been tackling the fire at its height, which has affected a ground floor shop and a storage area to the rear, which has partially collapsed.”
He noted that the flats above were not affected but residents were evacuated as a precaution.
“Our specialist Fire Investigators, in conjunction with the Metropolitan Police Service, have worked at pace to establish that the circumstances of the fire are not believed to be suspicious and investigations on the cause and origin of the fire are ongoing,” Carter added.
The news that Kosher Kingdom did not appear to be deliberately targeted comes as a relief to Jewish residents, who have been on edge for months amid a string of attacks. The blaze broke out in the same area where four Hatzola ambulances were torched in March, two Jewish men were stabbed in April and a Jewish man said he was attacked for speaking Hebrew this month.
Rochel Cohen, who lives near the supermarket, is among those whose street has been cordoned off. Her first thought was the incident was another antisemitic attack, she told JTA in a phone interview.
Cohen said she looked out the window around 7 a.m. and saw “just huge plumes of black smoke and we heard all the sirens. And the police have roped off all our roads again.”
That “again,” Cohen said, was because it was the third time in two months that her family had witnessed “crime scenes in our neighborhood.”
“The ambulance fire was just on the next street from us and the stabbing situation was 100 meters down the road from us,” she said.
Prior to the fire department’s update, speculation spread on social media that the fire was electrical, potentially caused by faulty freezers. London has seen an unprecedented heatwave over the last several days, with temperatures soaring over 90 degrees.
Cohen said two of her family members previously worked at Kosher Kingdom. They believed from the outset that there was an electrical fire in the freezers “because it’s exactly from the roof footage that we saw where those freezers are located,” she said.
Nonetheless, another incident in the neighborhood has left her shaken. “It’s just a bit of a nightmare, really,” she said. “It’s all these incidents adding up, and it makes it quite scary, this climate of fear we’re currently in. It’s really oppressive.”
Cohen said she has been traveling to jury service the last several weeks about 10 miles from Golders Green in Wood Green, which has a higher than average crime rate.
“I actually felt safer there than I do walking the street here in Golders Green because I’m constantly turning around, checking what’s going on,” she said. “It’s not a nice feeling.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post Massive fire breaks out at kosher supermarket in London’s Golders Green appeared first on The Forward.
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Reading a Pakistani author’s 30-year-old novel helped me understand my parents’ views on intermarriage
When I was a kid, I was haunted by the threat of my parents rejecting me if I married a non-Jew. Raised on Disney movies and song lyrics about soulmates, I spent almost every moment of high school anticipating the pain of falling in love with a non-Jew and having to choose between him and my family. If I chose him, the estrangement could bode poorly for married life. But if I married a Jewish man, I’d always worry that if he had not been Jewish, our love would not have overcome our religious differences, and therefore was not that strong to begin with.
The psychic burden began to lift only when I went to college at Hunter in New York City and made friends from other minority groups. I bonded with them over our parents’ desire that we marry someone from the same religion or ethnicity. I had always felt like my parents’ demand constituted bigotry against non-Jews, and I was surprised when my non-Jewish friends were more sympathetic to their stance than I was.
In college, I took a class on the history of modern India and learned about the Pakistani author Bapsi Sidhwa, but I didn’t read her until this year. Sidhwa, who died in 2024, grew up in Lahore’s Parsi community — a group of Zoroastrians who trace their roots to pre-Islamic Iran. Even though her books are mostly more than 30 years old, they still feel relevant, and they remind me of my own Iranian Jewish community.
Sidhwa’s 1993 coming-of-age novel An American Brat centers on Feroza, a Parsi girl from Lahore. Feroza’s parents send her to the U.S. to expand her horizons because they think the local culture is making her too conservative. But they wind up being disappointed when her horizons expand too much.
Feroza’s whole extended family goes into a tailspin when she sends word home that she wants to marry a Jewish man named David. She met him when she responded to an ad he placed in the college newspaper about selling his car. The two bond over their families’ shared emphases on religion and education. David’s family’s Shabbat candles recall the significance of fire within Zoroastrianism. But if Feroza marries a non-Zoroastrian, she will be excommunicated from the Parsi community. As Feroza’s mom Zareen prepares to fly to America to intervene, extended family members urge her to stand her ground no matter how nice David is and no matter how big a “tantrum” Feroza throws — but they also advise her not be too harsh either, so as not to push Feroza away.
The reader never learns what objections, if any, David’s Reform Jewish parents might have to his interfaith marriage; over Shabbat dinner, prior to the proposal, they are reserved but polite. Meanwhile, Zareen’s good-cop bad-cop routine is familiar, quaint and pathetic. She lists eligible Parsi bachelors (the Zoroastrian equivalent of ‘nice Jewish boys’) with promising careers and “worthy mothers.” She tries killing with kindness: “You’re too precious. We’re not going to throw you away on the first riffraff that comes your way.” She even tells Feroza cautionary tales about women who married “nons” (Zoroastrian equivalent of goyim) and wound up feeling disconnected from their heritage. These methods all fail, and the book comes to a sobering end when Zareen calls David’s bluff and demands the couple have a huge traditional wedding, scaring him off and exposing the limits of his supposedly liberal values.
Zoroastrians, like Jews, are a small group. In 2022, an Associated Press article estimated the worldwide Zoroastrian population, which at its peak numbered in the millions, was now around 125,000. Lahore’s Parsi community had all of 11 members as of a 2023 Facebook post.
Reading literature from other cultures, just like having friends from other cultures, can teach us about our own. As I read Zareen’s efforts to talk Feroza out of the engagement, it was somehow easier for me to understand than if they were Jewish like me. The author’s empathy makes Zareen’s mom an especially interesting character, like a Zoroastrian Tevye, torn between family pressures and the feminist values that inspired her to send Feroza to the U.S. in the first place.
Students at Hunter have a reputation for being super liberal, but they also have surprising points of departure from what most people would consider liberal. When I told classmates that I struggled with my parents’ insistence that I marry a Jew, I sensed bad energy in the room, as if they were judging me for disrespecting my parents in front of them. Some seemed to think it’s only natural for a person to marry someone who belongs to the same religion or ethnicity. Part of me was disturbed to see that this brand of separatism was so fashionable — but I also felt relieved, like they’d given me permission to appease my parents.
Feroza heals from her breakup with David partly by remembering that no matter the religion of the person she marries, her religion will always be part of her. As for myself, I don’t know what my future holds. But whatever does happen, it will be something that also happened to countless women before me — not only Jewish women but people of all different races and creeds. It is comforting to remember that as your life is playing out, there are people all over the world and across time living out much the same story as you are.
The post Reading a Pakistani author’s 30-year-old novel helped me understand my parents’ views on intermarriage appeared first on The Forward.
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Newly discovered details about Soviet Jewry between 1945 and 1953
די יאָרן צװישן 1945 און 1953, פֿון דעם סוף פֿון דער צװײטער װעלט־מלחמה ביז יאָסיף סטאַלינס טױט, זײַנען געװען די צײַט פֿון נסיונות פֿאַר סאָװעטישע ייִדן. דער דאָזיקער תּקופֿה איז געװידמעט דאָס בוך „דאָס לעבן נאָך דער מלחמה: האָפֿענונגען און שרעק“ פֿון דער היסטאָריקערין אַנאַ שטערנשיס פֿונעם טאָראָנטער אוניװערסיטעט. דאָס איז דער פֿערטער באַנד אין דער אַכט־בענדיקן געשיכטע פֿון ייִדן אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד אונטער דער רעדאַקציע פֿון די היסטאָריקער גענאַדי עסטרײַך און דוד ענגעל פֿון ניו־יאָרקער אוניװערסיטעט.
העכער װי צװײ מיט אַ האַלב מיליאָן ייִדן זײַנען דערמאָרדעט געװאָרן אױפֿן שטח פֿונעם סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד אין די גרענעצן פֿון 1941, וואָס נעמט אויך אַרײַן די געגנטן פֿון פּױלן, ליטע, לעטלאַנד, עסטלאַנד און רומעניע, װאָס זײַנען אַנעקסירט געװאָרן אין 1939 און 1940.
בערך צװײ מיט אַ האַלב מיליאָן ייִדן האָבן איבערגעלעבט דעם חורבן אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד. זײ האָבן זיך געפֿונען מחוץ די אָקופּירטע טעריטאָריעס אָדער געדינט אין דער רױטער אַרמײ. אַרום 100,000 ייִדן זײַנען געבליבן לעבן אױף די אָקופּירטע שטחים, דער עיקר אין די געטאָס פֿון טראַנסניסטריע אין דרום־אוקראַיִנע און מאָלדאָװע, װאָס זײַנען געװען אונטער דער רומענישער אָקופּאַציע.
דער חורבן האָט שטאַרק געענדערט דעם קולטורעל־סאָציאַלן פּראָפֿיל פֿון סאָװעטישן ייִדנטום, שרײַבט שטערנשיס. די ייִנגערע, מער אַסימילירטע, געבילדעטע און מאָבילע מענטשן האָבן געהאַט בעסערע אױסזיכטן אױף אױסצומײַדן דעם טױט. די פּראָסטע שטעטלדיקע בעל־מלאכות, פּױערים און עלטערע ייִדן האָבן אָפֿט מאָל ניט געהאַט קײן מעגלעכקײטן צו אַנטלױפֿן פֿון די דײַטשן.
נאָך דער מלחמה האָבן אַ סך ייִדן ניט געװאָלט זיך אומקערן איז די שטעטלעך פֿון אוקראַיִנע און בעלאַרוס, װאָס האָבן זײ דערמאָנט אָן זײערע דערמאָרדעטע קרובֿים און שכנים. האָבן זיי זיך געפּרוּװט באַזעצן אין גרױסע שטעט, אַזעלכע װי קיִעװ, מינסק, מאָסקװע אָדער לענינגראַד.
כּדי צו האָבן אַ װױנרעכט אין אַ גרױסער שטאָט האָט מען געמוזט האָבן אַן אַרבעט און אַ דירה. דער מצבֿ אין קיִעװ איז געװען באַזונדערס שװער. די שטאָט איז געװען אין חורבֿות, און די געבליבענע װױנונגען זײַנען בעת דער דײַטשישער אָקופּאַציע פֿאַרנומען געװאָרן דורך אָרטיקע אוקראַיִנער.
זײ האָבן פֿײַנט געהאַט ייִדן, װאָס האָבן זיך אומגעקערט פֿון דער עװאַקואַציע אין סיביר אָדער צענטראַל־אַזיע און האָבן איצט געװאָלט צוריק באַקומען זײערע דירות מיט האָב־און־גוטס. דאָס האָט געשאַפֿן שפּאַנונג צװישן ייִדן און אוקראַיִנער און אַרויסגערופֿן אַנטיסעמיטישע געפֿילן.
דאָס רובֿ היסטאָרישע פֿאָרשונגען װעגן סאָװעטישע ייִדן פֿאָקוסירן זיך אױף דער פּאָליטיק און קולטור. שטערנשיס ברענגט אַרײַן נײַע היסטאָרישע מקורים, װאָס עד־היום זײַנען לרובֿ פֿאַרבליבן מחוץ דעם אַקאַדעמישן אינטערעס.
אין משך פֿון העכער װי 20 יאָר פֿאָרש-אַרבעט האָט זי אָנגעזאַמלט הונדערטער בעל־פּהיִקע גבֿית־עדותן װעגן דעם אַמאָליקן ייִדישן לעבן אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד. זײ לאָזן הערן שטימען פֿון מענער און פֿרױען פֿון פֿאַרשײדענע סאָציאַלע שיכטן, פֿון פּראָסטע אַרבעטער ביז הױך־אָנגעשטעלטע פֿיגורן.
עס איז כּדאַי דאָ אָפּצומערקן, אַז אײן װיכטיקער אַספּעקט פֿון דער סאָװעטישער ייִדישער דערפֿאַרונג פֿאַרבלײַבט נאָך אַלץ ניט דערפֿאָרשט. אַ היפּשע צאָל ייִדן זײַנען געװען פֿאַרטאָן אין דער אַזױ־גערופֿענער „שאָטן־װירטשאַפֿט“. זײ האָבן געפֿירט קלײנע געשעפֿטן, װאָס זײַנען פֿאָרמעל געװען מלוכישע אָבער פֿאַקטיש זײַנען זײ געװען פּריװאַטע.
פּריװאַטע אונטערנעמונגען זײַנען געװען פֿאַרװערט אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד, אָבער אין דער צײַט פֿון עקאָנאָמישע צרות האָט די מלוכה געקוקט אױף זײ דורך די פֿינגער. אַזאַ מין אַרבעט האָט געלאָזט פֿרומע ייִדן אָפּהיטן שבת און יום־טובֿים. דװקא זײ זײַנען געװען די הױפּט־שטיצער פֿון שילן און פּריװאַטע מנינים.
ספּעציעל אינטערעסאַנט אין שטערנשיסעס בוך זײַנען די באַריכטן װעגן פֿאַרשײדענע פֿאָלק־אַקטיװיטעטן װאָס ייִדן האָבן אָרגאַניזירט אָן קײן שום שטיצה מצד דער מלוכה. מען האָט געזאַמלט געלט צו בױען דענקמעלער אױף די ערטער פֿון מאַסנמאָרד און צו אָרגאַניזירן הזכּרה־צערעמאָניעס.
די ערשטע פּאָר יאָר נאָך דער צווייטער וועלט־מלחמה זײַנען געװען אַ צײַט פֿון גרױסע האָפֿענונגען. נאָכן נצחון איבער דײַטשלאַנד האָט מען געהאָפֿט, אַז די סאָװעטישע מאַכט װעט אָנערקענען די יסורים פֿון ייִדן און װעט זײ העלפֿן װידער אױפֿבױען דאָס ייִדישע לעבן.
די סאַמע אַקטיװסטע קהילות זײַנען געװען אין װילנע און טשערנאָװיץ, די ייִדישע צענטערס, װאָס זײַנען געװאָרן סאָװעטיש ערשט אין 1939 און 1940. אין װילנע האָט מען געשאַפֿן דעם ערשטן חורבן־מוזײ אין דער װעלט און טשערנאָװיץ איז געװאָרן אַ נײַע הײם פֿאַרן קיִעװער ייִדישן טעאַטער.
אָבער דער אױפֿלעב האָט געדױערט בלױז אַ פּאָר יאָר. אַ סך כּלל־טוער (צװישן זײ — דער דיכטער אַבֿרהם סוצקעװער), װאָס פֿאַר דער מלחמה זײַנען געװען פּױלישע אָדער רומענישע בירגער, האָבן באַקומען דערלױבעניש צו פֿאַרלאָזן דעם סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד אין 1945־1946.
אַרום 1947 האָבן זיך באַװיזן סימנים פֿון ענדערונגען אין דער פּאָליטיק לגבי ייִדן. אײניקע היסטאָריקער פֿאַרבינדן זײ מיטן אָנהײב פֿון דער קאַלטער מלחמה צװישן דעם סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד און די פֿאַראײניקטע שטאַטן און מיטן אױפֿקום פֿון מדינת־ישׂראל.
שטערנשיס איז מסכּים, אַז דאָס זײַנען געװען װיכטיקע סיבות. אָבער זי האַלט, אַז אַ היפּשע ראָלע האָבן אױך געשפּילט אַנטיסעמיטישע שטימונגען אין דער סאָװעטישער באַפֿעלקערונג. אַנטיסעמיטיזם איז געװען ספּעציעל שטאַרק אין די געגנטן, װאָס זײַנען געװען אונטער דער דײַטשישער אָקופּאַציע. די נאַציסטישע פּראָפּאַגאַנדע האָט געהאַט אַ שטאַרקע השפּעה אױפֿן פּראָסטן פֿאָלק.
אַנטיסעמיטיזם איז געװען פּאָפּולער אױך אין די „הױכע פֿענצטער“ פֿון דער קאָמוניסטישער פּאַרטײ. נאָך דער מלחמה האָט די רעגירונג געהאַט אַ סך שװערע סאָציאַלע און עקאָנאָמישע פּראָבלעמען און האָט זיך גענײטיקט אין דער שטיצע פֿון די מאַסן.
אַן אימאַזש פֿון אַ שׂונא װאָלט געהאָלפֿן אָפּצוציִען דעם אױפֿמערק פֿון די דאָזיקע פּראָבלעמען, פֿאַרסך־הכּלט שטערנשיס. דערצו נאָך האָבן אַ סך ייִדן אַרױסגעװיזן התלהבֿות לגבי מדינת־ישׂראל, און דאָס האָט אַרויסגערופֿט חשד בײַ סטאַלינען.
בײַ ס׳רובֿ ייִדן איז דער דאָזיקער קלאַפּ געקומען אומדערװאַרט. מער פֿון אַלעמען האָבן געליטן די ייִדישע כּלל־ און קולטור־טוער פֿונעם ייִדישן אַנטיפֿאַשיסטישן קאָמיטעט.
דער אַקטיאָר שלמה מיכאָעלס איז דערמאָרדעט געװאָרן אין אַן אינסצענירטן אױטאָ־אומגליק אין יאַנואַר פֿון 1948. די דיכטער איציק פֿעפֿער, דוד האָפֿשטײן, פּרץ מאַרקיש, לײב קװיטקאָ און דער שרײַבער דוד בערגעלסאָן זײַנען באַשולדיקט געװאָרן אין שפּיאָנאַזש, פֿאַרמישפּט געוואָרן צום טױט און דערשאָסן געוואָרן דעם 12טן אױגוסט 1952
אַרום אײן טױזנט ייִדן זײַנען אַרעסטירט געװאָרן פֿאַר „ייִדישן נאַציאָנאַליזם“ און געשיקט געוואָרן אין די תּפֿיסה־לאַגערן. טױזנטער מענטשן האָבן פֿאַרלױרן זײער אַרבעט־שטעלעס. אַלע ייִדישע אַנשטאַלטן זײַנען פֿאַרמאַכט געװאָרן.
די אַנטיסעמיטישע כװאַליע האָט דערגרײכט דעם שפּיץ אָנהײב 1953. אַ גרופּע חשובֿע דאָקטױרים, ס’רובֿ ייִדן, זײַנען באַשולדיקט געװאָרן אין אָפּסמען אָנפֿירער פֿון דער קאָמוניסטישער פּאַרטײ. אײנצײַטיק זײַנען אַרומגעגאַנגען קלאַנגען, אַז סטאַלין איז אױסן צו דעפּאָרטירן ייִדן קײן סיביר.
אַזאַ אַקציע װאָלט ניט געװען קײן יוצא־דופֿן אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד. צו יענער צײַט האָט סטאַלין שױן געהאַט דעפּאָרטירט עטלעכע עטנישע עדות: די טאָטערן פֿון קרים, די טשעטשענצעס און די אינגושן פֿון קאַװקאַז און נאָך אַנדערע. אָבער היסטאָריקער האָבן ניט געפֿונען קײן דאָקומענטאַלע ראַיות פֿון אַ פּלאַן צו דעפּאָרטירן ייִדן.
אַזױ אָדער אַנדערש זײַנען ייִדן געראַטעװעט געװאָרן פֿון סטאַלינס לעצטער גזירה װײַל ער איז געשטאָרבן דעם 5טן מאַרץ 1953, גלײַך נאָך פּורים. בהדרגה האָט מען אָפּגעשטעלט די אַנטיסעמיטישע פּראָפּאַגאַנדע און באַפֿרײַט די פֿאַרמישפּטע פֿונעם גולאַג. אָבער מען האָט פֿאָרט נישט אָנגעהױבן דרוקן ייִדישע ביכער אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד ביז 1959.
שטערנשיס האָט אָנגעשריבן אַ דראַמאַטישע געשיכטע פֿולגעפּאַקט מיט פּרטים, װאָס לאָזן דעם לײענער זיך אױסמאָלן דאָס טאָג־טעגלעכע לעבן פֿון ייִדן אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד. דערצו נאָך באַקומט דער לײענער אַ גוטן פֿאַרשטאַנד פֿון די ברײטערע פּאָליטישע, עקאָנאָמישע און סאָציאַלע טענדענצן, װאָס האָבן באַװירקט סײַ ייִדן סײַ די גאַנצע סאָװעטישע באַפֿעלקערונג.
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