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This Jewish couple ended their three-country wedding tour with a colorful Oaxacan ceremony
(JTA) — For the third of their three weddings, Hallie Applebaum and Elan Raffel set up a chuppah in Oaxaca, the Mexican city where they first confessed their love for each other.
Oaxaca is a vibrant hub of Mexican folk art and incredible food, but Jewish life? Not so much. Nonetheless the couple chose there to wed in an egalitarian Jewish ceremony led by the groom’s sister, Libby Smoler, on Feb 26. And when seven family members and friends gave their own interpretations of the seven traditional blessings, one of Applebaum’s sisters wished them a lifetime of adventures and delicious meals.
The wedding came just over three years after the pair met — online, from their parents’ houses early in the pandemic.
Applebaum’s parents weren’t subtle about wading into her dating life after she moved home to Portland, Maine, in early 2020, the only one of their four children to do so. Her father showed her a video about dating apps and her mother asked her for a demonstration.
Applebaum, 35, downloaded Hinge. The next thing she knew, her mother was hooked. “She’s swiping and swiping, and saying, ‘This is fabulous,’” Applebaum recalled, adding with a joke, “I told her, ‘You have to have some standards.’”
In Los Angeles, where Applebaum had been living, she had been focused first on her job as a producer of external communications for the educational technology division of the World Bank, and her all-consuming side project as the founder of Future of Women, which hosts breakfast events around the world and hosts a podcast for women leaders.
But in her childhood home, with no timeline for when life would resume, she decided to dive into dating, drawing on her extensive experiences living and traveling abroad to experiment with what would generate the most promising results.
“I put my location as different places, like Mexico City or London, for the fun of it,” she said. “When we were so isolated, to have contact with people in these places was nice. But, then, I put myself in a more realistic location.”
That location was New York City, where she soon encountered Raffel, an attorney in the tech industry.
Elan Raffel breaks the glass during his wedding ceremony with Hallie Applebaum, in Oaxaca, Mexico, Feb. 26, 2023. (Mónica Godefroy)
The pair matched and soon learned that they had a lot in common. Like Applebaum, Raffel had moved back in with his parents at the start of the pandemic — in his case Pikesville, a heavily Jewish suburb of Baltimore. Both had attended Jewish day schools growing up; both had spent time living abroad (Applebaum in Guatemala, Ecuador and while pursuing a master’s degree at the London School of Economics and Raffel in his mother’s native Israel); and both enjoyed fine food and off-the-beaten-path adventures.
After months of phone calls and probing conversations — some fueled by “The 36 Questions that Lead to Love” as appeared in The New York Times — they decided that Raffel would join Applebaum for a camping trip in Maine’s Acadia National Park.
“We had an out,” Raffel recalled. “If either of us had a terrible experience, we could back out.”
That wasn’t needed. Instead, they extended their time together — after kicking it off with an unplanned first meeting for Raffel with Applebaum’s parents when she forgot a cooler of food at their house.
“We joke that our first date was two weeks long,” said Raffel.
Soon after, Applebaum met Raffel’s family for Rosh Hashanah dinner. Then, Raffel rented a home in Los Angeles after Applebaum returned there.
With remote work the norm, and a few months dating now behind them, they began considering living and working elsewhere. They decided on Mexico, spending one month in Merida and one month in Oaxaca.
With its vibrant food scene and colorful arts and culture, the couple both fell in love with Oaxaca, and with each other. It was there that they first said, “I love you.”
Hallie Applebaum and Elan Raffel pose with dancers who joined their public wedding procession in Oaxaca. (Mónica Godefroy)
They returned to Mexico in the summer of 2022 while their new condo in Santa Monica was undergoing renovations; it was there that they became engaged. They now regularly host Shabbat dinners in their L.A. home through the nonprofit OneTable.
The first of their three wedding ceremonies took place on Sept. 30, 2022, when they were legally married at the Los Angeles County Courthouse.
The next event took place in Israel, where Raffel’s mother had long hoped that one of her three children would marry. He was her last hope, so the couple said yes to what they thought would be a small wedding there planned by her.
But Shuli Raffel’s plans grew larger and larger, until finally, Applebaum’s parents decided to come and her London-based sister, too. Rabbi Shira Levine of Kibbutz Hanaton, rooted in the Conservative movement of Judaism, officiated a religious ceremony on Oct. 14 at Bistro de Carmel in Zichron Ya’akov with 90 guests present.
Hallie Applebaum and Elan Raffel held one wedding ceremony in Israel, where Raffel’s mother is from. (Taylor Applebaum)
Levine had guided the couple via video calls in writing their own text for the Jewish wedding contract, the ketubah.
“We spoke to the rabbi about our relationship, our household, and how do we make this concrete and what traditional things do we want to modify and make more egalitarian,” Applebaum said, adding, “Since I do a lot of work in women’s empowerment, it was important to me to have a woman rabbi.”
Then, over Thanksgiving weekend, the couple held an Israeli brunch in Philadelphia, attended by their grandmothers — Applebaum’s is 102 — who would not be traveling to Mexico. From there, they flew directly to Oaxaca for a menu tasting, where, because Applebaum is vegetarian, it fell to Raffel to try all the fish and meat options they might offer their guests.
The couple returned to Oaxaca for the main affair — a multi-day event that included a day-long tour to a facility where mezcal, a Oaxacan spirit, is made; visits to craftspeople; and two nights of dinners.
On Feb. 26, they had their third and final wedding in front of 72 guests at Cardenal Oaxaca, an events venue. Spicy pineapple mezcal cocktails kicked off the celebration, and a festive meal that won accolades even from foodie guests followed the ceremony.
At their Oaxaca wedding, Hallie Applebaum and Elan Raffel served guests a native corn milk epazote sponge cake with lime cream. (Hallie Applebaum)
“It was amazing,” said Ori Zohar, a guest who is also the co-founder of spice company Burlap & Barrel. “The wedding meal was a procession of Mexican and Oaxacan specialties with an international twist. Beets were grilled and paired with pumpkin seeds and pickled mustard seeds. Duck enchiladas came slathered in a black mole sauce and aged cheese. The main dishes were shared plates, so each guest got to try a little of everything before going back and polishing off the rest of their favorite.”
In one highlight of the day, the couple partook in a local custom where tall likenesses of the couple are made out of paper maché and carried, and people toast the bride and groom. It was, Applebaum said, a perfect way to show off a beloved place to their friends and family.
“Our guests went from this beautiful ceremony that his sister put together,” she said, “to being immersed in this celebration in the streets.”
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How an ‘unlikely rabbi’ went from Korea to Colbert
Calling herself an “unlikely rabbi,” Angela Buchdahl has been a staple on numerous lists of notable American Jews, including the Forward 50. Born in South Korea in 1972 and raised by a Korean Buddhist mother and an Ashkenazi Jewish father in Tacoma, Washington, she went on to become the first Asian American ordained as a rabbi and first as a cantor. Today, she leads Central Synagogue in New York City, one of the largest and most influential congregations in the country.
Her new memoir, Heart of a Stranger: An Unlikely Rabbi’s Story of Faith, Identity, and Belonging, traces that journey, from the embracing Jewish community she grew up in to finding herself the answer to a Jeopardy question (“What is rabbi?”) — and, even more bizarrely, picking up the phone one day to hear a hostage-taking gunman make demands of her as the “chief rabbi of the United States.” In advance of the book’s release and a launch event hosted by Stephen Colbert, I spoke with her about claiming her place in Jewish life and the responsibility of Jews to always think of the stranger as themselves.
This interview has been edited for clarity and brevity.
How did you nab Stephen Colbert for your book launch event — or did he nab you?
His son and my son were college roommates, and I got to know him and his wife, Evie. I learned quickly that this was not only a very funny man and a very good interviewer, but someone who was deeply faithful. He teaches in his church and thinks a lot about faith. I’m very grateful that he said yes.
Your title is Heart of a Stranger. I want to challenge you on that: Haven’t you and I worked for years on representing Jews of color as normative? Are you still feeling like a stranger?
I guess I would argue that you never fully let it go. It’s like someone who says they were chubby as a kid. They’re not chubby anymore, but there’s some way in which they always see themselves as the chubby kid. You carry certain formative identity markers from childhood into your adulthood.
Heart of a Stranger is not an original title. I took it from Torah, which says, “Do not oppress the stranger. You know the heart of a stranger. You were strangers in Egypt.” This is the existential state that Jews are supposed to understand and know. The danger is when we get too comfortable, too powerful, too complacent.
Along those lines, you write about undergoing a conversion, even though your family was Reform, which by the time you were growing up had recognized patrilineal descent. That brought to mind Julius Lester’s conversion, which actually was something of a reversion because his great-grandfather was a German Jew. Lester said that he wasn’t converting to be accepted; he was converting for himself, saying, “I would do it even if no Jew ever accepted me.”
I had a very similar experience. I rejected the idea of converting when it was first suggested to me at age 16. Growing up in Tacoma in a Reform synagogue in my little Jewish bubble, I was accepted without a lot of questions. But I had a lot of existential identity questions: “Was I Jewish enough? Was I authentic enough? Was I learned enough?” And some of the answers were not yes.
I termed it a reaffirmation ceremony rather than conversion, because conversion sounds like turning into something that you weren’t before. I recognized that with a Beit Din of three Reform rabbis, it wasn’t going to change my status one whit for an Orthodox Jew. But it wasn’t for them. It was really a way to ritually mark the journey that I had been on and the acceptance of my identity in a way that felt important to me.
One reason I live in Duluth is I’ve called our little Temple Israel here the warmest shul that I’ve ever found in one of the coldest places on earth. Do you find it true that smaller Jewish communities are more embracing than large ones?
I grew up in a small community that was incredibly embracing of my family, including my mother, and that made a huge difference. I now work at a very large synagogue. I think the big difference is when you’re in a community where not everybody knows each other and they’re encountering people who are strangers. That’s when the inevitable questions come up.
It was disappointing for me after many years of being the senior rabbi of Central to hear from Jews of color who said Central wasn’t as welcoming of them as I thought. It hadn’t solved every problem just by having me as the senior rabbi. That was a painful realization that started a conversation that has shifted the culture at Central.
You write about the synagogue takeover in Colleyville, Texas, in 2022. The perpetrator who held the rabbi and congregants hostage called you while it was going on. He seemed to think that you were the “chief rabbi of the United States.” On the one hand, you’re balancing this misperception of your influence and power. On the other, this was a real situation of life and death.
That was one of the most surreal and destabilizing experiences I’ve ever had as a rabbi. They don’t train you for hostage negotiation in rabbinical school.
This terrorist clearly had done a lot of research. He researched the synagogue, which was the closest synagogue to the federal prison from which he wanted a prisoner released. The FBI went through his computer and saw that he was searching for what he thought was the equivalent of a chief rabbi because he was from England, where there is a chief rabbi. Of course, that doesn’t exist in America. He also mentioned that he saw pictures of me with President Obama at the White House. I think given Central’s name, and the fact that I had been the answer to a Jeopardy question not long before, may have put me higher up on the search algorithm.
It was terrifying because I felt that he very explicitly put the lives of these four people on me. And yet, I felt powerless to do anything. This is a case where I realized the danger of the antisemitic trope that he had imbibed since childhood, that Jews control the government and can make a few phone calls and get anything done. When I said to him, “I don’t think I have as much power as you think I do,” he was like, “Of course you do.” So, yeah, it was a terrifying day. I continue to give thanks that the four who were being held hostage survived.
Another weird note is that he seemed to think it normative that a Jew of color would be the chief rabbi of the United States. Does this mean our efforts for a more inclusive representation of Judaism are paying off?
It is funny because when I was named senior rabbi of Central, there was an Orthodox publication that had a headline like, “It’s official: Non-Jews can be rabbis” — literally calling me a non-Jew. And here was this deranged gunman who seemed to think I was the chief rabbi. I can laugh about it in some ways now that it’s over, but it is ironic.
The post How an ‘unlikely rabbi’ went from Korea to Colbert appeared first on The Forward.
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A love affair between two Yiddish poets in New York City
ראַשעל װעפּרינסקיס ראָמאַן „דאָס קרײצן פֿון די הענט“ איז אַ יוצא־דופֿן אין דער אַמעריקאַנער ייִדישער ליטעראַטור.
דאָס בוך איז אַרױס אין תּל־אָבֿיבֿ אין 1971, אָבער די האַנדלונג קומט פֿאָר אין 1918. דאָס איז אַ דראַמאַטישע ליבע־געשיכטע צװישן אַ דיכטער, וואָס הייסט ניעזשינער און אַ יונגער דיכטערין, מרים. בײדע זײַנען חתונה־געהאַטע מיט קינדער: ער האָט פֿינף, זי האָט אײנס. די שטורעמדיקע ליבע צעשטערט דעם שלום־בית אין ביידעהײמען. זײ פֿאַרלאָזן זײערע משפּחות און װאַנדערן איבער די גאַסן, קאַפֿע־הײַזער און געדונגענע צימערן אין דער גרױסער שטאָט ניו־יאָרק.
װען דאָס בוך איז אַרױס אױף ייִדיש, האָבן נאָך געלעבט לײענערס, װאָס האָבן געדענקט די בלי־תּקופֿה פֿון דער ייִדישער ליטעראַטור אין ניו־יאָרק און דערקענט די פּראָטאָטיפּן פֿון די פּערסאָנאַזשן: ניעזשינער איז דער דיכטער מאַני לײב בראַהינסקי (1883־1953) — ער שטאַמט פֿון דער שטאָט ניעזשין אין מזרח־אוקראַיִנע — און מרים איז די מחברטע, ראַשעל װעפּרינסקי (1896־1981). צװײ אַנדערע װיכטיקע פּערסאָנאַזשן האָבן אױך רעאַלע פּראָטאָטיפּן: ניעזשינערס חבֿר יעקבֿ שאָר איז דער דיכטער ראובֿן אײַזלאַנד (1884־1955) און זײַן קאָכאַנקע אַדאַ איז די דיכטערין אַנאַ מאַרגאָלין (ראָזע לעבענסבױם, 1887־1952).
צו דער צײַט פֿון דער פּובליקאַציע פֿונעם ראָמאַן זײַנען די דאָזיקע פּראָטאָטיפּן — חוץ װעפּרינסקין — שױן געװען אױף יענער װעלט. זײ האָבן ניט געקענט האָבן קײן טענות צו דער מחברטע. אַ סבֿרא, ניט אַלע פֿון זײ װאָלטן געװען צופֿרידן מיט זײערע ליטעראַרישע פּאָרטרעטן, בפֿרט אַנאַ מאַרגאָלין. אָט, למשל, װי װעפּרינסקי באַשרײַבט די באַציִונגען פֿון אַדאַ צו שאָרן: „אַדאַ האָט אים אױסגעקליבן בלױז דעמאָלט, װען זי האָט שױן נישט געהאַט קײן אױסקוק אױף עפּעס בעסערס. דערבײַ מאָנט זי כּסדר בײַ אים געטרײַשאַפֿט. אַלײן קאָכט זי צומאָל נישט אָפּ אַ לעפֿל געקעכץ, שטענדיק נאַשט זי זיסקײטן און װערט דיקער פֿון טאָג צו טאָג. אין שטוב איז אָנגעװאָרפֿן, ס’איז דאָ אַן אמתער הקדש.“ עס איז קלאָר, אַז קײן שטאַרקע ליבע צװישן װעפּרינסקי און מאַרגאָלין איז ניט געװען.
הײַיאָר איז װעפּרינסקיס ראָמאַן אַרױס אױף ענגליש אין דער איבערזעצונג פֿון חנה נאָריך און עלען קעסעדי. זײ דערקלערן אין דער הקדמה, אַז די פּערסאָנאַזשן פֿונעם ראָמאַן געהערן צו דער באָהעמישער ליטעראַרישער סבֿיבֿה אַרום דער ליטעראַרישער גרופּע „די יונגע“, װאָס איז געװען פּראָמינענט אין די ערשטע פּאָר צענדליק יאָר פֿונעם צװאַנציקסטן יאָרהונדערט.
אײַזלאַנד שרײַבט אין זײַנע זכרונות „פֿון אונדזער פֿרילינג“, אַז „דער נאָמען ׳יונגע׳ איז אורשפּרענגלעך געװען אַ שפּאָט־נאָמען פֿאַר אַ גרופּע יונגע שרײַבער, װאָס האָט נאָך אין 1907 געהאַט די ׳חוצפּה׳ צו דערקלערן, אַז מען דאַרף דאָס ביסל ייִדישע ליטעראַרישע כּוחות אין אַמעריקע באַפֿרײַען פֿון דער אַפּוטרופּסות פֿון די צײַטונגען, און זײ האָבן געזוכט צו שאַפֿן אַן אײגענעם ליטעראַרישן װינקל אין די דינע העפֿטלעך פֿון דעם חודש־זשורנאַל ׳די יוגנט׳.“ ביז הײַנט פֿאַרבלײַבן װעפּרינסקיס ראָמאַן און אײַזלאַנדס זכרונות די װיכטיקסטע מקורים װעגן דער ליטעראַרישער סבֿיבֿה פֿון יענער תּקופֿה.
„די יונגע“ האָבן געהאַט פֿעסטע עסטעטישע השׂגות װעגן דיכטונג. אײַזמאַן שרײַבט: „די דיכטונג דאַרף ניט לעבן אין זכות פֿון װעלכער ניט איז אידײ, װײַל זי לעבט אין איר אײגענעם זכות.“ ניעזשינער און מרים, פּונקט װי דאָס רובֿ ייִדישע ליטעראַטן פֿון יענער צײַט, זײַנען געװען אַרבעטער, אָבער דיכטונג איז בײַ זײ געװען װיכטיקער אײדער פּרנסה. נאָך אַ שװערן אַרבעט־טאָג אין אַ שאַפּ אָדער אַ פֿאַבריק האָבן זײ פֿאַרבראַכט אָװנטן מיט חבֿרים ליטעראַן און אַקטיאָרן אין קאַפֿע־הײַזער אױף דעם איסט־סײַד.
װעפּרינסקי באַשרײַבט די דאָזיקע אָװנטן אין דער הקדמה צו מאַני לײבס בריװ, װאָס זי האָט אַרױסגעגעבן אין 1980: „מאַני לײב פֿלעגט זיך אײַלן פֿון דער אַרבעט אין שלומס קאַפֿע און ס׳האָבן שױן דאָרט געװאַרט אױף אים זײַנע חבֿרים, כּדי צוזאַמען זאָלן זײ אױסאַרבעטן זײערע ליטעראַרישע פּלענער און פּראָיעקטן, אַרױסהעלפֿן חבֿרים פּאָעטן אַרױסגעבן זײערע װערק און טאַקע אױך הערן װעגן די לעצטע לידער זײַנע, װאָס זײַנען דערשינען זונטיק אין ‘פֿאָרװערטס’ און אין אַנדערער צײַטשריפֿטן. אױך איך פֿלעג קומען אַהין און מיר פֿלעגן זיך דאָרט טרעפֿן.”
מען האָט אױך געפֿירט לינקע ליבעס, צומאָל מיט מער װי אײן פֿרױ אָדער מאַן אײנצײַטיק. אַזאַ פֿירונג איז געװען אַ מין פּראָטעסט פֿונעם יונגן דור אימיגראַנטן קעגן דער אַלטמאָדישער ייִדישקײט פֿון זײערע עלטערן. די שטאָט ניו־יאָרק האָט טאַקע געשאַפֿן נײַע מעגלעכקײטן פֿאַר פֿרײַע באַציִונגען צװישן מענער און פֿרױען. די בריקן צװישן ברוקלין און מאַנהעטן, שמאָלע גאַסן און ברײטע עװעניוס, רעסטאָראַנען און פּריװאַטע דירות, װי אױך די װאַקאַציע־האָטעלן, פֿערמעס און װעלדער אין די קעטסקיל־בערג שפּילן אַ װיכטיקע ראָלע אין דער אַנטװיקלונג פֿונעם סיפּור־המעשׂה פֿונעם ראָמאַן.
די איבערזעצערינס באַמערקן אין דער הקדמה׃ „כאָטש דער ראָמאַן איז פֿאַרעפֿנטעלעכט געװאָרן אין ייִדיש העכער װי פֿופֿציק יאָר נאָך די באַשריבענע געשעענישן, לײענט ער זיך כּאילו ער איז אָנגעשריבן געװאָרן בשעת די האַנדלונג איז פֿאָרגעקומען.“ װעפּרינסקיס זכּרון האָט אָפּגעהיט ניט נאָר די פּרטים פֿונעם אַמאָליקן באָהעמישן שטײגער נאָר אױך דעם גײַסט פֿון יענער תּקופֿה, װען „די יונגע“ זײַנען טאַקע געװען יונג און פֿול מיט שעפֿערישע כּוחות.
אײַזלאַנד האַלט, אַז דער ערשטער, ראָמאַנטישער פּעריאָד אין מאַני לײבס דיכטונג, איז געקומען צום סוף, דװקא אַרום דער צײַט פֿון זײַן באַגעגעניש מיט ראַשעל. באַלד נאָך דעם האָט זיך אָנגעהױבן די צװײטע תּקופֿה: „די הױפּט־כאַראַקטעריסטיק פֿון מאַני לײבס ערשטער דיכטערישער תּקופֿה איז נעפּל. אַלץ איז אין איר פֿאַרנעפּלט. די שטימונג איז פֿאַרנעפּלט, די איבערלעבונג פֿון װעלכער זי װאַקסט אַרױס איז פֿאַרנעפּלט. […] די סיבה פֿון דער דאָזיקער פֿאַרנעפּלטקײט האָט זיך, לױט מײַן מײנונג, גענומען הױפּטזעכלעך פֿון דעם, װאָס ער אַלײן האָט […] מורא געהאַט צו דערגרונטעװען זיך צו זײַנע עמאָציעס. די הױפּט־כאַראַקטעריסטיק פֿון זײַן צװײטן פּעריאָד איז זוניקײט און קלאָרקײט.“
עס איז אַװדאי ניט מער װי אַ השערה, אַז די דראַמאַטישע און שטורעמדיקע ליבע־אַפֿערע מיט ראַשעל האָט געגעבן אַ שטױס פֿאַרן אַרױסברענגען מאַני לײבס דיכטונג פֿון נעפּל צו קלאָרקײט. אָבער עס איז ניטאָ קײן ספֿק, אַז די דאָזיקע שטאַרקע איבערלעבונגען האָבן איבערגעלאָזט אַ טיפֿן רושם אױף בײדע נשמות זײערע. װעפּרינסקי האָט אָפּגעהיט דעם דאָזיקן רושם איר גאַנץ לעבן און האָט געפֿונען פֿאַר אים אַ פֿרישן קינסטלערישן אױסדרוק אין איר ראָמאַן.
דער בעסטער אופֿן אָפּצושאַצן די שײנקײט און פֿרישקײט פֿונעם ראָמאַן איז צו לײענען אים אין אײנעם מיט מאַני לײבס לידער. און די הײַנטיקע צײַט איז אַן עת־רצון פֿאַר װענדן זיך צו דער ירושה פֿון דער אַמעריקאַנער ייִדיש־ליטעראַטור, װען אָרעמע ייִדישע אַרבעטער האָבן באַזונגען אין זײערע לידער פֿרײַהײט, ליבע און שײנקײט פֿון דער װעלט — אױף צו להכעיס די ביטערע אומשטאַנדן פֿון זײער טאָגטעגלעכן לעבן.
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After describing deal on ’60 Minutes,’ Witkoff and Kushner head to Israel as truce teeters
Two Israeli soldiers were killed in Gaza on Sunday and Israel conducted strikes against targets inside the territory in the biggest threats yet to the week-old ceasefire between Israel and Hamas.
The soldiers were not killed by Hamas, the group and Israel both said. The deaths come as Hamas is continuing to locate and release the bodies of deceased Israeli hostages, as required by the terms of the ceasefire deal, and as U.S. officials head to the region in an attempt to preserve the deal brokered by President Donald Trump.
Steve Witkoff and Jared Kushner, who closed the deal, arrived on Monday and Vice President J.D. Vance is set to land on Tuesday. Witkoff and Kushner arrived after offering details about how the deal came to pass during an appearance on “60 Minutes” that was reportedly brokered in part by Bari Weiss, the Jewish journalist who now helms CBS News.
Witkoff described how Israel’s Sept. 9 strike on Hamas targets in Qatar, which was unsuccessful, came to represent a turning point in U.S.-led efforts to end the war.
“I think both Jared and I felt — I just feel we felt a little bit betrayed,” Witkoff said. About Trump’s reaction to the strike, he said, “I think he felt like the Israelis were getting a little bit out of control in what they were doing, and that it was time to be very strong and stop them from doing things that he felt were not in their long-term interests.”
Kushner, who also proposed an Israeli-Palestinian peace plan during Trump’s first term, described his reaction to viewing the devastation in Gaza, where he visited after the ceasefire took effect and saw Palestinians returning to their destroyed homes. “It’s very sad, because you think to yourself, they really have nowhere else to go,” he said.
Kushner rebuffed a question about whether his business interests in the region interfered with his role in peace talks. And both he and Witkoff rejected the idea that Israel committed genocide in Gaza, from which Hamas launched the two-year war with a brutal attack on Israel on Oct. 7, 2023.
Kushner and Witkoff drew cheers last week in Hostage Square where they addressed crowds following the release of the final 20 living hostages from Gaza.
Three deceased hostages were released over the weekend, and the remains of another hostage is expected to be transferred to Israel on Monday night.
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The post After describing deal on ’60 Minutes,’ Witkoff and Kushner head to Israel as truce teeters appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.