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Ukrainian Jewish life has always taken place in Russian. Now a race to translate is underway.

LVIV, Ukraine (JTA) – The rabbis sat around a breakfast table, discussing Russia’s war on the country where they work in a mixture of Yiddish, Hebrew and Russian. They named their hometowns as Lugansk, Lvov and Dnepr, the Russian names for Ukrainian cities that have vaulted into international headlines since Russia invaded Ukraine in February.

Although they were focused on Ukraine’s progress in the fighting, the rabbis uttered not a single word in Ukrainian. How could they? Like the vast majority of Jews in Ukraine, none of them speaks the country’s official language.

Russian has long been the first language for a wide swath of Ukrainians, including the majority of the country’s Jews. But after the Russian invasion, many Ukrainians decided they wanted to speak less Russian and more Ukrainian. Many Jews, similarly horrified by the sight of thousands of Russian soldiers pouring over Ukraine’s borders and wishing to demonstrate their Ukrainian bonafides, have made the same choice — even as it means disrupting a long linguistic tradition.

So when the rabbis’ successors meet for pancakes and sour cream, they will be far more likely to introduce themselves as the rabbis of Luhansk, Lviv and Dnipro, the Ukrainian names for their hometowns that have become the standard in English. They will also likely be able to hand their students and congregants Ukrainian-language versions of central Jewish texts that simply do not exist now.

“Many of my friends say that they are embarrassed to use Russian as a language. They say that we are Ukrainian Jews, and that Russia is a terrorist country fighting us and that we shouldn’t use their language,” said Rabbi Meir Stambler, from Dnipro. “Others say that [Russian president Vladimir] Putin doesn’t own the Russian language. It is an issue.”

He added, “This is something that people are discussing all the time.”

A decade ago, half of Ukrainians said they spoke Russian as their native language. That number has declined to 20%, fueled in part by resentment over Russia’s aggressions in Crimea, a contested region that it annexed by force in 2014. But Jews have remained predominantly Russian-speaking, even in parts of western Ukraine where Ukrainian has long been the dominant language. (Russian and Ukrainian are related linguistically, but their speakers cannot understand each other.)

Russia’s war on Ukraine has Ukrainian Jews playing catchup. Stambler, who heads the Federation of Jewish Communities, a body affiliated with the Hasidic Chabad-Lubavitch movement that operates a network of 36 synagogues around Ukraine, offers a stark prediction: “Within 10 years, every Jew in Ukraine will speak Ukrainian.”

The dominance of Russian among Ukraine’s Jews, who numbered in the tens of thousands before the war, has deep roots.

“The historical trajectory of Jews in what is now Ukraine led them in the 19th century to adopt Russian rather than Ukrainian,” says historian Natan Meir, a professor of Judaic studies at Portland State University. “That was because Ukrainian was perceived as a peasant language that did not have any high culture associated with it, and because there were no economic advantages to adopting Ukrainian at the time.”

Now, the upside of switching to Ukrainian — demonstrating a national allegiance during a time of war — couldn’t be clearer.

“Jews feel quite integrated into Ukrainian society, but a shift, even if it is a gradual shift, to Ukrainian is going to make that more tangible than ever,” Meir said, calling the Russian invasion “absolutely game-changing” for Ukrainian Jews. “They will be perceived even more strongly than they have been as being wholly Ukrainian and part of the fabric of Ukrainian society.”

Most Ukrainian Jews, especially those educated since the collapse of the Soviet Union, can now speak some Ukrainian. But their ability often depends on where they grew up: Many Jews in traditionally Russophone cities such as Odesa, Dnipro or Kharkiv can struggle with the language, while their grandparents often cannot speak it at all.

Books in both Hebrew and Russian sit on a bookshelf at Medzhybizh. (Jacob Judah)

“Not more than 20% were Ukrainian-speaking at home,” says Stambler. “Take President [Volodymyr] Zelensky. He knew Ukrainian, but he didn’t speak it at home, and he had to polish it up when he became president.”

It will not be simple for the Jewish community to suddenly switch to Ukrainian, the most widely spoken European language without a standardized translation of the Torah.

Two years ago, a team of translators working in Israel, Austria and Hungary began working to produce Ukrainian-language Jewish texts. But before the Russian invasion, the effort had so far produced only a Ukrainian book of psalms, or tehillim.

In May, two months into the war, a decision was made to accelerate work on a daily prayer book. A Torah could follow.

“The chumash is difficult,” said Stambler, who oversees the half-dozen-strong team of translators from his base in Dnipro, using the Hebrew word for the printed form of the Torah. “We are working on it.”

While translating sacred texts can take years, other changes have come faster. The leaflets, brochures and calendars that are a fixture at any Jewish center in Ukraine were quickly swapped out Russian for Ukrainian, at least at the federation’s headquarters. Before February, these had often been produced and printed by Russian Jewish communities and shared with those in Ukraine, for simplicity’s sake.

“This differentiation from Russian Jewry is going to be huge,” said Meir, the historian. “Up until this point they have essentially formed one linguistic and cultural space that all Jews, whether they were in Ukraine, Russia or Belarus could move freely between.”

Now, the ties between those communities are both logistically complicated to maintain — trade routes have been ruptured — and also potentially a liability at a time when anyone in either Russia or Ukraine showing an affinity for the other country can face suspicion or penalties.

“This shift, if it actually happens, is going to be marking out a totally new cultural space for Ukrainian Jews and almost a declaration of independence,” Meir said “Or at least that is the aspiration, because there is so much of their heritage which is still based in the Russian language that it is going to be a long time before they can fully separate.”

That separation process, which began to take shape most clearly after 2014, has quickened. “We started doing things ourselves,” said Stambler. “We used to do about 20% in Ukrainian for the Jews in western towns like Lviv, Ivano-Frankivsk and Uzhhorod, but we are making a much stronger push now.”

He estimates that some 75% of material being distributed to Ukrainian Jewish communities by the Federation of Jewish Communities was in Ukrainian by September, up from 20% to 35% in January.

Young rabbis who come from the United States or Israel to serve small Jewish communities across Ukraine now say that they have had to add Ukrainian alongside their Russian classes.

“I began with Russian,” said one of those rabbis who works in Vinnitsya, until he decided over the summer that he had to learn Ukrainian. “I realized that I had to learn Ukrainian because I needed it on the street. I needed it to speak with the government and with the media.”

Signs in a synagogue in Ukraine are written in both Ukrainian and Russian. (Jacob Judah)

Some Ukrainian Jews are voting with their voices.

“My whole life, I spoke only Russian,” said Olha Peresunko, who before the war lived in Mikolaiv in southern Ukraine. “But after the 24th of February I am speaking only Ukrainian.”

Peresunko was speaking outside a Lviv synagogue this fall, where she and other refugees were waiting for food parcels. She had fled Mikolaiv, which has sustained repeated assault by Russian troops, for Lviv with her mother and two children while her husband is on the frontlines.

Her children are finding it hard to adjust to the exclusive Ukrainian environment in Lviv, but she is confident that they will make the shift. “They will speak Ukrainian as their first language,” Peresunko said.

Exactly how much the shift to Ukrainian will change local Jewish communities is a matter of debate. Rabbi Shalom Gopin, who fled to Kyiv in 2014 from his home community in Luhansk, an overwhelmingly Russophone city seized by Russia-backed separatists at that time, said he, too, believes that Ukrainian will displace Russian as the lingua franca of Ukrainian Jewry.

A Ukrainian woman displays her Ukrainian-language Jewish calendar as a source of pride, September 2022. (Jacob Judah)

“They are starting to slowly speak Ukrainian,” he said. “It is no problem. There are lots of Jews in America who speak English. We live here, and we speak the languages of the places that we live. It is normal.”

But Gopin said the linguistic shift “means nothing” amid other issues facing Jews in Ukraine, where Russia’s war is threatening to undo 30 years of Jewish community building, largely though not exclusively led by Chabad, Gopin’s Orthodox movement.

“The problem for the Jews of Ukraine is not language,” he said. “It is about how much they are going to synagogue, or how many children are going to Jewish schools, not about what they are speaking.”

Natalia Kozachuk, 45, a Jewish businesswoman in Lviv, sees only upside to shedding Russian, her native language. She has started to speak to her children only in Ukrainian.

“It will be hugely positive if Jews speak more Ukrainian,” Kozachuk said. This is the only way that Jews can truly “learn more about the Ukrainian people,” she said, “about their history and the positive qualities and strengths of Ukraine.”

“Only good can come of it,” she added. “We will understand each other better.”

—
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How Social Media Got Hamas Casualty Figures Wrong

A Palestinian man points a weapon in the air after it was announced that Israel and Hamas agreed on the first phase of a Gaza ceasefire, in the central Gaza Strip, October 9. Photo: REUTERS/Mahmoud Issa

As the Israel-Hamas ceasefire continues to hold, many analysts have begun examining available data to better understand Hamas’ casualties throughout the war. This is no easy feat, considering Hamas has consistently lied and inflated the civilian casualty figures. The reality of urban warfare provides other challenges for the IDF to count every eliminated terrorist.

Varying numbers regarding Hamas’ casualty figures have been recently touted on social media. But many of them lack sources, or a breakdown of the statistics.

Conversely, some analysts, such as HonestReporting board member Salo Aizenberg, have done an exceptional job at critically analyzing the available casualty numbers.

The Hamas-run Ministry of Health has reported over 70,000 deaths in Gaza, including civilians.

But closer examination of these numbers displays that it also includes an estimated 22,000-25,000 Hamas fighters, around 11,000 natural deaths, and 4,000 casualties caused by internal fighting amongst Gazans. With 1,000 deaths attributed to reporting errors, this suggests that 25,000 casualties were terrorists, and 36,000 were civilians.

One suggestion that has gained momentum on social media suggests that the actual number of Hamas casualties is double this number, at 50,000 combatant deaths.

However, pre-war estimates by the IDF suggest that Hamas had 35,000 combatants. US estimates believe that Hamas recruited 10,000-15,000 new combatants throughout the war. This means that if the IDF had killed 50,000 Hamas terrorists, there would be virtually no Hamas terrorists left — an analysis that is unfortunately not accurate.

The claim of 50,000 eliminated Hamas terrorists is based on an announcement by the Hamas-run Ministry of Social Development of the start of a new program that would provide NIS 500 to the widows of Gazans killed in the war.

By February 8, 2026, payments had been made to 19,306 widows, totaling NIS 9.653 million or over three million US dollars.

The Ministry of Social Development further stated that 50,000 widowed families were set to receive these benefits, implying that more than widowed wives would be receiving the payments. This is likely where some analysts misinterpreted Hamas’ statement and took it to mean that for every Hamas terrorist, one wife would receive a payment. However, this payment is not exclusively for the wives of terrorists, and not every Hamas combatant would have been married by the time of his death.

What these numbers do suggest, however, is that claims of unreported casualties are likely to be false. The ability to receive a payment for reporting a death would presumably encourage many Gazans to submit claims of being widowed.

Since the early days of the war, news outlets and influencers on social media have blindly repeated Hamas’ claim that the majority of casualties were women and children. The claim implied that the IDF was specifically targeting both groups.

Beyond this claim not being true — men of combat age account for around 46.7% of total casualties — data from the World Health Organization (WHO) displays that 603,000 children under the age of 10 were vaccinated at the beginning of 2025. This number exceeds the pre-war population of that age group, indicating that the overall population of young children has remained stable or even grown despite the war.

With births being the same as, if not higher than, pre-war numbers, the claims of underreported casualties and casualties disproportionately targeting children fall apart. Despite this data being publicly available and offering important information about the war’s human toll, it has received no attention in media coverage, allowing the misleading child casualty narrative to persist.

These two case studies of terrorist casualty statistics and the reported number of children under 10 during the war highlight the need to analyze all available data with scrutiny. It is not enough to rely on unverified claims about casualty figures. Instead, accurate conclusions must be based on transparent analysis conducted by credible analysts who rely on publicly available data, verifiable sources, and clear methodology. Only through rigorous examination can casualty figures be properly understood, rather than simply repeated without question.

The author is a contributor to HonestReporting, a Jerusalem-based media watchdog with a focus on antisemitism and anti-Israel bias — where a version of this article first appeared.

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We Are Fighting Hate; But Are We Building Jews?

Illustrative: Pennsylvania State Sen. David Argall addressed the more than 300 Jewish-day school students, parents and administrators gathered at the State Capitol in Harrisburg. Photo: Teach PA.

The Super Bowl ad showing a Jewish boy being bullied sparked intense conversation across the Jewish community about how we are investing our resources in the fight against antisemitism, and whether we are approaching the challenge in the right way.

Rising antisemitism has understandably pushed our community into a defensive posture, with enormous resources directed toward monitoring hate, raising awareness, and responding to dangerous rhetoric. Those efforts matter. But the Super Bowl moment also raises a deeper question: if this is what Jewish vulnerability looks like on the biggest stage in America, are we investing enough in what actually makes Jewish children strong?

History shows that by itself, fighting hatred has never been enough to secure the Jewish future. A generation raised primarily to react to antisemitism risks growing up defined by fear instead of by identity. Children need more than protection from hate. They need a strong connection to their own identity and community.

The past few years have been a painful reminder that we cannot rely solely on the outside world to safeguard Jewish life. Partnerships matter, but in moments of crisis, the Jewish community is reminded that our deepest strength has always come from within. That realization is shaping a quiet but meaningful shift in where many leaders and families believe our focus must go. Less looking outward. More building inward.

Investing in Jewish education is not a retreat from the fight against antisemitism. It is a long-term strategy for ensuring that Jewish life does not decline under pressure. You know where Jewish children are not bullied for being Jewish? In Jewish schools. You know where they learn to speak confidently about their heritage, to celebrate their traditions without embarrassment, and to see their identity as a source of pride? In Jewish schools.

In strong Jewish educational environments, children do not just learn history or holidays. They have a sense of belonging. They build friendships rooted in shared identity. They encounter teachers and mentors who model what it means to live Jewishly with confidence. When they later encounter antisemitism online, on campus, or in broader culture, they face it with a foundation of knowledge and self-respect, not confusion or isolation.

Jewish day schools are among the most powerful builders of Jewish identity. These schools answer the question that defensive campaigns cannot: not only “what is antisemitism?” but, “why am I Jewish, and why does it matter?”

At Teach Coalition, this belief shapes our work every day. Teach is the only national Jewish advocacy organization focused solely on expanding access to Jewish education. We work to ensure schools have the resources they need to thrive: funding for STEM, arts and music, transportation, lunches, and critical security support. We support policies that help schools stay strong, enhance quality, and establish new ones. We also help create pathways for families who once believed Jewish education was out of reach to find a place within it.

The impact of this work shows up where it matters most: at home and across communities. Parents describe children coming back singing songs, asking thoughtful questions about the holidays, and bringing a new sense of pride to the Shabbat table. The continuity of the Jewish people relies on Jewish education, which not only shapes students but also strengthens families and builds lasting communal roots.

The Super Bowl ad reminded us how exposed a Jewish child can feel. The real answer is making sure more Jewish children grow up surrounded by confidence, community, and pride. That work is happening every day in Jewish schools, supported by educators, families, and groups such as ours, who work to keep those schools strong and accessible. This is the future worth investing in.

Sydney Altfield is CEO, Teach Coalition.

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Inclusion Isn’t About Being the Same

An empty classroom. Photo: Wiki Commons.

“Same.” That’s what the two-year-old proudly proclaims when she wanders, cloppity clop, into the kitchen wearing her mother’s good heels and expensive jewelry. It’s also what the teenager is attempting to achieve when shopping for a new outfit or schoolbag, and what the business executive might have in mind when he orders the new luxury SUV that some of his colleagues were talking about in the office lounge. We have “made it,” it seems, when we are just like everyone else. It is that innate drive to achieve sameness that all too often diverts limited resources away from helping individuals to maximize their potential while still taking note of and honoring their differences.

This drive for sameness underlies so much in life: applied behavioral analysis, corrective surgeries, even a handicap in a round of golf — it’s all about leveling the playing field. The problem, however, with chasing the unattainable, is that it is a recipe for burnout, disappointment, and existential crises. 

In the world of learning disabilities, neurodivergence, genetic conditions, and a host of other differences, there is a disproportionate focus on being the “same.” While I can’t seem to put my finger on the “why,” there has certainly been an uptick, of late, of children and teens with very pronounced differences being shoe-horned into more mainstream learning environments. This happens despite the oft-mentioned idea in the world of education that we can’t “force a round peg into a square hole.” That thinking, however, is generally limited  to children who exhibit mild or less overt differences. Kids who need a little something extra: extra time on a test, extra attention from the teacher or paraprofessional staff, extra recess, or extra incentives. “Don’t let their differences be the cause of their slipping between the cracks of institutionalized education and development,” goes the rationale: acknowledge their unique needs and address those needs. 

But somehow, when the needs are indeed significant and overt; when the differences put their host in danger of being “othered,” then we do the opposite: we try to make them fit in, almost at all costs. Tremendous resources are invested in this group. Many of those resources are government sponsored, while others come from parents in the form of tuition or private therapies. Another significant source is philanthropic dollars. In addition to funding for these efforts, volunteerism plays a meaningful role in making “others” be “the same.”  

This approach does not and cannot work. As Australian disability advocate Stella Young quipped in her viral TED talk, “No amount of smiling at a flight of stairs has ever made it turn into a ramp.” The reality is that many students with learning or developmental differences are provided significant supports and adaptations to allow them to function within parameters specifically designed for people who are not like them. Eventually and necessarily, many of those supports disappear leaving so many of these individuals lost and frustrated, as they are unprepared to engage properly and independently with a world that runs counter to their unique experience.

To be sure, there are many ways in which certain kinds of support can, should, and are appropriately maintained in what we might call the real world, but these tend to be in the form of physical accessibility. A business is mandated to provide wheelchair access, for example, and options for the hearing and visually impaired are very commonplace. But to rewire a business or society for those who experience and process it differently is virtually impossible. 

Fear not: it really doesn’t have to be this way. If we engage all individuals from a place of acceptance and understanding, we can normalize not being “normal.” After all, isn’t that how teams work? The running back doesn’t have to be a lineman and there will only be one quarterback. And that’s fine. Sure, it can be uncomfortable to be different, but at the same time…does it really have to be?  

A student of mine, a fellow by the name of Meir, was once asked by a group of high school girls what it is like for him to have Down Syndrome. Without missing a beat, Meir replied: “Some people are tall and some people are short, some people are fat and some people are skinny, and I have Down Syndrome.” As simple as that. Differences are just…different. 

February is designated as JDAIM — Jewish Disability Awareness and Inclusion Month — specifically because February, with its 28 days (and sometimes 29), is the month that is not like the others. And that’s just fine for February. We need to realize that acceptance and inclusion doesn’t refer to fixing the “problem” or ignoring the difference. Telling or even silently suggesting to a fish that it is safe on land, would not bode well for the fish. As a matter of fact, that very thought is a fairy tale — one we know as Disney’s “The Little Mermaid.”

Rather, we all need to look differences right in the eye and welcome their uniqueness into our mostly mainstream world. We need to encourage those who are different to embrace their struggles and differences, and we need to be ready to do the same — with open arms and open minds. 

Avi Ganz is the program director of the Elaine and Norm Brodsky Yeshivat Darkaynu, a division of Ohr Torah Stone, which offers a unique year-in-Israel program for young adults with special needs.

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