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Wild pitch: How an Israeli kibbutznik became a Cincinnati Reds pitching coach
KIBBUTZ GEZER, Israel (JTA) — Bill James, the influential baseball writer, historian and statistician, once described the great Yankee first baseman Don Mattingly in only four words: “100% ballplayer, 0% bulls—.”
The same can be said of Alon Leichman, by all accounts the first athlete born and raised in Israel to make it to the major leagues, having just been named assistant pitching coach of the Cincinnati Reds.
Under manager David Bell, Leichman will help instruct the team’s pitchers — including Chase Anderson, Luis Cessa, Fernando Cruz, Alexis Díaz and Hunter Greene — on mechanics, pitch selection, preparation, concentration and execution.
His journey has been unlikely, verging on preposterous: How could someone from Israel, where baseball is barely an afterthought, step out of the wheat fields of a kibbutz to the highest level of baseball in the world?
The 33-year-old Leichman is the product of Kibbutz Gezer, the youngest child born to two idealists who grew up in Zionist youth groups and helped found this kibbutz in central Israel in the 1970s together with other Anglo — that is, English-speaking — Zionists.
But David, Alon’s father, couldn’t leave it all behind in Queens, New York. He was a baseball fan, a big baseball fan — “I always knew that if, God forbid, there’s a fire in my house, I know where my baseball glove is” — and one day, he and his fellow kibbutz residents had an idea: Why don’t we cut off a slice of the wheat crop and construct a regulation-sized field in the southwest corner of the kibbutz, where we can all go play when we get off work?
That was 1983, and there wasn’t a single baseball or softball field in all of Israel So David, who was in charge of construction on the kibbutz (Alon’s mother, Miri, is the kibbutz rabbi), built his field of dreams, just 450 yards from his front door and in the shadow of the 4,000-year-old archaeological site that gives Gezer its name.
And that’s where Alon Leichman grew up, first brought to the field by his father for the 1989 Maccabiah Games, five weeks after Alon was born on May 29.
“I never related to that field as the place my dad built,” Leichman said. “It was a field that was on the kibbutz. Growing up, everyone around me played — my older brother played, and all my friends, a little older than me, played.
David Leichman, left, stands behind the backstop at the baseball field he helped build at Kibbutz Gezer in Israel, where his son Alon, right, learned the game that has brought him to the major leagues. (Elli Wohlgelernter)
“I remember — I was 4, in gan [pre-kindergarten], and I would walk to the baseball field and practice. I vividly remember being in the gan and going to practice. But baseball on the kibbutz is just something that I grew into. Everyone did it; I was not special, just another kid who played. I happened to love it a lot.”
So he played and played and got better and better. By age 10, he was on the team representing Israel at a tournament in the Netherlands. But baseball in Israel back then was in its infancy, and there was not enough money to pay for the team to travel. So Leichman had to work extra hours to get the kibbutz to fly him over.
Not that he wasn’t used to working — like all kibbutz members, he was already contributing by third grade. But now he had to put in extra hours, picking olives or milking cows, to make the extra money.
“I liked milking cows,” he recalled. “Sometimes it’s hard work, but I got more of a kick out of it than hitting an olive tree” to shake loose the olives.
Leichman remembers well that tournament in Holland, the first time he wore the Israeli uniform representing his country abroad.
“It was really cool,” he recalled. “A sense of pride. That’s the first time I think I felt like: ‘You’re not just Alon, you’re not just representing the kibbutz anymore — you’re representing a whole country.’
“I knew back then that Israel was not on the best terms [with] the world. So it was something that I was aware of: that part of our job of playing baseball is also making sure that these guys get to know Israelis other than what they hear on the news and show them that, you know, we’re good people.”
The 5’-8” right-hander kept playing, kept improving and kept representing Israel at tournaments. He played in the one-season Israel Baseball League in 2007 as the second-youngest player, served in the Israeli army from 2007 to 2010, and then headed to the states to play college ball at two schools, Cypress College and the University of California, San Diego.
In his first appearance at Cypress, his elbow blew out, and he needed what’s known as “Tommy John surgery” to repair a torn ulnar ligament inside the elbow. Then he got hurt again and had a second Tommy John surgery. But when he got hurt a third time, and the doctor said he needed to go under the knife yet again, Leichman knew that his hopes for a professional playing career were over.
But not before proving to himself that he had what it takes.
“I know I was good in Israel. I knew that. But I had no idea how I would fare coming to the States. I thought I could fare [well] there, but I really never knew because I had never faced those types of hitters. And then, in my first game, I did really well for two and a third innings, four strikeouts. No one got on. It was 1-2-3, 1-2-3, and then I got the first guy out in the ninth. And on a one-two fastball, my elbow popped. So it was like, ‘Okay, I can do this here.’”
His love for the game never left him, and Leichman grew into an insightful and intuitive coach. His expertise and aptitude were self-evident.
Various jerseys from Alon Leichman’s baseball career are displayed on the wall of his family’s home at Kibbutz Gezer, Israel. (Elli Wohlgelernter)
“Alon will be a big-league coach one day,” pitcher and teammate Alex Katz said three years ago. “It’s hard to get a coaching job in affiliate ball without professional experience, let alone non-affiliated experience. But he’s just one of the most intelligent baseball minds I’ve ever been around. And he’s young.”
Leichman said his strength is “helping guys get better. Communicating with them. Being able to relate to them. Getting on their level. Simplifying it for them. And being creative and finding ways to throw more strikes.”
Despite the surgeries, Leichman could still pitch, if he did it sparingly. He joined Israel’s World Baseball Classic teams of 2012, 2016 and 2017 as a player or coach; pitched for the European Baseball Championship team in 2019; threw in the Olympic qualifying tournaments in 2019; and hurled one perfect inning against Team USA at the Olympics in 2021 in Tokyo. Along the way, he also earned a black belt in jujitsu.
But coaching was his future, and after being given a chance in 2017 to instruct in the Seattle Mariners farm system, Leichman kept moving up, from Single A to Double AA to Triple AAA, before being grabbed by the Reds to join their major league staff this season.
His father is overwhelmed. “It’s unbelievable,” David Leichman said. “I’m still shaking and crying to myself about how wonderful this has been. It’s really amazing.”
Alon is no less shell-shocked, having agreed to sign a contract with the Reds on the same day the New York Mets asked to interview him about a potential job.
“It’s not really sinking in yet, to be honest,” he said while in Israel recently to visit his family on Gezer. “But it’s definitely a dream come true, something I’ve been dreaming about since I’m a little kid. Obviously, I wanted to be there as a player, but once I got hurt and realized that playing was not an option anymore, I started pursuing coaching. I wanted to do it at the highest level. The dream remained; it just took a different route. But it’s still as exciting.”
Leichman is still undecided on whether to join Team Israel’s coaching staff in Florida for the WBC in March before heading back to Goodyear, Arizona, to rejoin the Reds in spring training. But this product of the wheat fields of Gezer won’t ever forget from where he’s come: His uniform numeral, 29, is a constant reminder. It’s his laundry tag number at the kibbutz.
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The post Wild pitch: How an Israeli kibbutznik became a Cincinnati Reds pitching coach appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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The ‘Seinfeld’ cast reunites (but not really) to address Israel’s elections
Jerry Seinfeld, Elaine Benes, George Costanza and Cosmo Kramer are weighing in on next week’s Israeli elections.
AI deepfakes of them, that is, who appear in a new, three-minute clip, looking and sounding almost exactly like they did on the classic TV show.
But unlike the torrent of noxious fakes from Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and his allies, this one is a force for good: smart satire that captures the urgency of this moment for Israeli democracy, and the hope and anxiety bubbling up among all those who fear for it, including me.
Researchers at the Open University of Israel’s “Ze Be AI” project have identified thousands of AI-generated posts by Israeli parties and politicians, with Netanyahu’s Likud responsible for more than any other.
For example, Netanyahu posted an AI ad showing Gadi Eisenkot, his chief political rival, shunning a young man resembling Eisenkot’s son Gal, killed in Gaza, to instead embrace Arab leader Mansour Abbas. National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir shared an AI video depicting emaciated Palestinians in what looks like a concentration camp. Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich’s party circulated AI scenes of Israel’s Supreme Court president and attorney general being dragged through burning streets.
These videos put real people in scenes that never happened. They depict violence and turbocharge hatred against Arab citizens of Israel and Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza. They are designed to mislead and incite, many times with no disclosure to viewers that what they are watching is fake.
The Seinfeld clip is different.
In it, Jerry, Elaine, George and Kramer sit around their diner booth discussing Elaine’s latest boyfriend — who happens to be a big fan of Bibi.
“Elaine, you can’t rule a guy out just because he’s pro-corruption, the establishment of a messianic dictatorship, and dismantling the only Jewish state in the world,” says Kramer.
When Elaine balks at voting, Jerry tries reverse psychology: “Don’t vote, Elaine. Fine by me. But later, when the dictatorship starts, don’t come crying to us.”
The group rattles off the complaints they predict are imminent. Some are absurd: “Why can I only ride on a kosher bike?” Others describe what Israel is already becoming: “Why can’t I say what I think?” “Why is everyone relocating? Why are there no doctors?”
Elaine relents — “I’ll vote, you nudniks” — but when Jerry mentions the date of the elections, it turns out Elaine won’t be in the country. She’ll be in Berlin, at a conference.
The topic? The collapse of Western democracies.
All of this is classic Seinfeld: Kramer’s grandiose pronouncements, the petty grievances, the ironic twist with the Berlin conference.
Yes, it’s a deepfake of beloved characters. The lack of an AI label for the entire duration of the clip may violate Israeli election rules. A caption toward the end implores Israelis, “You Have a Country to Save. Move Your Tuches. Go Vote,” but omits the creator. More transparency would have been better.
But no one watching is meant to think Kramer has views on Israeli coalition politics. These are characters from a decades-old show talking about Israeli elections today. It includes an explicit note that it’s satire. And whereas the Israeli right’s videos depict things that didn’t happen, the references in the clip to crackdowns on speech and mass emigration are all verifiable.
Though no creator for the Seinfeld video is formally listed, it resembles the work of Hagai Lapid, a Tel Aviv–based director and comedy writer who previously spent 14 years at Keshet 12, Israel’s most-watched TV channel, and co-created a string of mockumentaries and wrote for the satirical puppet show Chartzufim. At least one Facebook post credits Lapid as the Seinfeld clip’s creator. Lapid recently posted a viral AI deepfake of British actor Gary Oldman, in character as Jackson Lamb from Apple TV’s Slow Horses, urging Israelis to vote.
Both the Slow Horses video and the Seinfeld clip feel different from AI slop flooding the web because the scripts are well-written and use levity as a lead-in to more serious claims and demands. They can flit across WhatsApp groups and social media in a way that no stern warning about authoritarianism can.
The entire election may hinge on a few votes. Tens of thousands of Israeli expats are planning to fly back to head to the polls. As they prepare to travel to Israel, friends who live there are planning moves abroad should the election leave the far right in power. The Seinfeld clip is aimed at all of these voters.
Seinfeld has been famously described as a “show about nothing,” less a verdict on its quality and more a nod to the way the show finds depth in the mundane. Larry David, Seinfeld’s co-creator, had a core rule : “No hugging, no learning.” Seinfeld’s characters were written to be self-interested, oblivious to the impact they have on the world around them.
This clip violates that rule. It is a call to action, delivered with the best of Jewish gallows humor, the kind that laughs as it sees the axe that may fall, but contains a seed of hope that things may just yet go the other way. Towards the end, a fictional Jerry breaks the fourth wall to plead with the audience:
“What you just saw was satire. Obviously, we don’t vote in Israeli elections. But you Israelis, if you don’t want to turn into a Jewish version of Iran, or collapse and vanish like Nokia or Crocs, all you have to do is move your tuches off your couch and go vote.”
The post The ‘Seinfeld’ cast reunites (but not really) to address Israel’s elections appeared first on The Forward.
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The latest issue of the Hasidic magazine ‘Chvalyes’ discusses psychedelic drugs
ערגעץ װוּ אױף דער ייִדישער װעלט, אָדער דער ייִדיש־װעלט, דאַרף זיך געפֿינען אַ פֿאָרשער װאָס זאָל זיך אָפּגעבן מיט דער נײַער געשיכטע פֿון דער חסידישער ליטעראַטור, בפֿרט מיט אירע עליות און ירידות, די פּערזענלעכקײטן און אַנשטאַלטן.
אַ נײַע און פֿאַרכאַפּנדיקע חסידישע אױסגאַבע איז תּמיד אַ סיבה זיך צו אַנגזאַזשירן מיט דער דאָזיקער געשיכטע, צו פֿאַרשטײן פֿאַר װאָס ס׳איז כּדאַי דאָס צו לײענען מיט קאָפּ.
טאַקע דערפֿאַר וועל איך הײַנט שרײַבן וועגן „כוואַליעס“ — אַ נײַעם זשורנאַל, וואָס איך האָב הײַיאָר מיטגענומען אין שיל אַרײַן װי לײענװאַרג בעת די לאַנגע יום־טובֿ־דרשות.
ס׳איז פֿאַראַן אַזאַ סטערעאָטיפּ בײַ ייִדישיסטן (און מיט דעם בין איך אױסן נישט־חסידישע ייִדיש־רעדערס און ליבהאָבערס פֿון ייִדיש), אַז חסידיש ייִדיש האָט נאָר צו טאָן מיט גאָר פֿרומע זאַכן, נאָר טעמעס װאָס גוטע פֿרומע לײַט װאָלטן אָנגענומען.
ס׳איז אָבער נישט אַזױ. דורך די אַלע גילגולים פֿון דער אַמעריקאַנער חסידישער ליטעראַטור — זאָל זײַן בלאָגס, װעבזײַטלעך (צום בײַשפּיל „אײַװעלט“ אָדער דער שױן אונטערגעגאַנגענער „קאַװע־שטיבעל“), אָדער אין אַ רײ קורציאָריקע אָבער דאָך לעבעדיקע זשורנאַלן — איז דער אינטערעסאַנטסטער אינהאַלט, לױט מײַן מיינונג, נישט די עסײען װעגן דער חסידישער געשיכטע, אָדער מעשׂיות פֿון צדיקים און רביים, נאָר דװקא די גבֿית־עדותן פֿון טאָגטעגלעכע קאָנפֿליקטן.
געװען אַ מאָל „װעקער“ (דאָרט האָב איך אָפּגעדרוקט אַ פּאָר שטיקלעך, װאָס דאָס איז אַלײן אַ סימן פֿון אָפֿנקײט — װי אָפֿט לײענען די ייִדישיסטן און די חסידים אײנער דעם צװײטן?), און דערנאָך איז מען אַריבער אױף אַ נײַער פּובליקאַציע, „כװאַליעס“.
סײַ „װעקער“ סײַ „קאַװע שטיבעל“ זײַנען צום באַדויערן מער נישטאָ — דאַכט זיך, מער צוליב פֿינאַנציעלע װי אידעאָלאָגישע סיבות. אַ דאַנק דער מי, און מסתּמא דעם כּוח־הגעלטשאַפֿונג פֿון דער רעדאַקציע, האָט מען אָבער שױן אַרױסגעגעבן העכער אַ טוץ נומערן פֿון „כװאַליעס,“ װאָס איך דערלױב זיך צו זאָגן איז פּראָסט־פּשוט אַ גילגול פֿון „דער װעקער.“
דער נײַער נומער איז אָבער באַזונדערש רײַך און כּדאַי אָנצוקוקן צוליב דעם פֿענצטערל, װאָס ער עפֿנט אױף אין דער חסידישער װעלט אַרײַן. און דװקא אַ פֿענצטערל װאָס װײַזט די טײלן פֿון דער געזעלשאַפֿט װאָס אַ סך װילן, זײ זאָלן בלײַבן באַהאַלטן. װי די רעדאַקציע „כװאַליעס“ באַשרײַבט זײער צײַטשריפֿט, דינט זי ווי אַ פּלאַטפֿאָרמע פֿאַר מאַטעריאַלן „װאָס האָבן נישט קײן געהעריגן פּלאַץ אין די אַלגעמײנע אױסגאַבעס אױף די פּאָליצעס פֿון די הײמישע געשעפֿטן.“
ספּעציעל טשיקאַװע איז די טעמע װאָס פֿאַרנעמט דעם אױבן־אָן פֿון דער איצטיקער פֿילפֿאַרביקער הילע: „סײַקעדעליקס,“ דאָס הײסט, דער באַנוץ פֿון פּסיכעדעלישע סובסאַנצן אין די היימישע קרײַזן און זײער װירקונג אױפֿן יחיד און כּלל.
זיכער, װי אַ דאָקטער און אַ מענטש װאָס איז מער װײניקער באַקאַנט מיט דער הױפּטשטראָמיקער גױיִשער אַמעריקאַנער קולטור, האָב איך געװוּסט אַז די דאָזיקע בשׂמים, צום בײַשפּיל אײַאַהואַסקאַ, קעטאַמין, פּסילאָסײַבין, און אַזױ װײַטער, זײַנען געשטיגן אין פּאָפּולעריטעט. נאָר אַז זײ האָבן אױך אַרײַנגעדרונגען אין בתּי־מדרשים, בײַ רבישע משפּחות און גבֿירישע בעלי־בתּים, װי אױך פּאָרפֿעלקער און סתּם חסידים מיט כּלערלײ פֿאַרלאַנגען און פּראָבלעמען – דאָס האָב איך נישט געװוּסט.
אין דעם עפֿענונג־אַרטיקל װאָס דינט װי אַן אַרײַנפֿיר אין דער טעמע, װערט קלאָר װי פֿאַרשפּרייט ס׳איז שױן געװאָרן די דאָזיקע „סחורה.“ „װער האָט מעדיצין?“ פֿרעגט אײנעם בײַ א שבת־טיש. אַ צװײטער זאָגט אַז ער האָט קעטאַמין, נאָר דער װאָס האָט געבעטן די „מעדיצין,“ באַשרײַבט װײַטער דער מחבר פֿון אַרטיקל, „שטעלט קלאָר אַז ער זוכט דװקא שװעמלעך. עס נעמט נאָך אַ סעקונדע ביז אַ צװײטע ברענגט אַפֿיר די געװוּנטשענע ׳מעדיצין׳, װאָס װערט געגעסן בײַם שבת טיש װי דער אַפֿיקומן בײַם סדר.“
װי אַזױ איז מען געקומען צו דעם? מע פּרוּװט באַקענען דעם לײענער אױף אײן פֿוס מיט דער געשיכטע פֿון פּסיכעדעלקס. עס װערט ברײט באַהאַנדלט די אַמעריקאַנער געשיכטע פֿון דער יוגנט-קולטור בשעת די 1960ער יאָרן און אירע פֿאַרבינדונגען מיט פֿאַרשײדענע סובסטאַנצן װאָס „ענדערן“ דעם מוח, װי אױך מעגלעכע פּאַראַלעלן צװישן יענער היפּי־װעלט פֿון געזעלשאַפֿטלעכן אױפֿברױז און דער הײַנטיקער װעלט פֿון כעמיש־נײַגעריקע חסידים.
נישט דאָס װערט דערזאָגט, נאָר די דאָזיקע װעלט איז אױך אין מיטן פֿון אַ רײ לאַנג־טערמיניקע און טיף־גרײכיקע בײַטענישן, און דער דאָזיקער סובסטאַנצן־באַנוץ איז זיכער טײלװײַז געװירקט דערפֿון. אײן קעפּל אין דעם אַרטיקל פֿון דער געשיכטע פֿון פּסיכעדעליקס שטעלט אַפֿילו די פֿראַגע, „צי זעכציג־ט זיך יעצט אין דער הײמישער װעלט?“ דאָס הײסט, צי זײַנען הײַנטיקע הסידים געװירקט פֿון יענע פֿאַרטשאַדעטע יאָרן פֿון דער אַמעריקאַנער יוגנט אין די 1960ער?
שטעקט אפֿשר דער גרעסטער חידוש אין דעם, װי אַזױ די שרײַבערס פֿון די אַרטיקלען אױף דער דאָזיקער טעמע טרעטן אַרױס צו זאָגן אַז דעם נושׂא באַהאַנדלט מען אין דעם נומער װײַל די אָנפֿירערס פֿון זײער קהילה גיבן זיך נישט אָפּ דערמיט. מוטיק, נאָר אױך אונטער פּסעװדאָנימען….און אַרױסברענגען די דאָזיקע פֿראַגעס װיל מען אױף אַ געמאָסטענעם, נישט קאָנטראָװערסיעלן אופֿן. װי עס זאָגן די רעדאַקטאָרן, „מיר זענען נישט דאָ צו טױשן קײנעם אָדער צו שטופּן אַגענדעס.“
דער רעשט פֿון דעם פֿעטן נומער איז אָבער אױך װיכטיק. עס נעמט אַרײַן אַן אַרטיקל פֿון אַ חסידיתטע מיטן פּסעוודאָנים „אשת חבֿר“, אונטערן טיטל „אַ פֿעמיניסטקע װאַקסט אין ברוקלין“. די פֿרוי גײט אַדורך אַ קריזיס פֿון אמונה װאָס װערט באַאײַנפֿלוסט אָבער נישט געלײזט פֿון די װערק פֿון מאָדערן־פֿרומע ייִדישע פֿרױען, װאָס האָבן קריטיקרט אױף אַן ענלעכן אופֿן די ייִדישע פּאַטריאַרכיע.
„איך האָב טועם געװען דעם סאָרט אָפֿענעם דזשודאַיִזם,“ שרײַבט „אשת חבֿר“, „און נישט געטראָפֿן דאָרט אידישקײט. מײַן באַשעפֿער האָט אַ חסידישן אַקצענט.“ לסוף באַשליסט זי, אז אפֿשר מוז זי אַלײן אָנשרײַבן אַ בוך װעגן אירע קאָנפֿליקטן. „אױב איז דאָ אַ בוך װאָס דו װילסט לײענען אָבער עס איז נאָכנישט געשריבן געװאָרן, דאַן מוזטו עס אַלײן שרײַבן.“
אַ לענגערע עסײ, ממש אַ מאַמר, פֿון באַװוּסטן שרײַבער קטלא קניא גיט זיך אָפּ מיט דער טעמע פֿון ייִדישן חינוך — נאָך אַ בײַשפּיל פֿון אַ טיפֿזיניקער און שאַרפֿער קריטיק װאָס צילט דװקא אױף די סאַמע יסודות פֿון חסידישן לעבן־שטייגער. דער מחבר פּרוּװט האַלטן דעם באַלאַנס צװישן מוטיקן דעם בחור צו װעמען ער שרײַבט, און אים „טראָסטן“ (װי עס זאָגן די חסידים) אַלײן צו געפֿינען זײַן װעג אין לעבן. „דאָרט איז דיר איצט באַשערט צו זײַן און װען די צײַט װעט קומען װעסטו דאַרפֿן מוזן אַלײן אַרױסקריכן און אױסװאַקסן.“
(אין 2018 האָט קטלא קניא אַרױסגעגעבן אַ גאַנץ בוך וועגן דער דאָזיקער טעמע.דער עסײ אין „כװאַליעס“ איז אַנדערש, געוואָנדן צו אַ יונגן בחור אין ערשטן פּערזאָן, און פֿאָרט איז דאָס אַ באַװײַז, אַז די פֿאַרמאַכטקײט פֿון חינוך איז פֿאַרבליבן אַן אַקטועלע טעמע, װאָס שטערט דעם שרײַבער.)
אַרױסהײבן דאַרף מען אױך אַ ליד װאָס באַשרײַבט אַ פּרטימדיק, און זײער מענטשיש, בילד פֿון דעם רבונו של עולם אַלײן. דער דאָזיקער כּבֿיכול איז „אינספּײַערד“ (אינספּירירט), זאָגט דער פּאָעט, „בײַ משה רבני, אָבאַמאַ, און דשאַן נאַש.“ ער „שמײכלט מיסטעריעז, מאָנאַ ליזאַ.“ כאָטש ער איז אוניװערסאַל, האָט ער דאָך אַ „סאָפֿט ספּאָט פֿאַר זײַן אידיש פֿאָלק.“ פֿירט אױס דער דיכטער, „שמע ישׂראל – דער װאָן ענד אָנלי, ה׳ אחד!“
צװײ באַמערקונגען פּאַסן דאָ װי אַן אױספֿיר. ראשית-כּל, אַז מע האָט געשאַפֿן די נײיטיקע געלטגעבערס פֿאַר אַזאַ נומער איז אַלײן אַ סימן אַז אַן אױסגאַבע פֿאַר אמתער ליטעראַטור, װאָס מע פֿלעגט רופֿן אין אונדזער קרײַזן אַ „ליטעראַרישע געזעלשאַפֿטלעכע צײַטשריפֿט“ איז יאָ פֿאַראַן, זײַט בײַ זײַט מיט די גאָר פֿרומע אָפֿיצעלע אָרגאַנען, שבת־בלעטער, און הײמזשורנאַלן. (מסתּמא נעמען יענע אַרײַן אױך גוטע ליטעראַטור; איך בין פּשוט װײניק באַקאַנט מיט זײ.)
און לסוף, דאַרף איך מודה זײַן אַז ס׳איז אַ מחיה צו לײענען אַ זשורנאַל פֿון ייִדן, װאָס איז נישט 100% אָפּגעגעבן ישׂראל אָדער פּאַלעסטינע. זײַט װיסן אַז יענע טעמע איז מיר לעבנס־װיכטיק, און פֿאָרט, װערט אָפֿט מאָל אױסגעשעפּט יעדן ביסל שאַפֿערישער כּוח פֿון דער דאָזיקער הײסער טעמע.
דעם דאָזיקן זשורנאַל און זײַנע שרײַבערס פֿעלט נישט קײן כּוח, דאַכט זיך. איך קוק אַרױס צו לײענען די קומעדיקע נומערן.
The post The latest issue of the Hasidic magazine ‘Chvalyes’ discusses psychedelic drugs appeared first on The Forward.
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Watch: The cattle farmer building a synagogue in a cornfield
For the past year and a half, we’ve followed Nik Jakobs, a third-generation cattle farmer in Sterling, Illinois, who is building a synagogue in a two-acre cornfield. Alongside it, he is also building a museum of tolerance.
Our coverage began when Nik traveled 600 miles to rescue the ark, bimah and stained glass from a closing congregation in Pennsylvania. After we published our first story about the unlikely journey, additional synagogues began donating their own sacred objects, each from a community that could no longer keep them.
Nik, 41, is the grandson of Holocaust survivors, and the museum is his way of teaching the tolerance that saved his family. His grandmother, Edith, was 11 in 1942 when a Lutheran farmer named Willem Drenth offered the family’s home as a hiding place. She was one of 13 Jews who lived in that single room for two years and eight months, with no electricity and no running water. About a hundred villagers knew about the Jews in hiding. No one said a word.
While in hiding, Edith kept busy by learning to knit. She embroidered a cloth, which survived and will now cover the Torah in Nik’s new synagogue.
This spring, Nik and his family traveled to the Netherlands, where the village staged a play about the family in hiding and the Drenths. They watched actors portray their ancestors, and the Christians who kept their family alive.
Edith died this month at 95. Her voice, trained to a whisper in hiding, never regained its full volume. Her story did.
That story is now drawing others in. The Anne Frank House donates one sapling a year, grown from the chestnut tree Anne saw from her attic hiding place. It has chosen the Illinois synagogue and museum to plant its next one. After visiting Anne’s house with his four daughters, Nik put it this way: “Anne’s story ends. My grandmother’s didn’t.”
Nik and his family broke ground on the sanctuary this spring, on land beside a Lutheran church — the same faith as the farmer who saved his family.
If all goes as planned, the doors open in late 2027. They hope the first service will be the bat mitzvah of Nik’s oldest daughter, Taylor. The pews will hold the congregants of the closing synagogues whose ark, Torah and windows helped build the room, there to see their old homes live again.
Catch up on all of our stories about Nik Jakobs.
The post Watch: The cattle farmer building a synagogue in a cornfield appeared first on The Forward.
