(JTA) — The occupation of Minneapolis by ICE is terrifying and ominous. Last month 1,000 clergy from around the country traveled to the Twin Cities to witness how armed agents daily sweep through neighborhoods, setting up checkpoints, abducting people, tear gassing witnesses, and threatening everyone’s safety. Houses of worship have gone into lockdown, transforming their sanctuaries into private spaces, putting a locked door between them and their neighbors.

As rabbis, one question has become urgent and immediate: What will we do when ICE comes to our door?

For hundreds of synagogues across the United States, that question may well already have been answered. They just don’t know it yet.

This year, as in years past, hundreds of synagogues across the country are set to receive grants through the Nonprofit Security Grants Program, a Department of Homeland Security initiative administered by FEMA. The program offers between $60,000 and $100,000 (sometimes more) in security funding to houses of worship and other nonprofits. The money goes toward security cameras, armed guards, and physical enhancements and more. For many synagogues facing antisemitic threats and stretched budgets, that’s a transformative amount of money that would be hard to turn down.

Many progressive communities like ours have long believed that depending on DHS to keep us safe is a problem, owing to the department’s surveillance of Muslims and the fact that the grants strengthen infrastructure that puts some community members at risk. But in 2025 the mismatch between Jewish communal values and practices and resources to ensure our safety became even more stark when the Trump administration slipped new language into the terms of the grant. The money now appears to come with strings that should alarm any Jewish community.

The grant now requires participating organizations to cooperate with ICE operations, forbids participating organizations from engaging in Diversity, Equity and Inclusion programming, and bars participation in any kind of “discriminatory prohibited boycott” (an apparent reference to boycotts of Israel). To access the Nonprofit Security Grants, synagogues all over the country have agreed to become extensions of the apparatus now raiding American cities.

It’s not yet clear how many synagogues have applied for the grants with these terms or have gotten them. It’s also not clear whether many synagogues are even fully aware of what they’ve signed on to. Especially before Minneapolis, “cooperation with immigration enforcement” may have seemed like an abstraction or even acceptable to many communities, and perhaps they didn’t really expect their diversity programming to be audited. Think of it as the Terms of Service problem. How many of us actually read what we’re agreeing to when we click “accept” on Apple’s terms? We know there’s something in there we probably wouldn’t like, but we need the phone.

It’s possible many synagogues did the same calculation with DHS money. They assumed the restrictions wouldn’t really matter, whereas tens of thousand dollars in security money was a concrete and pressing need. Never mind the fact that for years Muslim organizations have been sounding this alarm.

Last August, my congregation in Philadelphia, Kol Tzedek, joined with dozens of synagogues and Jewish organizations along with over 100 communal leaders to refuse this funding, and we tried to sound the alarm. We signed a letter explaining why we couldn’t in good conscience trade security dollars for collaboration with an agency whose mission conflicts with our values. But many other synagogues applied to take the money anyway. They need the cameras. They need to keep their members safe. What choice did they have?

It didn’t help that the umbrella organization for Jewish federations urged synagogues to apply, assuring them that it believed the terms would not be applied to them and noting that they could always turn down the funds once offered.

But now the federations group is sounding the alarm about a continued lack of clarity around the terms, and those congregations are in a terrible situation, one they may not even realize they’re in.

Houses of worship are some of the most powerful sites of resistance to ICE operations precisely because we can provide sanctuary. For centuries, religious communities have stood between state violence and vulnerable people. DHS understood this threat to its mission, and that’s exactly why they attached these strings to their security money.

It’s a clever and effective scheme: The Trump administration leveraged our real security fears to neutralize an institution that historically has had the moral and legal standing to say no to state violence and provide actual sanctuary to refugees and immigrants.

If your synagogue, nonprofit or community center received a grant from the $270 million federal budget for this program (and statistically, it probably did) you need to know what you’re on the hook for. More importantly, you need to know you have a choice about what comes next.

When ICE comes to your city and demands your cooperation the only moral choice is noncompliance. Thirty-six times the Torah instructs us to protect the ger – Hebrew for the sojourner, the immigrant, the most vulnerable in our midst. So when the time comes, refuse to cooperate, even if you signed that agreement and risk losing tens of thousands from your budget.

But it’s not too late. There are things you can and should do now. Find out if your congregation or organization sought or took this money. Ask for transparency about where your community stands. Tell your leadership that you didn’t sign up for this, that collaboration with ICE operations is not compatible with your community’s values, that there are opportunities for community safety that don’t require collaboration with the apparatus being used to terrorize and punish American cities.

To my fellow rabbis, synagogue executive directors and board presidents, I truly understand the impossible calculations you have to make and why the money seems irresistible. But this is the moment to make a different choice, even if it’s costly.

Consider the alternative: What happens when ICE shows up in your town and at your door, and your contract obligates you to cooperate? What happens when your own congregant is targeted? Or when a congregant learns their synagogue helped enable a raid on their neighbor’s family, their school, a place of worship? What happens when history looks back at this moment and asks what we did?

Jewish federations, and specifically the Secure Community Network, bear a lot of responsibility here. They put us in this position by lobbying for this fund’s creation and tying themselves to DHS. They facilitated these agreements, distributed this money, made it seem normal and necessary. They could have made a different choice: They represent billions of dollars in assets that could have chosen a different security model for our communities, and they still can.

The federations should bail out congregations that choose noncompliance by creating a fund for synagogues that refuse or break their DHS contracts. They should work to build the security infrastructure we actually need, one that protects us and our neighbors.

This moment is a test of our values. The question isn’t whether you took the money last year (many did, for reasons that made sense at the time). The question is, knowing what you’re on the hook for, and knowing after Minneapolis what ICE is about, what will you do now? Will you comply when ICE comes knocking? Will you check their paperwork, provide access, facilitate raids?

Or will you remember why houses of worship exist in the first place? We are here to be places where the vulnerable find protection, where we are accountable to each other, where we answer to something higher than federal enforcement agencies.

Sanctuary means something, or it means nothing. This is the moment to decide which it will be.

The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of JTA or its parent company, 70 Faces Media.

The post American synagogues are being forced into a terrible choice: Collaborate with ICE or risk our own safety appeared first on The Forward.

(JTA) — A survey showing that only around one-third of American Jews identify as Zionists set off shockwaves in the Jewish world last week, triggering speculation about what could have caused so many Jews to spurn a label once thought as nearly synonymous with Jewish identity.

From his home in Israel, Robbie Gringras had a different reaction.

“I wasn’t surprised,” he said about the survey, conducted by Jewish Federations of North America. “I have a feeling many more of these pieces are now going to come out.”

Together with Abi Dauber Sterne, Gringras runs For The Sake of Argument, an organization that consults on how to hold “healthy arguments” focusing on Judaism and Israel. A few months ago the two embarked on a project few other Jewish groups would attempt: interviewing dozens of Jewish American anti-Zionists directly about what turned them away from Israel.

Avowed anti-Zionists make up a relatively small portion of American Jews, according to the JFNA study: 7% overall, and 14% among Jews ages 18-35. But they shared a consistent story, according to Gringras and Sterne’s findings, which they are releasing on Thursday.

“Throughout all the answers to this question we heard an unmistakable theme: These people report that they reached their rejection of Israel in response to the behavior of Jewish Israelis and Jewish Americans,” Gringras and Sterne write.

Gringras said he understands that the takeaways might be disconcerting to Jewish leaders, who might be drawn to the theory that Jewish anti-Zionists have taken that stance as a result of ignorance, or because of the influence of non-Jewish progressives with no attachment to Israel. But he said he believes the findings can have a positive impact on those who encounter them.

“I have a lot of faith in people who confront things and think about them,” Gringras told JTA. “So the moment that the leadership is thinking about this, is confronting it, then good things will happen.”

Gringras and Sterne are not alone in trying to more deeply understand how contemporary Jews think about Zionism — which the JFNA survey shows does not have an agreed-upon definition — and what Jewish anti-Zionists more specifically are thinking.

Brandeis University researcher Matt Boxer said he felt “vindicated” by JFNA’s survey. He’s embarked on his own, very similar, multi-year survey project asking American Jews to define Zionism, supported in part by the Anti-Defamation League, where Boxer is a former fellow.

When Boxer first distributed his own survey in 2022 with open-ended responses, he received negative feedback from all corners, even death threats, in a sign of just how sensitive even raising the subject can be.

“I’ve had people tell me I’m an antisemite just by asking the questions, by having people tell me what these things mean,” he said. “And I’ve had people telling me I’m committing genocide against Palestinians.”

Even so, turnout was strong. More than 1,800 American Jews, from all over the world, submitted usable responses on whether they describe themselves as a Zionist or anti-Zionist, and what they thought the terms meant. Some synagogues and similar Jewish spaces circulated the survey within their communities. The results, which Boxer first presented in 2024, largely mirrored JFNA’s own findings this week (a study which Boxer had also consulted on, and which was led by one of his former graduate students).

“It’s so much deeper than we’ve left room for in our discourse,” Boxer said. He described what he called “the ‘Rashomon’ effect,” a reference to the classic 1950 Japanese film in which the same event is retold from drastically different points of view. The same thing has happened with Zionism, he said: Every Jew has their own definition.

“We’ve made this out to be a binary: If you’re Zionist you’re good, if you’re anti-Zionist you’re bad,” he said. “But it’s so much more complicated than that.”

Boxer is currently polishing off a new paper based on the data, exploring the Jews — including many self-declared Zionists — who described Israel as an apartheid state.

In 2024 Boxer’s senior colleague, the social researcher Janet Aronson, surveyed 800 Jewish anti-Zionists. “It’s not a group that we just want to dismiss out of hand,” said Aronson, who heads Brandeis’ Jewish Studies center and has conducted population studies for local Jewish federations for years.

Referring to the combined number of declared anti- and non-Zionists found in the JFNA survey, she added, “I think 15% is a lot of people.”

The push for more and higher-quality dialogue with Jewish anti-Zionists comes as the larger Jewish world is grappling with the seeming collapse of the Zionist consensus, expressed in everything from reactions to Oct. 7 to the election of Zohran Mamdani as mayor of New York City. Some Jewish leaders are calling to extend olive branches to Jewish anti-Zionists, while others want to close the big tent to them.

Those who do engage with Jewish anti-Zionists, these researchers say, will likely encounter a group of people who are very knowledgeable about Judaism and often grew up in Zionist spaces. That stands in contrast to what they say is a common misconception of the population: that Jewish anti-Zionists don’t know or don’t care about Judaism and other Jews.

For example, the Movement Against Antizionism, a new advocacy group founded by the McGill University doctoral student Adam Louis Klein, defines Jewish anti-Zionists as “those who seek safety or acceptance by echoing the accusations leveled against their own people.” The group draws a historic line connecting the Hellenistic Jews of the Maccabee era, through Jewish Soviet Bundists, to the modern-day anti-Zionist group Jewish Voice for Peace — all Jews that it says identify not with their own people but with antisemites in their broader society.

The researchers studying Jewish anti-Zionism don’t see things quite the same way. While none of the studies claims to be representative of the Jewish anti-Zionist population, 40% of Aronson’s respondents either worked, or had previously worked, in Jewish organizations — echoing the profile of the day school and camp alums who founded the activist group IfNotNow a decade ago. Many of them became involved in anti-Zionist minyans or similar upstart Jewish spaces that reject Zionism — a growing rallying cry among left-wing Jews.

“Those are people who we would expect to be current and incoming leaders of the Jewish community,” Aronson said. “What does it mean for the Jewish community when they say, ‘We’re not going to be part of these Jewish institutions, we need to start our own’? What a loss to the Jewish community, this pipeline of leadership and energy.”

Most of Gringras and Stern’s interviewees, likewise, “talked of a childhood and Jewish education that embraced the centrality of Israel,” the report states. “Their Israel journeys did not begin with an ideological rejection of Zionism. Yet nearly all of them underwent a paradigm shift, and now see Israel through primarily anti-Zionist eyes.”

First-person accounts from the report describe painful breaks with the Jewish community. They shared stories of being cut off by family members for asking their opinions about Israel’s human rights record, or of being rebuked by rabbis for suggesting that post-Oct. 7 donations should be directed to Israeli healthcare services rather than the military.

“It is far, far easier to come out as gay than to come out as anti-Zionist,” one subject said.

Another interviewee, who grew up in a religious Zionist family that lived for a time in a settlement in the West Bank, stated, “I know that my parents are terribly sad that I am no longer a Zionist. I think they don’t realize how sad I am, too, that I am no longer a Zionist.”

“We weren’t meeting people who didn’t care,” Gringras summarized, describing their subjects as “sad, if not brokenhearted, about the way in which they not only find no expression for their Judaism, but also find the Judaism that they’re meeting very challenging.”

Gringras and Sterne are far from anti-Zionists themselves. Both are Jewish emigres to Israel; Sterne has held senior roles with the Jewish Agency and Hillel International, while Gringras is a former leader of the Jewish Agency’s Israel Education Laboratory. They founded For the Sake of Argument in 2022, with support from funders such as the Jim Joseph Foundation and the Natan Fund — realizing, in Gringras’s estimation, that “the way to learn about Israel, to be engaged in Israel, is to be engaged in its arguments.”

Talking to anti-Zionists wasn’t the project’s initial plan. At first, For The Sake of Argument sought out to explore what they’d theorized was a purely generational divide in Jewish views on Israel. But, the report’s authors say, they soon realized that age wasn’t the appropriate framing for the divide. Some younger subjects “expressed deep support for Israel,” the found, and some older ones “were deeply critical.”

The real divide, they determined, “is over Israel itself, between Zionists and anti-Zionists.” So they pivoted to interviewing anti-Zionists directly — with connections made via intermediaries, mostly on the East Coast, and the wording of questions carefully constructed in advance with “the assumption that no one is born Zionist or anti-Zionist.”

In fact some interview subjects said that, far from being born anti-Zionist, they only made the leap in the aftermath of Oct. 7 and the subsequent war in Gaza, out of distress over Israel’s behavior during the war. Some made asks of their Jewish leaders, such as to remove the Israeli flag from the bimah, that they had not previously considered.

All of it, the paper said, came from a place of deep identification with and concern for the Jewish community amid the anti-Zionists’ beliefs that it was aligning itself with an immoral cause.

The researchers all say Jewish leaders should conduct similar interviews within their own communities, to understand the real contours of sentiment about Israel.

For the Sake of Argument plans to offer programming to help facilitate such dialogue. Aronson emphasized that those conversations would ideally come from a place of mutual respect and vulnerability.

“I don’t think it will be effective if it comes from this position of, ‘We are mainstream Judaism, we are willing to have a conversation with you,’” she said. “It can only be done if it’s really from a willingness that all sides need to be open and listening to each other.”

Aronson noted that Zionist Jewish leaders, following one of JFNA’s own conclusions from its report, may see it as their job to try to convince their counterparts why Zionism matters. That approach could easily backfire, she said.

“For these highly engaged anti-Zionists who have gone through serious Jewish education and involvement, they actually have already heard all of the arguments that mainstream Judaism has to present,” she said. “I think that’s one of the reasons why they say, ‘We don’t need to hear your side.’ Because they’ll say, ‘We have learned it. You’ve taught it to us and we reject it.’”

Boxer noted that, in many of the Jewish population surveys he’s worked on, “community after community” has told him they struggle to broach conversations about Zionism. That makes them all the more essential, he said.

“I think it’s going to be painful, but we have to have these conversations,” Boxer said.

All the researchers agreed on something else: The divide between Zionist and anti-Zionist Jews is deep, and concerning.

“We don’t know what to do,” Gringras and Sterne admit in the report. Aronson concurred.

“I don’t know how we put the community back together. I don’t know that this is a bridgeable line, to be honest,” she said. “This is certainly not the first time in Jewish history when people have left and made their own tents.”

The post What to do with anti-Zionist Jews? Try talking to them, some Jewish researchers say appeared first on The Forward.

עס קומט באַלד צו גיין דער יום־טובֿ פּורים, האָב איך פֿאַר אײַך לייענער צוגעגרײט שלח־מנות: אַ גוגל־דאָקומענט מיט מאַטעריאַלן פֿאַר קינדער און תּלמידים, געשעפּטע סײַ פֿון עלטערע פֿאָלקלאָר־זאַמלונגען, סײַ פֿון שאַפֿונגען פֿון דער נײַערער צײַט. ער געפֿינט זיך דאָ. װײַטער קענט איר לײענען פֿאַר װאָס איך האָב זיך אונטערגענומען אַזאַ פּראָיעקט, און זיך דערװיסן נאָך פּרטים װעגן די מאַטעריאַלן װאָס געפֿינען זיך דערין.

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אינעם הײַפֿעלע ייִדישיסטישע משפּחות צעשאָטענע איבערן ערדקײַלעך קומט נישט זעלטן אױס צו פֿילן, אַז עפּעס פֿעלט אונדז מאַטעריאַל װאָס זענען אי אױף ייִדיש אי זײ נעמען אױס בײַ די קינדער.

אָט דער כּלומרשטער דוחק שפּירט זיך אין פֿאַרשידענע תּחומען: אין גראַמען, געזאַנג, שפּילן, מעשׂהלעך — קורץ, אַלצדינג װאָס טראָגט אַרײַן פֿרײד און כּישוף אין לעבן פֿון אַ קינד. נישט אײן מאָל בין איך געזעסן און געהאָצקעט אַ קינד אױפֿן שױס און געװאָלט פֿרײלעך מאַכן, צוזינגען עפּעס אַ לידעלע אָדער אַ גראַם, נאָר פּונקט איז מיר נישט געקומען אױפֿן געדאַנק מער װי „פּאַטשע פּאַטשע קיכעלעך“, אָדער פּשוט שמײכלען און מאַכן גרימאַסן.

 איז אַװדאי גוט, אַן עופֿעלע װעט נישט זײַן קײן גרױסער איבערקלײַבער, אָבער װיפֿל איז דער שיעור איבערצוקײַען די זעלבע צװײ־דרײַ גראַמען, אַז מיר פֿאַרמאָגן אַזאַ רײַכן קינדער־פֿאָלקלאָר מיט שפּילן און גראַמען? און פֿאַר װאָס זאָלן מיר כּסדר טאַנצן אױף פֿרעמדע חתונות, אָנקומענדיק צו איבערזעצונגען פֿון ענגלישע לידעלעך, אַז ס׳איז פֿאַראַן הונדערטער קינדערלידער אױף ייִדיש, אָדער סתּם ייִדישע לידער, סײַ לעבעדיקע סײַ רויִקע, צוגעפּאַסטע צו פֿאַרשידענע טעמעס און סיטואַציעס?

איך זאָג אַ „כּלומרשטער דוחק“ װײַל אין דער אמתן איז עס אַ נעכטיקער טאָג. אָט האָט ש. לעהמאַן צונױפֿגעזאַמלט און אָפּגעדרוקט אַ שלל מיט קינדער־פֿאָלקלאָר אינעם פֿאָלקלאָריסטישן־פֿילאָלאָגישן באַנד בײַ אונז יודען אין 1923. אָפּטײלן מיט קינדערלידער און קינדער־פֿאָלקלאָר קען מען אױך טרעפֿן אין די זאַמלונגען פֿון י. ל. כּהן, באַסטאָמסקי, בערעגאָװסקי און פֿעפֿער, און נאָך אַזעלכע. הײַנט, װוּ איז רוט (רבֿקה) רובינס קלאַנגאַרכיװ בײַם ייִװאָ, װאָס האַלט אין זיך גאַנצע פֿינעף טאַשמעס מיט קינדערלידעלעך? און, און, און… איר זעט שױן מסתּמא אַלײן די צרה.

מיר זענען נישט חלילה אָרעם, נאָר פֿאַרקערט: ס׳איז פֿאַראַן צו פֿיל, און װער האָט דאָס די צײַט צו צעקײַען, דורכזיפּן, און אָפּקלײַבן פֿון די אַלע מאַטעריאַלן? בפֿרט אַז אַ סך פֿון די זאַמלונגען זענען גאַנץ שלעכט געדרוקט אָדער דער טינט איז שױן אָפּגעשפּרונגען. אַראָפּצולײענען װאָס דאָרט שטײט איז נישט קײן קלײנער קונץ. און עלטערן פֿון קלײנע קינדער, אַזױ אױך פֿאַרהאַװעטע און פֿאַרהאָרעװעטע מיט די טאָג־טעגלעכע אַחריותן, זאָלן גײן גריבלען אין װיסנשאַפֿטלעכע שריפֿטן?

דערצו נאָך, אַז מע האָט זיך שױן יאָ אַ ביסל אָריענטירט אין די זאַמלונגען, דאַרף מען ערשט דערטאַפּן די, װאָס קענען שטימען מיט אונדזערע הײַנטצײַטישע השׂגות. װי למשל בײַם באַװוּסטן קינדערגראַם: „ציגעלע מיגעלע קאָטינקע / רױטע פּאָמעראַנצן / אַז דער טאַטע שלאָגט די מאַמע / גײען קינדערלעך טאַנצן“. נו, איך װײס נישט װי בײַ אַנדערע, אָבער איך קען באַשטײן, אַז דאָס זאָל בלײַבן אַ קוריאָז פֿונעם אַמאָליקן לעבן אין דער אַלטער הײם. נישט יעדע סחורה איז פּאַסיק פֿאַר הײַנטיקע קינדער.

װען סע קומט, װידער, צו ייִדישע לידער איז דער מצבֿ שױן אַ סך פֿױגלדיקער, אָבער די מענטשלעכע טבֿע איז פֿאָרט אַזאַ, אַז מע גײט זעלטן אַרױס פֿון די אײגענע דלתּ אַמות. „די גרינע קאַטשקע“ און „פֿלי, מײַן פֿלישלאַנג“ קענען דאָך אַלע, אָבער פֿאַראַן אַ סך פֿײַנע אַלבומען, נײַערע און עלטערע, פֿון דער סעקולערער װעלט און פֿון דער פֿרומער װעלט, צעשאָטן איבער דער אינטערנעץ, נאָר גײן זוכן אױף דער הײסער מינוט װען די קינדער פֿאַרלאַנגען „מוזי־י־י־י־ק!“?

כאַפּט מען זיך צו די אײן־צװײ באַליבטע און באַקאַנטע און שױן. װאָס שײך געזאַנג, זענען די מלאָטעק־ביכער אַװדאי אַ געװאַלדיקער אוצר, אָבער יעדעס מאָל גײן אױפֿמישן אַ באַנד און האָפֿן, אַז מע װעט אָנטרעפֿן אױף עפּעס גוטס, איז אױך נישט קײן פּלאַן. אַז מאַכט זיך יאָ אַ פּאָר פֿרײַע מינוט און מע װיל זיך אױסלערנען אַ נײַ ליד, דאַרף מען ערשט װיסן װוּ צו געפֿינען די גוטע סחורה.

צום גליק האָב איך אין די לעצטע חדשים יאָ געהאַט צײַט זיך אַ טונק צו טאָן אין דעם ים פֿון קינדער־פֿאָלקלאָר און קינדער־מאַטעריאַלן, צעשאָטענע איבער זאַמלונגען און װעבזײַטלעך, אָפּקלײַבן פֿון זײ אַזוינע װאָס זאָלן זײַן צוטריטלעך פֿאַר עלטערן און צוציִיִק פֿאַר די קינדער, און מאַכן פֿון דעם אַ שטיקל װעגװײַזער. דאַכט זיך, אַז דאָס קען אױך נוציק זײַן פֿאַר לערערס און תּלמידים, װאָס זוכן פֿריש, אינטערעסאַנט לערנװאַרג. דער װעגװײַזער באַשטײט פֿון פֿינעף אָפּטײלן:

1. 1. גראַמען און לידעלעך. אין דער קאַטעגאָריע גײען אַרײַן קינדערגראַמען, סײַ צו יעדער געלעגנהײט, סײַ פֿאַר ספּעציפֿישע פֿאַלן אָדער קאָנטעקסטן, למשל: אַז דאָס קינד גיט אַ גרעפּס, אָדער אַז דאָס קינד טוט זיך אָן דאָס העמד, אָדער אַז מע דערזעט אַ שנעקל, צי אַ משה־רבינוס קיִעלע, אָדער אַז סע רעגנט… און נאָך אַ סך אַזעלכע.
   2. שפּילן. נישט נאָר האַנט־ און פֿינגער־שפּילן און גלאַט פֿאַרשפּילענישן, װי, צום בײַשפּיל, „באַראַן־באַראַן־בוץ“, „שׂרהניו װאָרעניע“, „אַ זעקעלע מעל“, „אין אַ שטעטעלע פּיטשעפּױ“, נאָר אױך שפּילן פֿאַר עלטערע קינדער, װאָס מע האָט אַ מאָל געשפּילן אין חדר און אין די הױפֿן — „בלינדע קו“, „פֿײגעלע פֿליט“, „רודענע ראַנע“, און פֿאַרשידענע שפּילן אין באַלעמס, מטבעות און ניסעלעך.

• רעקאָרדירטע מוזיק. נישט נאָר אַלבומען געמאַכט פֿאַר קינדער, נאָר אױך אַן אָפּקלײַב פֿון די שענסטע אַלבומען פֿאָלקסלידער װאָס קענען אױסנעמען אױך בײַ קינדער.

• געזאַנג. אין דעם אָפּטײל װערט געבראַכט אַ רשימה לידער װאָס מע קען זינגען מיט אָדער פֿאַר די קינדער, סײַ רויִקע סײַ לעבעדיקע, סײַ קינדערלידער סײַ גלאַט פֿאָלקסלידער, װי אױך לידער מיט באַװעגונגען — אַ שטײגער, „בלעטער“, „מיכלקו“, און „פֿון אַ קלײנעם גרינעם הױז“. בײַ יעדן ליד װערט געגעבן אַ לינק צום טעקסט און צו אַ רעקאָרדירונג.

• מעשׂהלעך. פֿון די פֿאָלקס־מעשׂיות און װוּנדער־מעשׂיות, פֿון בערן און לצים און כעלעמער חכמים און באַהאַלטענע אוצרות, װאָס מע פֿלעג דערצײלן די קינדער שבת אױף דער נאַכט, אָדער אין שול צווישן מינחה און מעריבֿ, אָדער װינטער הינטערן אױװן.

צום סוף געפֿינען זיך עטלעכע הוספֿות: װײַטערדיקע רעסורסן פֿאַר די װאָס װילן אַלײן אַרײַנקוקן אין די רױע מאַטעריאַלן, איבערזעצונגען פֿון פּאָפּולערע ענגלישע לידער (אַ מאָל מוז מען דאָך נאָכגעבן!), און אַ רשימה חיה־קלאַנגען אױף ייִדיש. האָט איר געװוּסט אַז אױף ייִדיש מאַכט דער בער „בו־בו“?

אַ לעצטע באַמערקונג: כאָטש דעם גרעסטן טײל מאַטעריאַל האָב איך געשעפּט טאַקע פֿון עלטערע מקורים, האָב איך אױך אַרײַנגענומען שאַפֿונגען פֿון דער מאָדערנער צײַט, צי פֿון דער פֿרומער־חסידישער װעלט, צי פֿון די ייִדישע שולן, צי פֿון אונדז ייִדישיסטן פֿון 21סטן יאָרהונדערט. איך האָף, אַז אינעם דאָזיקן װעגװײַזער װעט יעדער טרעפֿן עפּעס װאָס װעט געפֿינען חן בײַ די אײגענע קינדער, און באַװײַזן דערמיט אײַנצופֿירן אַ גרעסערע מאָס געװאָרצלטקײט און פֿאַרשידנקײט אין דער שפּראַכיקער סבֿיבה פֿון די קינדער (אָדער תּלמידים). טאָמער געפֿעלט עפּעס נישט, אָדער מע װיל עפּעס צוגעבן, מעג מען איבערלאָזן אַ קאָמענטאַר אינעם גוגל־דאָקומענט אַלײן, אָדער קען מען אַלײן אױפֿמישן די זאַמלונגען געבראַכטע אין די הוספֿות און דערבײַ אױפֿדעקן די אוצרות, װאָס װאַלגערן זיך נאָך הײַנט אין די פֿאַרגעלטע בלעטלעך און װאַרטן אױף זײער תּיקון אין די מײַלער פֿון ייִדישע קינדערלעך.

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