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A Palestinian and an Israeli bereaved in violence make the case for peace

Aziz Abu Sarah and Maoz Inon have a message that can sound utterly preposterous as violence hardens as the main mode of communication between Israelis and Palestinians: The Future Is Peace, the title of their new book.

They are dead serious — and bring their own grief and healing to the cause.

On October 7, 2023, Inon’s parents, Bilha and Yakovi, were killed by Hamas terrorists in their home in Netiv Haasara near the border with Gaza. Decades earlier, Abu Sarah’s brother, Tayseer, was killed by Israeli forces following a year-long detention for alleged stone throwing.

You might recognize Abu Sarah and Inon from the winter Olympics, where the world watched as they carried the torch together—the first Israeli and Palestinian duo to ever do so — or from photos of them embracing the Pope, a picture of brotherhood.

Their book takes readers on an eight-day journey through the region, from the streets of East Jerusalem, where Abu Sarah grew up, to the farmland in the kibbutz that Inon’s father tilled. Along the way, they meet other bereaved families and friends who have been touched by the conflict. They found that the resistance to engaging with the other side’s narrative came from a fear of erasing one’s own.

Agreement, they concurred during an interview in Manhattan, is not a prerequisite. “I think what we bring in the future is peace is that we show first you don’t have to agree on everything. It doesn’t matter if you are pro-Israel, pro-Palestine, there will be things you will disagree with, there will be language you will not be happy with, there will be things that you think we got wrong,” said Abu Sarah.

For them, non-consensus is the beauty of the book — and their relationship with one another. “Relationships which have no disagreement, by the way, are boring,” he added. “We often quote Pope Francis, who said, ‘The only place that has no disagreement is a cemetery.”

Inon suggests the skeptical reaction to peacemaking is a coping mechanism. “You’re protecting yourself from wanting to believe. You think no one knows how to take you there.” He added, “We talk along the journey about the importance of dreaming. What we realized is that when you don’t dream, the others, the extremists, are dreaming for us, and then their dream is our nightmare.”

Parallel paths to peace 

Abu Sarah’s experience living under the occupation and growing up in the West Bank led him to pursue anti-Israel activism.

At age 10, he watched his “protector,” the sibling he shared a bed with each night, succumb to his wounds from injuries sustained during his time in an Israeli prison. “All I knew was that someone had killed my brother, and I wanted to hit back,” he says in the book.

Aziz (age 4) with his brother Tayseer (age 13) Courtesy of Abu Sarah Family

Following his death, and during the years spent living under occupation, Abu Sarah sought revenge. Eventually, when he realized it would be difficult to get a job without speaking Hebrew, he enrolled in a Hebrew language class — the first time he had ever met an Israeli who was not a soldier at a checkpoint.

As he began connecting with his teacher and classmates, he slowly let down his guard. Getting to know Israelis beyond the context of occupation gave him a new perspective and sparked his interest in peacebuilding. Eventually, he founded Mejdi Tours, leading dual-narrative trips across Israel with a Jewish counterpart, explaining landmarks through the lens of their respective communities.

Inon made his own journey to connecting across the divide, starting long before Oct. 7. As so many young Israelis do, he and his wife, Shlomit, had traveled the world after their army service. He realized that he had developed friendships with people in far-flung countries but hadn’t managed to make a single Palestinian friend back home.

Passionate about tourism as a means of connection, Inon decided to open a guesthouse in Nazareth, the largest Arab city in Israel. When he first came to Nazareth, many were skeptical of him. “There were many rumors that I was a Mossad agent, or Shin Bet, even worse,” said Inon. Over time, he began to build relationships and trust in the Palestinian community.

The murder of his parents could have been the end of his mission. Instead, Inon recommitted himself to it. Just days after Oct. 7, Inon and his siblings publicly stated that they did not seek revenge against the Palestinian people for the atrocities committed that day. He even hosted a memorial service in Nazareth so that his Palestinian friends living in the city could attend.

Maoz’s parents Yakovi and Bilha Inon in the Golan Heights Courtesy of Inon Family

While they had lived somewhat parallel lives, with both men working in the travel industry as a means for peace, Inon and Abu Sarah met only once, several years before Oct.r 7.

After Abu Sarah learned of the death of Inon’s parents, he decided to reach out. Inon’s immediate empathy was striking to Abu Sarah, for whom forgiveness of the other side took years. A friendship and partnership began. “I lost my parents on Oct. 7, but I gained Aziz as a brother,” said Inon.

I asked them what moments of tension have been like in their relationship. Inon said the two have managed to find common ground over shared values. But for a long time, he struggled to get on board with the value of justice, which is a priority for Abu Sarah.

“I kept telling Aziz, I don’t know how to bring justice to Tayseer or my parents. I remember President Biden saying that when Israel assassinated Nasrallah, justice was being done. But with the same bomb, 300 civilians were killed. So will it now be legitimate for them to avenge the death of … their innocent loved ones?”

Eventually, after discussions with religious leaders, Inon came around to embracing the idea of justice. He discovered that of the 613 mitzvot in Judaism, the only two that are mandated are justice and peace. “After learning that, I said Aziz, from now on, I can have justice within the values that I believe.”

Another disagreement they’ve faced: Abu Sarah’s love for country music — Inon can’t stand it.

A different kind of solution

Inon and Abu Sarah can seem almost radical in their commitment to dialogue. To some, their approach may feel detached from reality. They know that most Israelis and Palestinians do not think the way they do. But to them, the belief that violence is inevitable is far more difficult to accept.

“Loss, instead of making us want to walk away, makes us more convinced that this is the only path, “ said Abu Sarah. “Really, if we give up, then what we should do is go get a gun and shoot at each other. Because what’s the alternative? You either believe we can solve this by sitting and working it out, or you believe we have to kill each other, and we refuse to believe that alternative.”

Maoz and Aziz tasting grapes from the Abu Sarah family garden in Wadi al-Joz Photo by Uri Levi

Notably, only one page of the book is devoted to discussing a solution to the conflict in the literal sense. “Here are shelves of practical solutions, chapter after chapter about borders, about water resources, about Jerusalem, about refugees, about security arrangements,” said Inon, laughing about the Israel-Palestine section that has become a fixture of many bookstores following the Gaza war. For them, the book is less about prescribing a specific political outcome and more about laying the emotional groundwork needed to get there.

Abu Sarah and Inon did not want to close themselves off by endorsing a single political solution. “We don’t want to be in a box,” Inon said, explaining that neither of them feels strongly tied to one specific outcome.

“Our values are human dignity, security and safety for everyone, recognition of everyone … People want to argue with us, two states, one state, three states, monarchy. That’s less the issue. If that agreement is based on those values,” said Abu Sarah.  “Then we’ll be fine, regardless of the political ‘blah, blah, blah,’ if it’s not, you can have the nicest drawn map, and it will fail.”

Mocking the peacemaker 

While both men had been engaged in peace work long before Oct. 7, that day and the war in Gaza that followed changed the landscape. Colleagues and friends told them they could no longer find it in themselves to care about the suffering of the other side.

“Palestinian friends would say … this happened because of what they’ve been doing to us … Then I would talk to Jewish friends who would tell me, ‘I used to sympathize with you Palestinians, but from now on, I just don’t care,’” Abu Sarah said. “The moment you do that, part of your humanity dies. I prefer to have the pain of feeling than to kill that part of me that maybe makes it easier.”

Maoz and Aziz sipping carob juice at the spice market in the Old City Photo by Uri Levi

Abu Sarah said that when he tells people he is a peacemaker, they are incredulous. “They go, Oh, well, how is that going? Like in a mocking way.” He compared it to those working to find a cure for cancer. “If you’ve met a cancer researcher who’s trying to develop vaccines… you would respond to someone who is trying to make vaccines, saying, ‘God bless you.’”

“Peace has been done many times. A cancer vaccine has not,” he remarked, laughing.

Inon recalled a memory of his father shared during his parents’ shiva. Every night, his siblings sat around the table listening to him — the manager of the kibbutz’s farm — talk about his day.

“He would share the catastrophe in the fields,” Inon said. “The floods, the drought, the wildfire, the insects. Every day there was something new.”

But he always had faith in next year’s crop.

“He would say that next year, he will sow again. It doesn’t matter how devastating this season is,” he continued. “He will learn from his mistakes. He will consult with other farmers … and next season, he will sow again — not with prayers, not just believing, but knowing that next year will be better.”

The post A Palestinian and an Israeli bereaved in violence make the case for peace appeared first on The Forward.

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In Britain, a Jewish Culture Month aims to move the conversation beyond Oct. 7

(JTA) — In the almost three years since the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas invasion of Israel, Great Britain has seen “a relentless focus on everything to do with the Jewish community in the public domain, and it’s about antisemitism or Israel,” said Adam Ma’anit, the communications manager for the Board of Deputies of British Jews.

Over the past four weeks, a flurry of performances, lectures and art exhibits has been an opportunity to move past that.

The Board of Deputies, which represents a community of diverse and often competing views under its umbrella, created Jewish Culture Month, a first-of-its-kind series held under the banner of “Less Oy, More Joy.” The month was designed to bolster Jewish communal confidence and to introduce wider audiences to aspects of Jewish life that rarely make headlines.

The month, which wrapped up Tuesday, sought to make clear that British Jewish identity is, and always has been, about far more than conflict. “We’re not defined as a community by pain,” Ma’anit told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “We’ve got great architects, writers, and musicians as well.”

Those artists were featured in more than 150 events over four weeks across the country at major museums and galleries , including London’s British Museum, Oxford’s Bodlein Library, Bath’s Little Theatre Cinema, Nottinghamshire’s National Holocaust Museum and local synagogues and private homes nationwide.

Among them was The Klezmer Village Band, which introduced Jewish culture to primary schools in Plymouth. “We wanted to bring Jewish culture back into the community,” Plymouth Jewish Community Director Louise Clements said. “This is the first time in many years that something like this has happened here.”

One of the band’s musicians, Ilana Cravitz, also noted after the event that “music is a wordless language. People respond from inside — they stop thinking, they feel. And we really saw that today.”

Notables featured throughout the celebrations included British broadcaster and television personality Vanessa Feltz, who spoke at the opening at London’s Freud Museum; comedian Bennett Arron, who performed stand-up routines in Hampstead, London; and acclaimed British artist and vocal Israel critic Anish Kapoor, whose exhibit opening on Tuesday closed out the month.

“Part of Jewish Culture Month is about us celebrating our own culture and being proud, British Jews, and asserting ourselves in an environment where it has been the most challenging to be that very British Jew,” said Ma’anit.

The Holocaust Memorial Day Trust noted another aspect of the festival soon after it kicked off on May 16. “At a time when division and prejudice continue to affect communities across the country, initiatives like Jewish Culture Month can help build understanding and strengthen social cohesion,” it posted social media.

However, some thought it difficult to focus on social cohesion when discussing contemporary British Jewish identity without discussing how that identity dovetails with British Jews’ relationship with Israel.

It’s something that Jewish Renaissance, the online magazine of Jewish culture, raised ahead of the opening. Freelance writer and former Jewish Quarterly editor Matthew Reisz wrote that while there was definitely diversity in the program, “We seem unlikely to hear much about the deep divisions within the community, not least in relation to Israel/Palestine, or the crucial, though often tense dialogue with other minority communities on both shared and contentious issues.”

Ma’anit insisted that the choice was a deliberate one. “It’s not a rejection of Zionism or distancing ourselves from Israel,” he said. “Quite the opposite. The board’s leadership remains openly supportive of Israel and many of the figures involved in the project have deep personal and family ties to the country.”

Israeli-born Ma’anit is one of those figures. He is the cousin of the Idan family of Nachal Oz, a kibbutz close by the border with Gaza. Eighteen-year-old Maayan Idan was shot and killed by Hamas terrorists on Oct. 7 while trying to help her father, Tsachi, hold their safe room door closed. The entire event was livestreamed by the terrorists. Tsachi was abducted into Gaza, where it was believed he was still alive as the war on Gaza raged. It was discovered only later that he had been murdered, with his body finally returned in the hostage deal in February 2025.

Ma’anit, who spent those years lobbying for the hostages’ return, appearing on news programs and organizing hostage vigils in his hometown of Brighton, has been forced to meld the personal with the professional when it comes to the post-Oct. 7 era.

It’s why, he said, Jewish Culture Month is about creating space for aspects of Jewish identity that have been overshadowed post Oct. 7. “The argument is not that Israel is unimportant,” he said, “it’s that Jewish life cannot be reduced to Israel alone.”

Yet even without a focus on Israel and Zionism, the month did not pass without the conflict in the Middle East affecting the program. In May, a culture month lecture titled “Ancient Israel and Judah” at the British Museum had to be postponed, the museum said, because of “security concerns” over potential “disruptions” by protesters who had obtained tickets. The rescheduled event, held June 11, was the best-attended of the entire series, with around 4,000 people joining in person and online.

Ma’anit called the incident “overblown. It was just procedural,” he said. “People fill in the blanks and then it gets out of control.”

However, the speed with which the controversy escalated and elicited angry reactions from many in the community only served to highlight how questions about Jewish visibility and any event with “Israel” in the name — even a reference to thousands of years ago — have become highly charged in the last three years.

“It just shows how on edge the community is,” Ma’anit said.

That has intensified the need for something like Jewish Culture Month in the eyes of many British Jews. Steph Thwaites, head of a group dedicated to helping Jewish publishing professionals navigate an increasingly hostile publishing industry, said after a Jewish Culture Month event on the topic that the professionals felt “a sense of community and a source of comfort,” as well as a space to “combat anti-Jewish racism in publishing and to support Jewish creatives.”

Ultimately, as UK Communities Secretary Steve Reed put it in his speech at the launch of the festivities, Jewish Culture Month “is a time to celebrate Britain’s Jewish community and its contribution to our shared story. It’s a time for coming together. It’s a time for friendship. Jewish experience cannot just be about defending against fear; it also has to be an expression of hope and joy and freedom.”

The post In Britain, a Jewish Culture Month aims to move the conversation beyond Oct. 7 appeared first on The Forward.

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This Jewish activist was arrested and deported for her book ‘Lesbian Love.’ 100 years later, will NYC apologize?

In 1926, New York City police arrested Eve Adams, a Polish-Jewish immigrant who ran a lesbian bar in Greenwich Village, for the crime of being gay.

The formal charges were more euphemistic. Officially, Adams was charged with disorderly conduct — that is, flirting with an undercover police officer who had entrapped her, and obscenity, for writing and possessing the book Lesbian Love. 

The following year, the U.S. government deported Adams to Poland, in what was effectively a death sentence: 16 years later, Adams would be murdered at Auschwitz.

Now, a century after Adam’s arrest, Manhattan Borough President Brad Hoylman-Sigal — the first openly gay person to hold the elected position — is urging New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani to formally recognize the city’s role in Adams’ persecution.

He sent a letter to Mamdani requesting that the city issue a formal declaration acknowledging Adams’ conviction in 1926 “was unjust and rooted in discriminatory law enforcement and affirming that New York City failed her as a pioneer of LGBTQ+ life, as an immigrant, and as a Jewish woman who was ultimately deported to her death.”

“Adams’s story is among the most unjust in our city’s history,” the letter reads. “One hundred years after her arrest, we have the obligation and the opportunity to say plainly that she deserved better.”

In a statement to the Forward, the Mayor’s office said they are reviewing the request.

“The Mamdani Administration is deeply committed to uplifting the stories of New Yorkers that have gone unheard throughout history,” deputy press secretary Sam Raskin said.

A pioneer

Born with the name Chawa Zloczower in Poland in 1891, Adams immigrated to the United States through Ellis Island at age 20.

In America, she adopted the name Eve Adams — a playful nod to her androgyny, invoking the biblical Adam and Eve — and wore men’s clothing.

“She was a vibrant activist, who was daring. She had an androgynous appearance, which immediately identified her as a lesbian,” said Jonathan Ned Katz, author of The Daring Life and Dangerous Times of Eve Adams. “Wearing pants for women was just unthinkable in the time period.”

Adams soon immersed herself in New York’s anarchist circles, befriending prominent Jewish anarchists Emma Goldman and Alexander Berkman. She worked as a traveling saleswoman for leftist publications including Mother Earth, activities that landed her on the Bureau of Investigation’s watch list during the First Red Scare.

In 1923, Adams published Lesbian Love, a collection of essays about the romantic lives of dozens of women in Greenwich Village. Katz described the book as far ahead of its time.

“The word “lesbian” was not used much. It was like a dirty word at the time, so you didn’t say it out loud,” Katz said. “Here she was, putting it on a book jacket.”

Two years later, Adams opened Eve’s Hangout in Greenwich Village. The underground tearoom became a rare refuge where lesbian women could socialize openly.

Hella Olstein Soldner and Eve Adams. Courtesy of Chicago Review Press

But the haven proved short-lived. In 1926, an undercover detective named Margaret Leonard visited Eve’s Hangout, where she met Adams. The following day, the two attended a play in Times Square together. Adams gave Leonard a copy of Lesbian Love — evidence of “obscenity” that prosecutors later used against her — and Leonard alleged Adams made sexual advances toward her during the taxi ride to the theater.

Adams was convicted and spent 18 months in jail before the United States deported her to Poland.

She settled in Paris, where she began a relationship with Jewish cabaret singer Hella Olstein Soldner. In 1943, the two women were arrested and sent to the Drancy internment camp. From there, they were deported to Auschwitz, where both were murdered.

Adams’ legacy

Over the years, Adams has come to be recognized as a Jewish LGBTQ icon. Her life inspired the play The Great Lesbian Love of Eve Adams, and she was the subject of a New York Times obituary published as part of the newspaper’s “Overlooked” series, which chronicles the lives of notable people throughout history whose deaths went unreported.

Hoylman-Sigal said he was inspired to commemorate Adams by the NYC LGBTQ Historic Sites Project, a nonprofit that documents local queer history, which asked him to send the letter to Mamdani. The Sites Project also offers historic walking tours of the city featuring Adams’ story.

“Their jaws drop when we tell them these stories, standing in front of the building where her tea room was,” said Ken Lustbader, co-founder of the NYC LGBT Historic Sites Project.


On Wednesday, the centennial of Adams arrest, the Sites Project is hosting a performance and vigil in Adams’ honor at the former site of Eve’s Hangout — today, home to La Lanterna, an Italian cafe and pizzeria.

The site of Eve’s Hangout has also been recognized by the National Park Service as part of a roundup of Greenwich Village landmarks significant to LGBTQ history.

New York City, however, has never formally acknowledged the injustice of Adams’ arrest, conviction and deportation.

A posthumous apology would be unusual, though not without precedent: In 2019, the NYPD formally apologized for its 1969 raid on the Stonewall Inn, describing the department’s actions as “discriminatory and oppressive.”

“I would love to see the mayor do it, but we could have one from the police department — an apology for sort of framing her,” Katz said. “They sent in a plainclothes policewoman to entrap her, and so that was really beyond a democratic process.”

The NYPD did not respond to the Forward‘s request for comment.

Whether or not the city issues an official acknowledgement, Hoylman-Sigal said he hopes the campaign will help keep Adams’ story alive.

“It’s an extremely poignant story, sorrowful, outrageous, sad — and one that most people don’t know about,” he said. “So I thought bringing attention to it was a righteous cause.”

Jacob Kornbluh contributed reporting.

The post This Jewish activist was arrested and deported for her book ‘Lesbian Love.’ 100 years later, will NYC apologize? appeared first on The Forward.

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Ever the restless spirit, Tel Aviv-born architect and designer Ron Arad is still reinventing himself and his art

When the announcement was made on June 12 that Ron Arad, 75, has been appointed a Commander of the Order of the British Empire (CBE), it marked another step in the Tel Aviv-born architect, artist and designer’s remarkably varied journey. Arad’s mother was the painter Esther Peretz-Arad and his father Grisha was a sculptor and photographer. After industrial design studies at the Bezalel Academy of Arts and Design in Jerusalem, Arad traveled to London to become an architect, and has remained based there ever since. Yet although he won early fame with his piquant, witty concepts for chairs, Arad has proven anything but sedentary over the past half-century. Indeed, a 2010 retrospective at London’s Barbican Art Gallery was titled “Restless.”

Despite this seemingly permanent shpilkes (restless agitation), humane consideration for the pathways of others has been a constant in Arad’s public projects. His design for Beit Shulamit (2025), a cancer treatment center at the HaEmek Medical Center in Afula, northern Israel, intended to serve Jewish, Christian, Muslim and Druze communities in Israel and Palestine, deliberately freed patients and visitors from “horrible hospital corridors,” Arad told an architectural periodical. Patients walking around the site are given views of nature outdoors at every turn, in a facility that is the first to offer specialist cancer treatment for residents of West Bank conflict zones, including the cities of Jenin and Nablus. Named in honor of Dr. Shulamit Katzman, a pediatrician, the building’s gently curved lines embrace the public.

Arad at the Centre Pompidou in Paris, 2009. Photo by LIONEL BONAVENTURE/AFP via Getty Images

This awareness of social cohesion is also present in an Arad sculpture on the Tel Aviv University campus. “Kesher” is dedicated to the estimated 4,000 Ethiopian Jews who died from adverse conditions in transition camps on the Sudanese border while trying to emigrate to Israel between 1979 and 1990. Composed of dynamically soaring, interwoven metal tubes, the artwork, wrapped around two live palm trees, a ubiquitous symbol of the Middle East, evokes an expedition. A repeated figure-eight symbolizes the endless continuity of the immigrants’ route and the resolve that it communicates.

In England, Arad assisted the National Health Service (NHS) in responding to the COVID-19 pandemic. A flock of UK Jewish celebrities posed for photos wearing Arad-designed cotton masks, including actor Stephen Fry, comedian David Baddiel, and television host Natasha Kaplinsky. Despite lively colors, the masks, intended to be sold for fundraising, retained a somewhat tragic aura, like the grotesque permanent smile of Victor Hugo’s Gothic novel The Man Who Laughs.

Potential tragedy inherent in triumph likewise radiates from another Arad project, the Totzeret HaAretz (ToHA) tower, an office skyscraper in central Tel Aviv which was inspired by the shape of an iceberg. Its angular glass, built as the polar ice caps are rapidly melting and the fate of the passenger liner Titanic’s collision with an iceberg is particularly relevant, the ensemble when complete will include an 80-floor companion tower, Tel Aviv’s tallest building.

Similarly, Arad is aware of the agony of defeat as well as artistic victories he has experienced over the years. When his codesign for a National Holocaust Monument Ottawa in Canada failed to win a competition, Arad published the concept anyway. The result is a highly literary, theological rumination on the impact of the Shoah on modern Jewish history. Ever conscious of the pedestrian’s progress, Arad’s design featured concrete walls framing 22 narrow passageways, one for each country in which Jewish communities were decimated. These walls, spaced around a meter apart, would have allowed only one visitor to fit through at a time. The solitude would have been lessened by an architectural allusion to the covenant of the pieces (Brit Bein HaBetarim), the first of a series of covenants between God and the Patriarchs. In this narrative, God revealed himself to Abram (later Abraham), promising that his descendants would inherit the Land of Israel.

Arad at the ‘Ron Arad: In Reverse’ exhibition in 2013. Photo by Venturelli/WireImage via Getty Images

Less loftily or weighty with destiny, Arad’s chief promise as an artist is to his own creativity. He was so inspired by a melody by the American Jewish songwriter Jonathan Richman about shedding personal inhibition and pretension by accepting new, unfamiliar surroundings and contexts, that in all seriousness he informed an interviewer in 2005 that he wanted Richman’s tune, “I Was Dancing In The Lesbian Bar” to be played at his funeral. Another impeded project where dancing might have been at least delayed was a London Holocaust Memorial and Learning Centre design, initially approved in 2017, but later bogged down by objections about its proposed site, Victoria Tower Gardens, next to the Houses of Parliament. However, in January, a Holocaust Memorial Act 2026 received Royal Assent, officially clearing a legal hurdle blocking the construction of Arad’s UK Holocaust Memorial; the recent conferral of a CBE by Charles III, known to take particular interest in Jews and Holocaust victims, represents further establishment endorsement of Arad and his work.

Despite this authorized approval, Arad looks likely to remain an offbeat spirit, drawing inspiration from a wide range of predecessors, including the Czernowitz-born Austrian Jewish creator Friedrich Jacob Kiesler who innovated with 1965’s “Shrine of the Book” in Jerusalem to house the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Aleppo Codex, among other texts. Kiesler was also responsible for an unbuilt architectural concept, the Endless House, a biomorphic, continuous form with no beginning, end, or even boundaries between floor, wall, and ceiling. Some Arad projects resemble completed versions of things Kiesler and his fellow Jewish surrealists might have only dreamed of.

When it is built, Arad’s Holocaust Memorial will pay tribute to several minority groups targeted by the Nazis, in addition to the Jews. The Learning Centre is intended to explore antisemitism, but also extremism, Islamophobia, racism, homophobia and other forms of prejudice in today’s society. Much of it will be underground, drawing visitors down narrow stairs into the exhibition space and learning center, in yet another example of Arad’s obsession with peregrinations, like a modern-day architectural Benjamin of Tudela, a medieval Jewish traveler. Ever shedding past identities, Arad told the 2005 interviewer that the living person he most admired was Bob Dylan, for “reinventing himself and for reinventing us.” In a comparable way, Ron Arad has also reworked his own optic to express modern Jewish identity in a variety of forms, as an excursion hampered by tragedy and ominous echoes at times, but also with the possibility of quick-witted celebration.

At last year’s Royal Academy Summer Exhibition, Arad presented a bronze sculpture titled “I doubt therefore I think” (Dubito Ergo Cogito). Inviting museumgoers to sit on it, the artwork likely referred to a time-honored Jewish tradition of doubt as the mitzvah of questioning. This mitzvah has accompanied Arad’s career-long odyssey in the arts.

The post Ever the restless spirit, Tel Aviv-born architect and designer Ron Arad is still reinventing himself and his art appeared first on The Forward.

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