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Dramatic stories of survival, endurance and escape reign as Ukrainian Jews mark 1 year of war
(JTA) — Most of the passengers on the flight from Chisinua, Moldova, to Tel Aviv earlier this month were subdued.
Some had just witnessed scene after scene of hardship on a tour of war-torn Ukraine organized by the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews. Others, about 90 in all, were Ukrainians in the process of moving permanently to Israel, talking in hushed tones about being on a plane for the first time, their uncertain future and the loved ones they left behind.
Alexei Shkurat was not subdued.
Bespectacled and bearded, he was standing in his seat, making wisecracks that caused the elderly woman in the seat next to him to guffaw despite herself.
“I like joking and communicating. It’s my life, why waste it being nervous?” Shkurat told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency in English.
“And anyway, I’m happy, happy, happy I will soon see my sons again,” he added.
Switching to Russian, Shkurat’s brow furrowed and his voice lowered when he recounted how, on Feb. 28, 2022, he had risked his life to transport his sons, 14 and 12, to the border with Poland with their mother and grandmother. From there they would move to Israel.
Shkurat could not go with them. The borders were closed for military-aged men, so Shkurat was forced to drive back to his hometown of Odessa. What happened next, as he recounts it, was harrowing: As he passed an empty field near Lviv, he encountered two Ukrainian soldiers, their AK-74 rifles trained on him. Shkurat raised his hands and was told to step out of his vehicle. He knew that if he made one false move, he would be shot.
The soldiers searched the car and interrogated him, asking him why he was traveling alone after curfew and even asking if he was a Russian spy. Shkurat later learned that 40 Russian paratroopers had recently landed in the area and had stolen ambulances and police cars. He answered the soldiers in Russian, which only raised their suspicions. Ukrainian is the dominant language in western Ukraine, but as a Jew from Odessa, Shkurat’s native tongue is Russian.
“I was terrified. I know that they were only doing their job, but the situation was so scary. Everything I ever knew in life had changed,” he said.
Catch up on all of JTA’s coverage of the Ukraine War here.
By a considerable stroke of luck, Shkurat, a street artist, was able to prove his identity by showing the soldiers his Instagram page, filled with posts of his art in locations all over Odessa.
But according to Shkurat, the story was far from over. The next chapter of his life was far more hair-raising, he said. Pressed on the details, Shkurat grinned and switched back to English.
“I can’t tell you a thing,” he said. “I want to sell the story to Netflix.”
Whatever cinematic experience Shkurat might have had, his fellow passengers surely had made-for-the-movies stories of their own. They had made it through nearly a year of war before deciding to move to Israel, making them the latest of 5,000 new immigrants from Ukraine facilitated by the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews, working in collaboration with Israeli government entities such as Nativ and the Ministry of Aliyah and Integration. Approximately 15,000 Ukrainians in total have immigrated, or made aliyah, in the last year.
Ukrainian Jewish refugees who fled the war in their country wait on a bus upon arrival at Ben Gurion Airport near Tel Aviv, on an airlift of medically needy passengers made possible by the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews, Dec. 22, 2022. (Gil Cohen-Magen/AFP via Getty Images)
According to the group’s vice president, Gidi Schmerling, if there is any upside to the war from Israel’s perspective, it’s that many middle-class Ukrainians — doctors, engineers and high-tech employees — who wouldn’t have otherwise made aliyah are now choosing to do so.
But IFCJ’s mandate also includes the Jews who stayed behind. Since Russian tanks first rumbled across the border a year ago, the group has raised more than $30 million dollars — primarily from evangelical Christians from North America and Korea — for the main Jewish organizations in Ukraine including the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, or JDC, and Chabad. (Both groups do extensive fundraising of their own.) This week, the anniversary of Russia’s invasion, it announced another $4 million in planned spending.
In Odessa, more than 7,000 people currently receive aid from IFJC via local Jewish groups. The Jewish community, once 50,000 strong, now stands at 20,000, according to the city’s chief rabbi, Avraham Wolff. Seven thousand food packages are distributed every month in Chabad centers. Many of the beneficiaries are older — among them some 187 Holocaust survivors — but not all. Several hundred are people who were displaced from surrounding cities, such as Mykolaiv, which was hit much harder by Russian shells, and some are the so-called new poor, those for whom the war has plunged into poverty from loss of income and rising inflation.
Ala Yakov Livne, an 86-year-old widow, is one of many who lined up recently to receive a box with oil, flour and other basic necessities. For Livne, the part that stings most about the last year is the sense of betrayal.
“[The Russians] were our neighbors. Many of them were our friends,” she said.
“Times have changed but some things never change,” Livne went on. “Back then, we were under occupation under the Nazis, back then, they tried to kill us, and now again, we are under occupation and they are trying to destroy us.”
Yelena Kuklova survived the Holocaust by being hidden by non-Jewish neighbors. “We started our lives in war and we’re finishing them in war,” she said. (Deborah Danan)
It was a refrain that would be repeated several times over the ensuing days. In a trembling voice, 85-year-old Holocaust survivor Yelena Kuklova, who as a child was hidden by her non-Jewish neighbors in a suitcase in a closet, echoed the sentiment.
“They killed us then because we were Jews. They are killing us today because we are Ukrainian,” she said, a slow cascade of tears spilling over her cheekbones. “We started our lives in war and we’re finishing them in war.”
And so it was in battle-scarred Mykolaiv, 140 kilometers northeast of Odessa. “What the Germans never managed to do, the Russians did,” said Eli Ben Mendel Hopstein, standing in front of his building, pockmarked from the shrapnel of a Russian missile.
Inside his home, Hopstein rifled through decades-old photos of himself in the navy. “I know danger,” he said, “and I don’t feel it now.” He describes himself as a proud Jew. “First, I am a Jew, then I am Ukrainian, and I never once hid this from anyone.”
Mykolaiv, pro-Russia before the war and now a vanguard of the south, has become a source of pride for its residents because of Russia’s failure to occupy it. Even before the war, Mykolaiv was a desperately poor city. But now, following eight months of daily explosions, destruction is everywhere and the city’s critical infrastructure has been badly damaged.
Damaged buildings are a common sight in Mykolaiv, which Russian troops pummeled during the first year of the war. So are people lining up for potable water. (Deborah Danan)
Like Odessa, the city has no electricity for up to 22 hours a day. For more than half a year, large swaths of the city had no water at all. Today, residents can turn on the tap and get a murky brown liquid known as technical water, but it is far from potable. For drinking and cooking, they are forced to collect safe water in plastic gallon bottles at water stations all over the city, many of which were installed by the Israeli nonprofit IsraAID.
Scenes of people placing buckets outside their houses in the hope of catching rainwater became ubiquitous in Mykolaiv. For its Jewish contingent, Chabad provides truckloads of bottled water. Hopstein credits the IFCJ and Chabad for keeping him alive.
“If it wasn’t for their help, I would have nothing,” he said.
Across the road from Hopstein, 82-year-old Galina Petrovna Mironenko, who is not Jewish, is not so lucky. A Russian S300 missile that appeared to be targeting a nearby university missed its mark and struck Mironenko’s home, decimating her every earthly possession. Mironenko said the only help she gets is a weekly loaf of bread from the government. Standing in her charred kitchen, her red and blue checkered headscarf offering the only color, Mironenko’s expression is almost childlike — a jarring contrast to the words she utters.
Galina Petrovna Mironenko stands in the wreckage of her home in Mykolaiv, destroyed by a Russian missile. Her Jewish neighbor credits aid from Jewish organizations for keeping him alive. (Deborah Danan)
“I have died three times in my life,” she said. “Once when my father died, again when my son died and a third time after the 20 minutes it took for my house to burn.”
Back in Odessa, the sun has set and the city is cloaked in darkness, a cue that soon it will be time to head indoors for the nightly curfew. But first, a visit to the Orlikovsky family who are packing their suitcases ahead of their emigration the next day. On the couch in the tiny living room sit four generations of Jews: Alina; her daughter, Marina; her grandson Andrey; and Andrey’s wife and daughter Viktoria and Sofiya.
Andrey recalls Feb. 24, 2022. “I couldn’t believe my eyes and ears. I heard a terrible blast and grabbed my daughter and told my wife, ‘Let’s get out!’ I thought my house was going to collapse like a doll’s house.”
Participants of the Hanukkah celebration in Kharkiv, northeastern Ukraine, received a hot meal — part of the sustained aid that Jewish communities have distributed throughout the war there, Dec. 18, 2022. (Vyacheslav Madiyevskyi / Ukrinform/Future Publishing via Getty Images)
But it would take nearly a year to finally make the move, because of Viktoria’s late mother who was sick and because, in Andrey’s words, “you get used to the bombs.”
“We live without power, we live without heating, very often there is no hot water. We are living like insects,” Alina said. “My children told me, mama, we need to go.”
When the family finished speaking, the electricity came back and the lights turned on. Sofiya, 5 years old, laughed into her mother’s chest.
The first anniversary of the war marks two weeks since Alexei Shkurat and the other 89 new arrivals were greeted on the tarmac of Ben Gurion Airport by Israel’s new immigration minister, Ofir Sofer. Shkurat is on the lookout for a permanent home in a place where he can sell his art.
“I am getting to know the country and looking for new friends,” he said. “I want to do a lot of beautiful and bright projects. I want to draw a lot,” he said.
He deeply misses Odessa, which he called an amazing city, but being reunited with his sons has soothed the pain.
“Meeting with my children was the best event of the last year,” he said.
—
The post Dramatic stories of survival, endurance and escape reign as Ukrainian Jews mark 1 year of war appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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What sort of Yiddish do Yiddishists speak today?
Ask the question: “What sort of Yiddish do Yiddishists speak?” and a jokester might respond: “Well, these days they speak English.”
But let’s consider the Yiddishists who really do speak it in order to preserve it as a living language, because they see it as a treasured part of the Ashkenazi cultural heritage.
Their purpose is different than the Hasidim who speak the language as a way of preserving their religious lifestyle and traditional Jewish values.
Linguist Emma Breslow recently defended her dissertation about the way that Yiddishists speak the language. She interviewed 30 Yiddish speakers at the annual week-long Yiddish immersion retreat Yiddish Vokh and also met with Yiddish speakers from New York, Boston and Montreal.
When she asked people whether they considered themselves Yiddishists, most said no. Perhaps the words Yiddishism and Yiddishist sound rather old-fashioned today. Since Breslow couldn’t find a label that speakers could agree on, she uses the phrase “minority-context Yiddish community” in her study. This category, she writes, also includes former Hasidim who occasionally participate in Yiddishist gatherings.
One surprise in her dissertation is the diversity in this community’s Yiddish. An outsider might assume that all Yiddishists speak the same but that isn’t so: some adhere to Standard Yiddish — the literary standard established by the YIVO Institute for Jewish Research and used in most Yiddish language courses today. Others use the Polish or Ukrainian Yiddish dialect or switch dialects. Sometimes they would say gut (good) and other times — git; sometimes zogn (to say) and other times — zugn.
When Breslow asked people their opinion of Standard Yiddish she mainly received negative answers, although some acknowledged that Standard Yiddish could be useful for learning the language, since the spelling closely matches the pronunciation.
Some interviewees made unexpected comments about Standard Yiddish, as in “Nobody speaks that,” even if, being at the Yiddish Vokh, they might have earlier chatted with Standard Yiddish speakers, and even heard children speak it as a native language. Her dissertation discusses this feeling they have that Standard Yiddish lacks authenticity — maybe precisely because so few people speak it from birth.
The minority-context Yiddish community consists of several groups: a) native speakers — those who speak Yiddish well from home; b) heritage speakers — those who heard it as children, but don’t speak it well; c) students and others who studied the language as adults, and d) former Hasidim, who now live in the larger secular world. Each group speaks differently, but there are interesting points of comparison.
Among her subjects, the former Hasidim speak so-called Hasidic Yiddish — a dialect that linguists have been researching intensely in recent years. Students mostly speak a sort of Standard Yiddish, which they learned from their teachers. All of the Yiddish speakers often exhibited a certain influence or interference from English; no surprise, considering that Hasidim — the largest group of Yiddish speakers today by far — mix English words into their Yiddish too.
Breslow’s quotations include interesting examples of code-switching — when speakers go back and forth between languages. Some of the younger speakers use the word like as a discourse marker in their Yiddish just as in their English.
A second topic of Breslow’s investigation is the articulation of the Yiddish letter reysh, which is similar to the R sound. In the older dialects there were two sorts of reysh: the throat (uvular) reysh, like in French or Modern Hebrew, and the tongue-tip (apical) reysh, as in Russian or Spanish. In addition to those two pronunciations, today’s Yiddishists also use the English-style (retroflex) reysh. Interestingly, linguist Uriel Weinreich, who authored the textbook, cautioned in the preface that students should not use the American reysh.
The grammar of the Yiddishists is also worth examining. Although many have taken courses teaching the grammar of Standard Yiddish, they don’t necessarily follow the rules. That shouldn’t come as a surprise, since even authentic Yiddish speakers of previous generations spoke in dialects that differed considerably from the way Yiddish was written in books and in the press. That’s why there’s no reason to criticize Hasidim for “ruining the grammar,” as many non-Hasidic Yiddish speakers do, since Yiddish speakers have been “ruining” the proper grammar for centuries.
The post What sort of Yiddish do Yiddishists speak today? appeared first on The Forward.
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Argentina rabbi: What can can learn from losing the World Cup?
דעם פֿאַרגאַנגענעם זונטיק, גלײַך נאָכן סוף פֿונעם וועלט־בעכער טורניי 2026 האָב איך אָנגערופֿן אַ גוטן פֿרײַנד אין אַרגענטינע, כּדי צו הערן ווי עס גייט אים.
איך בין ממש צעבראָכן — האָט ער געזאָגט — פֿאַרוואָס האָט דער אויבערשטער דאָס געטאָן?!
האָב איך אים געענטפֿערט: — איך בין נישט דעם אויבערשטנס בוכהאַלטער, און זיכער נישט זײַן אַדוואָקאַט. איך ווייס נישט פֿאַרוואָס ער טוט וואָס ער טוט, און פֿאַרוואָס ער טוט נישט וואָס ער טוט נישט. איך מיין אַז די וויכטיקסטע פֿראַגע איז נישט: „פֿאַרוואָס איז דאָס געשען“? נאָר גיכער: „וואָס איצט? וואָס קענען מיר זיך דערפֿון לערנען?“
האָט ער מיך געפֿרעגט, וואָס איך האַלט איז דער מוסה־השׂכּל. האָב איך אים געפֿרעגט צי ער געדענקט די מעשׂה פֿון יונה.
— אַוודאי. דער פֿיש האָט אים אײַנגעשלונגען.
ריכטיק — האָב איך געזאָגט — אָבער דאָס איז בלויז דער ערשטער טייל פֿון דער מעשׂה. נאָך דעם וואָס יונה האָט אין נינווה איבערגעגעבן די נבֿואה, מיט וועלכער דער אויבערשטער האָט אים געשיקט, איז ער אַרויס פֿון שטאָט און זיך אַוועקגעזעצט צו זען וואָס עס וועט ווערן.
דער אויבערשטער האָט דעמאָלט געמאַכט אויפֿוואַקסן אַ קיקיון, וואָס האָט אים געגעבן שאָטן, און יונה האָט זיך זייער געפֿרייט. אָבער אויף מאָרגן האָט דער אויבערשטער געשיקט אַ וואָרעם, וואָס האָט פֿאַרדאָרבן דעם קיקיון, און דער בוים איז פֿאַרטריקנט געוואָרן.
ווען די זון האָט שטאַרק געברענט, האָט יונה געליטן פֿון דער היץ און איז געוואָרן גאָר פֿאַרצווייפֿלט. האָט אים דער אויבערשטער געפֿרעגט: טרויערסטו איבערן קיקיון?
און יונה האָט געענטפֿערט: יאָ, ביז צום טויט.
האָט דער אויבערשטער געזאָגט: דו באַדויערסט אַ קיקיון, וואָס דו האָסט נישט פֿאַרפֿלאַנצט און נישט אויפֿגעהאָדעוועט. אין איין נאַכט איז ער אויפֿגעקומען, און אין איין נאַכט איז ער פֿאַרגאַנגען.
און זאָל איך דען נישט רחמנות האָבן אויף דער גרויסער שטאָט נינווה, וווּ עס וווינען מער פֿון צוועלף טויזנט מענטשן?“…
די מעשׂה שטעלט אונדז פֿאָר אַ פּשוטע אָבער טיפֿע פֿראַגע: וואָס פֿאַרדינט טאַקע אונדזער גרעסטע זאָרג?
און דאָ קומען מיר צוריק צום וועלט־בעכער. עס איז גאָר פֿאַרשטענדלעך, אַז אַן אַרגענטינער זאָל זײַן אַנטוישט ווען זײַן מאַנשאַפֿט פֿאַרשפּילט. ספּאָרט רופֿט אַרויס שטאַרקע געפֿילן, און דאָס איז דווקא איינע פֿון די סיבות, פֿאַרוואָס מענטשן האָבן עס אַזוי ליב.
— דײַן טרויער איז נישט קיין חסרון — האָב איך אים געזאָגט — פֿאַרקערט. עס ווײַזט, אַז דו ביסט אַ מענטש מיט געפֿיל. און געפֿיל איז אַ טײַערע מידה.
אָבער ווען די ערשטע אַנטוישונג הייבט שוין אָן זיך אָפּצושוואַכן, איז כּדאַי זיך צו פֿרעגן: וואָס נאָך אין לעבן פֿאַרדינט אַזאַ מאָס פֿון דײַן איבערגעגעבנקייט?
באַטראַכט נאָר אַ מאָמענט. דו האָסט נישט געקענט ברענגען דעם נצחון, און דו האָסט אויך נישט גורם געווען די מפּלה. און דאָך האָט דער רעזולטאַט, וואָס איז בכלל נישט געווען אין דײַנע הענט, אַזוי שטאַרק באַווירקט דײַנע געפֿילן.
אפֿשר וואָלט זיך געלוינט אַרײַנצולייגן די זעלבע עמאָציאָנעלע ענערגיע אין אַן אַנדער מין „פֿאַרמעסט“ — אין אַזאַ, וווּ דײַנע באַשלוסן און דײַנע מעשׂים קענען טאַקע מאַכן אַן אמתן חילוק.
וואָס פֿאַר אַ פֿאַרמעסט מיין איך? דאָ קומט אַרײַן אַן אויסערגעוויינטלעכע הוראה פֿונעם רמב״ם.
דער רמב״ם שרײַבט, אַז יעדער מענטש דאַרף שטענדיק זען זיך אַליין און די גאַנצע וועלט ווי פּונקט באַלאַנצירט צווישן זכות און חובֿה.
איין מצווה. איין גוט וואָרט. איין מעשׂה פֿון חסד. אַפֿילו איין גוטער געדאַנק.
יעדער איינער פֿון זיי קען איבערוועגן די גאַנצע וואָג לטובֿה — נישט נאָר פֿאַר זיך אַליין, נאָר פֿאַר דער גאַנצער וועלט.
מיר טראַכטן אָפֿט: וואָס מאַכט אויס וואָס איך׳ל טאָן? איך בין דאָך בלויז איין מענטש צווישן אַכט ביליאָן? דער רמב״ם בעט אונדז צו קוקן אויף דער וועלט מיט אַנדערע אויגן:
שטעל זיך פֿאָר אַ וואָג. אויף איין זײַט שטייען פֿיר ביליאָן מענטשן. אויף דער צווייטער זײַט — נאָך פֿיר ביליאָן. די וואָג איז פּונקט באַלאַנצירט. איצט שטעל זיך פֿאָר, אַז דו טרעטסט צו און באַשליסט אויף וועלכער זײַט זיך צו שטעלן. אין יענער רגע ווערט דײַן באַשלוס דער באַשליסנדיקער. דו ביסט דער וואָס האָט איבערגעוואָגן די גאַנצע וואָג.
אויב דאָס קלינגט צו אַבסטראַקט, לאָמיר זיך אומקערן צום וועלט־בעכער.
דער גאַנצער טורניר — נאָך וואָכן פֿון שפּילן, צענדליקער נאַציאָנאַלע מאַנשפֿאַטן און הונדערטער שפּילער — איז דער סוף באַשלאָסן געוואָרן דורך איין איינציקן מאָמענט.
איין שפּילער. איין גאָל. אַזוי איז אויך אין דער רוחניותדיקער וועלט.
דער גרויסער געראַנגל צווישן גוטס און שלעכטס, וואָס באַגלייט די גאַנצע געשיכטע פֿון דער מענטשהייט, קען אויסזען ווי עפּעס צו גרויס, כּדי אַ יחיד זאָל קענען אײַנווירקן דערויף.
אָבער אויב די וואָג איז טאַקע באַלאַנצירט, ווי דער רמב״ם באַשרײַבט, קען דער גאַנצער סוף־רעזולטאַט אָפּהענגען פֿון איין מענטש. פֿון איין מצווה. פֿון איין גוט וואָרט. פֿון איין גוטן געדאַנק.
און יענער מענטש קען זײַן דווקא דו אַליין. מיט דעם באַשלוס וואָס ליגט הײַנט אין דײַנע הענט.
עס איז דאָ נאָך אַן ענין, וואָס דער וועלט־בעכער קען אונדז לערנען. די נבֿיאים באַשרײַבן אַ צײַט, ווען די וועלט וועט דערגרייכן איר אמתן ציל. דעמאָלט וועט דער משיח קומען און ברענגען אַן עפּאָכע פֿון שלום, גערעכטיקייט און אַלגעמיינער דערקענונג פֿון גאָט.
קען מען זיך פֿרעגן: ווי אַזוי איז עס מעגלעך, אַז איין מענטש זאָל אינספּירירן די גאַנצע וועלט?
אָבער טראַכט צוריק וועגן דעם וואָס מיר האָבן פּונקט איצט מיטגעזען. ביליאָנען מענטשן האָבן אין איין אויגנבליק זיך צוגעקוקט אויף איין מענטש: ליאָנעל מעסי.
פֿאַר אַ קורצן מאָמענט איז ער געוואָרן דער צענטער פֿונעם אויפֿמערק פֿון ביליאָנען מענטשן!
אויב דאָס איז מעגלעך אין דער וועלט פֿון ספּאָרט, איז עס נאָך מער פֿאַרשטענדלעך, אַז עס וועט קומען אַ טאָג, ווען די גאַנצע מענטשהייט וועט זיך ווענדן צו אַ פֿירער, וועמענס כּוח וועט נישט ליגן אין זײַנע פֿיס, נאָר אין זײַן רוח.
משיח וועט נישט פֿאַראייניקן מענטשן אַרום אַ פּילקע. ער וועט פֿאַראייניקן זיי אַרום אמת. אַרום גוטסקייט. אַרום גערעכטיקייט. אַרום שלום. און אַרום דער ידיעה פֿון ג-טליכקייט.
איך האָב דעמאָלט צוגעגעבן מיט ַא שמייכל: „ס׳איז דאָ אַ טשיקאַווער צופֿאַל. דער נאָמען Messi קלינגט ַא ביסל ענלעך צו Messiah.
אַוודאי איז דאָס בלויז אַ לשון־צופֿאַל. אָבער אַ מאָל קען אַ קליינע צופֿעליקייט דינען ווי אַ בריק צו אַ גרעסערן געדאַנק. און דער געדאַנק איז פּשוט:
אויב די גאַנצע וועלט קען זיך פֿאַראייניקן אַרום אַ פֿוסבאָל־פֿינאַל, אויב ביליאָנען מענטשן קענען זיך טיילן די זעלבע האָפֿענונג, די זעלבע שפּאַנונג און די זעלבע באַגײַסטערונג, דערמאָנט דאָס אונדז, אַז די מענטשהייט איז פֿעיִק זיך צו פֿאַראייניקן.
די פֿראַגע איז נאָר: אַרום וואָס?
די נבֿיאים זעען פֿאָרויס א טאָג, ווען די וועלט וועט זיך פֿאַראייניקן נישט אַרום קיין שפּיל, נאָר אַרום אַ ציל. נישט אַרום אַ געווינער, נאָר אַרום אמת. נישט אַרום אַ גאָל, נאָר אַרום דעם אויבערשטן.
און ביז עס קומט יענער טאָג, האָט יעדער איינער פֿון אונדז זײַן אייגענע ראָלע. מיר דאַרפֿן נישט וואַרטן אויף אַ פֿולן סטאַדיאָן. מיר דאַרפֿן נישט וואַרטן אויף אַ וועלט־פֿינאַל. און מיר דאַרפֿן זיכער נישט וואַרטן ביז אַלע אַנדערע וועלן טאָן וואָס זיי דאַרפֿן טאָן.
די געלעגנהייט ליגט פֿאַר אונדז יעדן טאָג. יעדער באַשלוס. יעדער גוט וואָרט. יעדע מצוה. יעדער אַקט פֿון חסד. זיי אַלע זײַנען מער באַטײַטנדיק, ווי מיר שטעלן זיך פֿאָר.
אפֿשר וועלן מיר קיינמאָל נישט וויסן, ווי ווײַט די השפּעה פֿון אַן איינציקער מעשׂה האָט זיך פֿאַרשפּרייט. אָבער לויט דעם רמב״ם דאַרפֿן מיר לעבן מיט דעם באַוווּסטזײַן, אַז עס איז זייער מעגלעך, אַז דווקא יענע מעשׂה האָט איבערגעווויגן די גאַנצע וואָג.
מיר קענען אפֿשר נישט באַשליסן ווער עס זאָל געווינען דעם וועלט־בעכער. אָבער מיר קענען יעדן טאָג באַשליסן וואָס פֿאַר אַ וועלט מיר העלפֿן בויען.
אויב יעדער פֿון אונדז וועט טאָן זײַן טייל, וועלן מיר אַלע צוזאַמען העלפֿן ברענגען דעם טאָג, ווען די וועלט וועט דערגרייכן איר אמתן נצחון — די גאולה האמתית והשלימה, מיט ביאת משיח צדקנו במהרה בימינו, ממש.
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Trump’s messy new deal with Saudi Arabia shows how far Israel has fallen
The American decision to sign a deal granting Saudi Arabia a pathway toward a civilian nuclear program is a terrible development for Israel — not just because Riyadh could one day turn nuclear infrastructure developed with the United States into a weapons capability.
The agreement reflects the collapse of Israeli strategy under Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu since the Hamas attack of Oct. 7, 2023; the erosion of Israel’s influence in the U.S.; and Israel’s descent toward the status of a pariah state.
A day after the deal was announced, Trump — seemingly rattled by the flood of criticism that ensued — said it was dependent on Saudi Arabia joining the Abraham Accords. But he did not clarify what aspect of the Accords he meant; there’s no indication that such a requirement is included in the already-signed deal; and Riyadh has made clear that it will do no such thing until there is concrete progress toward a Palestinian state, which is a fantastical notion under the current Israeli government.
For years, nuclear cooperation represented one of Washington’s greatest sources of leverage over Saudi Arabia. It was long believed that prospect would be used to anchor some kind of pact involving normalization with Israel, binding nuclear safeguards, a regional defense architecture and a united front against Iran. Under such an arrangement, Israel would have established formal relations with the Arab world’s most influential power, and gained both a central role in a new regional security system and enforceable Saudi commitments against pursuit of nuclear weapons.
Washington has now at least begun giving Riyadh the prize — no matter what Trump says, amending the deal post-facto will be at best extraordinarily difficult — without Israel receiving any of the benefits.
That dire truth is the outcome of nearly three years in which Israel has confused military brilliance with strategy, and abandoned almost all public diplomacy as its status in the world plummeted.
No one can deny the extraordinary capabilities displayed by Israel’s armed forces and intelligence services since the Oct. 7 massacre. Hezbollah absorbed devastating blows. Iranian military assets suffered setbacks. Hamas lost thousands of fighters and much of its military infrastructure.
But a sense of true strategy is needed to convert military achievement to political outcomes. Strategy can strengthen alliances, expand legitimacy and leave a country in a stronger geopolitical position than the one in which it entered a conflict.
That seems to be completely beyond Netanyahu’s ability.
In the months immediately following Oct. 7, Israel possessed something extraordinarily rare: overwhelming international legitimacy. Hamas had committed an atrocity that horrified much of the democratic world. Moderate Arab governments viewed Hamas as a dangerous extension of the same Islamist forces that threatened their own stability. Former President Joe Biden’s administration recognized that extraordinary alignment, and sought to build upon it, working toward an ambitious regional framework.
In the early months of war, Hamas faced near-unanimous global pressure to hand over Gaza to a reformed Palestinian Authority, backed by moderate Arab governments. Arab states appeared ready to help marginalize Hamas politically and financially, and make life uncomfortable for its leaders.
For a moment, it was easy to see a path forward in which Saudi Arabia would normalize relations with Israel, with other countries following. A U.S.-led regional alliance facing Iran might integrate Israel into the Middle East more deeply than was ever previously imaginable.
That framework offered Israel the chance to translate the trauma of Oct. 7 into a strategic transformation of the region. Instead, Netanyahu chose an open-ended war whose nebulously defined goals were not achievable by military means alone, amid a reasonable and growing suspicion in the public and around the world that he was doing so to preserve his hold on power.
Every few weeks Israelis heard that Hamas stood on the verge of collapse. Each extension of the war was presented as the last before “complete victory” — which Netanyahu kept claiming was “a step” away. Victory remained perpetually on the horizon as Israel’s international standing collapsed.
Now, Netanyahu is wanted at the Hague. Diplomatic isolation has deepened and economic pressure mounted as boycott movements — including many informal ones — expanded.
And critically, American public opinion has shifted sharply, particularly among younger Americans, threatening the bipartisan foundation upon which Israel’s relationship with Washington has rested for generations.
Recent credible polls show that more Americans now sympathize with Palestinians than with Israelis.
Israelis think this happened because of a propaganda campaign against them on social media, because of antisemitism in Europe, or because of hostile journalists. That is partly true but mostly wrong. These shifts are mostly a result of the posture of the Israeli government.
The reality is that Israel killed tens of thousands of Palestinian civilians, accepted that toll with remarkably little public reflection or regret, and relied on the trauma of Oct. 7 to justify it. Around the world, that proved politically devastating. It is especially absurd considering that Israel paid this extraordinary price without achieving its central objective of removing Hamas from Gaza — which was foreseeable and infuriating.
Things might change if the opposition comes to power in October. The idiotic demonization of the Palestinian Authority might end. Jewish terrorism in the West Bank might be stamped out. Settlement construction beyond the fence line, and certainly illegal outposts, might stop.
Israel might again at least be trying to find a solution to the festering Palestinian issue — or at least prefer to lower the flames. That might, in the long term, bring Saudi Arabia back to the table.
But the U.S, has stopped waiting. That the Saudi deal was signed at all, no matter what Trump says now, suggests that Washington is now basically indifferent to the loss of leverage for a deal favoring Israel.
How to resolve the muddle Trump has made? The key: the agreement appears to not include the possibility of enrichment on Saudi soil, but just general assistance to create a program for nuclear energy. So Trump will be able to say that enrichment must await Saudi normalization with Israel. But Saudi Arabia will still be able to claim the symbolic victory of entering into nuclear collaboration with the U.S.
And so, the regional architecture envisioned in the first months after Oct. 7 has vanished because of the forever-wars Netanyahu has pursued — which also resulted in the deaths of dozens of hostages and more than 1,000 soldiers, badly damaged Israel’s economy, and left the country’s international standing in shambles.
And the strategic alliance between Israel and the U.S. — without which Israel’s very existence will be in danger — is falling apart in front of our eyes, not because of Trump but because we are losing the American people.
This is what you get when you are all brawn and no brain, and all tactics and no strategy.
That realization should define Israel’s coming election far more even than arguments over judicial reform or the Haredi draft. Those who have led Israel into this disaster deserve to be punished. Not just removed from power, but decisively repudiated. They have become a danger to the Zionist project itself.
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