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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.
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On Yom Haatzmaut — a tribute to the mallow plant
במשך פֿון דער זעקס-וואָכיקער מלחמה מיט איראַן, וואָס האָט זיך געענדיקט מיט אַ פֿײַער־שטילשטאַנד דעם 8טן אַפּריל, זײַנען מיר, ישׂראלים, און בפֿרט די אײַנוווינערס פון תּל-אָבֿיבֿ, געבליבן נאָענט צו דער היים צוליב די סכּנה פֿון דערווײַטערן זיך פֿון אַ שוץ-קעלער. די צאָרן און דער צער זײַנען געוואַקסן פון טאָג צו טאָג: ס׳איז מיר קלאָר געווען אַז דאָס איז אַ געפֿערלעכער שפּיל מיט פֿײַער, אַן איבעריקע מלחמה, און מיר — און די אײַנוויינערס פֿון איראַן — וועלן באַצאָלן דעם פּרײַז. (אונדזער דירה איז טאַקע אַ ביסל צעשעדיקט געוואָרן אין איינער פֿון די באָמבאַרדירונגען). דערפֿאַר קאָנט איר זיך פֿאָרשטלען מיט וואָס פֿאַר אַ פֿרייד האָב איך אָנגענומען דעם פֿײַער-איבעררײַס; תּיכף נאָך דעם בין איך טאַקע אַרויסגעגאַנגען פֿון דער שטאָט, און גלײַך אין דער נאַטור.
און עס איז ווי געשען אַ נס: די נאַטור האָט זיך מכּלומרשט אָפּגעשטעלט אין דער צײַט פֿון דער קריג. דער פֿרילינג, וואָס ענדיקט זיך דאָ בדרך-כּלל פֿאַר פּסח, האָט דאָס מאָל געוואַרט אויף אונדז, זײַנע פֿאַרערערס. כּמעט די גאַנצע צײַט פֿון דער קריג איז געווען ווינטערדיק, מיט אַ סך רעגנס, און איצט, סוף חודש ניסן, איז נאָך אַלץ געבליבן גרין, פֿול מיט בלומען און געוויקסן — אַ זעלטנקייט.
צווישן די פֿאַרשיידענע בלומען און געוויקסן האָב איך באַמערקט אַז אויך די מאַלווע, וואָס אויף העברעיִש הייסט עס חוביזה, בליט נאָך מיט אירע חנעוודיקע וויאָלעטע בלומען. די בלומען בליִען, די קליינע פֿרוכטן זײַנען רייף, און די בלעטער זײַנען נאָך גרין.
די מאַלווע וואַקסט אין אַפֿריקע, אַזיע און אייראָפּע, און ישׂראל בתוכם. בדרך-כּלל שפּראָצן די ערשטע בלעטער פֿון דער מאַלווע אַרויס נאָך די ערשטע רעגנס פֿון ווינטער — אַרום דעצעמבער. זי וואַקסט פֿון זיך אַליין אין דער נאַטור, אָבער אויך אין די שטעט, אין די הויפֿן און אין נאָכגעלאָזטע גערטנער. אין פֿאַרגלײַך מיט די רקפֿות (ציקלאַמען), למשל, אָדער אַנדערע איידעלע בלומען, איז זי נישט קיין מפֿונק, און וואַקסט אומעטום.
די בלעטער קאָן מען עסן פֿריש, אָדער געקאָכטע צי געפּרעגלטע (ווײַטער אונטן וועט איר געפֿינען אַ רעצעפּט דערפֿאַר). עס איז אַ ביסל שלײַמיק; איר טעם דערמאָנט אין שפּינאַט, און זי האָט אַ סך געזונטע קוואַליטעטן. אין די פֿריסטע סטאַדיעס איז די מאַלווע גאָר נידעריק, אָבער אַרום פֿעברואַר דערגרייט זי ביז דער הייך פֿון אַ מענטשן. אַרום מערץ באַווײַזן זיך שוין די שיינע בלומען פֿון דער מאַלווע און דערצו די רונדיקע קליינע פּירות, וואָס קינדווײַז האָבן מיר אַלע געגעסן מיט הנאה.
די מאַלווע וואַקסט טאַקע ווילד, אָבער זי איז נישט סתּם קיין פּראָסטע געוויקס. קודם-כּל, איר נאָמען אַליין: דאָס וואָרט „חוביזה“ איז אַן אַראַבישער טערמין, כובעזאַ. אויף אַראַביש הייסט עס „אַ קליין ברויט“ („כובז“ איז ברויט), און טאַקע, אויך אין עבֿרית רופֿט מען עס אַמאָל „לחם ערבֿי“ (אַראַביש ברויט). עס האָט אייגנטלעך אַן אָפֿיציעלן נאָמען: „חלמית“ (לויט דער משנה כלאיים ח, א), און דערצו אַ וויסנשאַפֿטלעכן נאָמען: malva. אויף ענגליש הייסט עס Mallow. אָבער אַ חוץ אַ קליינער צאָל מומחים, רופֿט קיינער דאָ עס נישט אַנדערש ווי כובעזאַ.
צוליב איר ברייטהאַרציקער מנהג צו וואַקסן אומעטום, האָט מען באַנוצט די כובעזאַ, מאַלווע, אויך אין דער צײַט פֿונעם „מצור“, די בלאָקאַדע פֿון ירושלים אין יאָר 1948. אין די ווינטער־חדשים וואָס ירושלים איז געשטאַנען איבערגעריסן פֿונעם ייִשובֿ, האָבן די ירושלימער באַלאַבאָסטעס אָפּגעריסן די מאַלווע־בלעטער און געמאַכט פֿון זיי פֿאַרשיידענע מאכלים, בפֿרט קאָטלעטן. לזכר דעם האָט מען שפּעטער, אין די פֿופֿציקער יאָרן, פֿאָרגעשלאָגן אַז מע וועט דערלאַנגען די באַרימטע קאָטלעטן לכּבֿוד יום־העצמאות (דעם אומאָפּהענגיקייט-טאָג). אָט למשל האָט דער דערציִונג-מיניסטעריום אין 1955 פֿאָרגעלייגט אַן אָפֿיציעלער יום-טובֿדיקער מעניו: כובעזאַ-קאָטלעטן אין פּאָמידאָרן ראָסל, סאַלאַט-כובעזאַ אין טחינה, יויך מיט קרעפּלעך, „שבֿעת המינים“-טאָרט אאַז״וו. אַזאַ מעניו קאָן מען געפֿינען אויך אין דעם פּאָפּולערן קאָכבוך „365 שולחנות ערוכים“ (365 געדעקטע טיש), וואָס איז אַרויס אין 1961, און וואָס מײַן מאַמע האָט געהאַלטן כּמעט ווי אַ שולחן-ערוך.
טאַקע אַ שיינער אײַנפֿאַל — עסן כובעזאַ-קאָטלעטן לכּבֿוד יום־העצמאות — נאָר איין חיסרון האָט עס. ווי געזאָגט, וואַקסט די מאַלווע ווינטערצײַט, און אַ חוץ הײַיאָר, און נאָך זעלטענע יאָרן, זײַנען די בלעטער אין דער צײַט פֿון יום־העצמאות שוין אויסגעטריקנט, אָדער די אינסעקטן (וואָס האָבן אויך ליב כובעזאַ) האָבן זיי שוין אויפֿגעפֿרעסן. דערפֿאַר קאָן מען נישט פֿאַקטיש גרייטן די כובעזאַ-קאָטלעטן אָנהייב מײַ, ווען עס פֿאַלט בדרך-כּלל אויס יום־העצמאות.
מע דאַרף זיך מודה זײַן אַז בכּלל, מיט די יאָרן, האָט מען אַ ביסל גרינגעשעצט אָט די „לחם עוני“, די אָרעמע מאַלווע/כובעזאַ. ישׂראל איז געוואָרן רײַכער, און אין יום־העצמאות האָט מען אָנגעהויבן עסן דער עיקר פֿלייש „על האש“ – דאָס הייסט באַרבעקיו. אין די לעצטע יאָרן, נאָך דער „יורידישע רעוואָלוציע“ פֿון יאָר 2022, און בפֿרט נאָך דעם 7טן אָקטאָבער 2023 און די בלוטיקע מלחמות זינט דעמאָלט, האָבן אַ סך ישׂראלים בכּלל פֿאַרלוירן דעם אַפּעטיט צו יום־העצמאות. ווי עס שטייט אין קהלת: „לשׂמחה מה זו עושה“ (אויף לוסטיקייט — וואָס טוט זי אויף?). די פֿײַערונגען פֿון די לעצטע אומאָפּהענגיקייט-טעג האָבן עפּעס אַ ביטערן נאָך־טעם.
אָבער אפֿשר דווקא דאָס יאָר, לכּבֿוד דעם שפּעטערדיקן פֿרילינג און דער האָפֿענונג אַז עס וועט שוין נעמען אַ סוף צו דער מלחמה, קאָן מעט זיך צוריקקערן צו די באַשיידענע גוטע בלעטער. דערבײַ קאָן מען אַ תּפֿילה טאָן אַז ישׂראל זאָל אַליין אויפֿגעריכט ווערן, און איך גלויב נאָך אַלץ אַז עס קאָן זײַן בעסער סײַ פֿאַר אונדז און סײַ פֿאַר אונדזערע שכנים.
צום סוף, אָט איז דער צוגעזאָגטער רעצעפּט פֿון די געשמאַקע מאַלווע-קאָטלעטן:
500 גראַם מאַלווע־בלעטער, גוט געוואַשן
ציבעלע, צעהאַקט און געפּרעגלט
2 ציינדלעך קנאָבל, צעריבן
2 אייער
½ גלאָז מצה-מעל צי ברייזל (ברויט-קרישקעס)
זאַלץ און פֿעפֿער
איילבערט־בוימל
קאָכט די מאַלווע־בלעטער אין וואַסער אַ פּאָר מינוט. קוועטשט אויס דאָס וואַסער, און צעהאַקט די בלעטער. דערנאָך גיט צו די אַנדערע אינגרעדיענטן, און קנייט אויס רונדיקע קאָטלעטן. פּרעלגט (אָדער באַקט) זיי ביז זיי ברוינען זיך צו.
The post On Yom Haatzmaut — a tribute to the mallow plant appeared first on The Forward.
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Antisemitic Beliefs More Common Among Young Social Media Users, Yale Poll Shows
Penn State graduate student Roua Daas, an organizer with Students for Justice in Palestine, speaks at a pro-Palestinian protest at the Allen Street gates in State College, PA on Feb. 12, 2024. Photo: Paul Weaver/Sipa USA via Reuters Connect
A new survey from Yale Youth Poll is raising fresh concerns about antisemitism among younger Americans, revealing a significant link between social media consumption and anti-Jewish sentiment.
The Spring 2026 poll, conducted by researchers affiliated with Yale University, finds that Americans aged 18 to 34 are more likely than older generations to agree with statements widely recognized as antisemitic even as many express uncertainty about what qualifies as antisemitism in the first place.
According to the survey, a significant share of young respondents agreed with longstanding antisemitic tropes. Roughly a quarter to a third of the youngest respondents expressed belief in ideas such as Jews having “too much power” or divided loyalty between the United States and Israel. The poll also found that about one in five young respondents supported boycotts of Jewish-owned businesses to express disapproval over Israel’s war in Gaza.
The poll reveals that roughly 10 percent of those 18-34 agreed with all three of these antisemitic sentiments. Conversely, only 2 percent of those above 65 agreed with all three.
While these views are not held by a majority, experts say the numbers are high enough to raise alarms.
Beyond attitudes themselves, the poll also indicates that youth who receive news from alternative media sources, such as social media, are more likely to harbor antisemitic sentiments.
Respondents who rely more heavily on social media platforms, including TikTok, Instagram, and X/Twitter, were significantly more likely to agree with antisemitic statements.
The survey also points to a striking divide based on how young Americans consume news. Respondents who rely primarily on social media platforms such as TikTok, Instagram, and X were roughly 1.5 to 2 times more likely to agree with antisemitic statements than their peers who turn to traditional sources like television or newspapers. On measures such as beliefs about Jewish power or loyalty, gaps of 10 to 15 percentage points emerged between the two groups, with social media–heavy users consistently showing higher levels of agreement.
The pattern is striking enough to suggest that digital information ecosystems may be shaping perceptions in ways that traditional media does not. Further, the underlying pattern can give insight into why opinions on Israel and antisemitism substantially diverge among US youth compared to older generations.
Observers point to the nature of these platforms, where algorithm-driven feeds often elevate emotionally charged, highly simplified content. In that environment, complex geopolitical conflicts, such as the war in Gaza, can be reduced to slogans, viral clips, and narratives that blur the line between political criticism and longstanding antisemitic themes.
In the immediate aftermath of the Oct. 7 slaughters in Israel, a bevy of left-leaning social media personalities immediately condemned Israel and accused the Jewish state of committing war crimes and genocide in Gaza. Several reports indicate that anti-Israel content performs especially well on youth-centric social media platforms such as TikTok and Instagram, incentivizing content creators to intensify public criticisms of the Jewish state. The Yale survey suggests that for many young Americans, views on Israel are increasingly intertwined with perceptions of Jewish people more broadly.
The poll also challenges attempts to place blame on a single political group. The data indicates that both “extremely conservative” and “extremely liberal” individuals are likely to express belief that antisemitism is a “serious problem” in the country. Moderate voters are more likely to express ambivalence, with a plurality indicating that they “neither agree nor disagree” that antisemitism is a significant issue in the US.
Importantly, the survey does not suggest that most young Americans hold antisemitic views.
But it does point to a rising level of acceptance, or at least tolerance, of ideas that were once more widely rejected. Moreover, the poll suggests that young people underestimate the level of antisemitism that persists in the country. For instance, among voters ages 18-34, 29 percent agree with the antisemitic conspiracy “Jews have an extremely organized international community that puts their own interests before those of their home countries” compared to only 17 percent of those age 65. Approximately 8 percent of the 18-34 age cohort believe “people exaggerate how bad the Holocaust actually was” compared to 2 percent of those above 65.
A mere 21 percent of voters aged 18-34 agreed with the notion that Jews experience the bulk of hate crimes in the US, compared to 40 percent of overall voters. Various surveys indicate that Jews have faced the greatest increase in hate crimes over the past two years.
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As Ohio again tries to block Hebrew Union College’s restructuring, a new rabbinical school emerges in Cincinnati
(JTA) — The attorney general of Ohio has filed a second lawsuit against the nation’s largest Reform rabbinical school over the planned shuttering of its historic Cincinnati campus — a controversial move that has also prompted the creation of a new rabbinical school in the city.
Ohio AG Dave Yost, a Republican, says he wants to prevent Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion from closing its 151-year-old Cincinnati campus at the end of the current school year. Yost’s lawsuit alleges that the planned closure would violate state laws intended to protect the original intent of nonprofit donors, who believed they were supporting HUC’s Cincinnati base.
“Hebrew Union accepted millions of dollars in donations based on a 76-year-old promise it now would like to break,” Yost’s office said in a statement accompanying the lawsuit, citing the school’s 1950 agreement to “permanently maintain” a rabbinical school in the city. “We’re suing to keep these assets in Cincinnati where they belong.” The suit asks a judge to bar HUC from closing its doors before a court date.
A request for comment to spokespeople for HUC was not immediately returned.
In 2022, HUC leadership announced that they would be closing degree-granting programs at their flagship Cincinnati campus in order to focus on their other campuses in New York and Los Angeles, which the school claimed were more popular with students. The college has pledged to preserve its archives and library housed on the campus, but has also pursued plans to sell off property across all its campuses as well as, reportedly, to sell rare books from its collection.
The move sparked intense blowback from leaders in the Reform movement, some of whom have argued that the college was abandoning its founding principles by moving out of the Midwest in favor of the coasts.
Some of HUC’s former Ohio figureheads, along with other Reform leaders, have since announced plans to launch their own Cincinnati-based rabbinical school: The College for Contemporary Judaism.
“We believe it is imperative that there be a strong, vibrant rabbinical school in Cincinnati to serve the liberal American Jewish community, especially between the coasts where access to congregational rabbis and rabbinical education is severely limited,” the college’s founders said in a statement Tuesday. “While we cannot comment directly on the lawsuit filed by Ohio Attorney General Dave Yost against Hebrew Union College, it is vitally important that assets subject to the lawsuit are used as originally intended: to support a strong, thriving rabbinical school in Cincinnati.”
The college’s founders include Rabbi Sally Priesand, the first female rabbi to have been ordained by HUC in 1972, who will serve as the new college’s honorary president; and Rabbi Gary Zola, longtime director of HUC’s Cincinnati-based American Jewish Archives, who will now serve as CCJ’s founding president.
The college pledges not to be affiliated with any particular denomination, but will instead commit itself to “Liberal Judaism” with what its site describes as “an unwavering commitment to the existence and well-being of the Jewish and democratic State of Israel.” It will have a particular focus on Jewish communities in the Midwest, South and Mountain West, where its founders say “access to rabbinical education has been severely limited.”
In explaining the decision to base the college in Cincinnati, the school points to some of the Jewish institutions there currently being shepherded by HUC, including the library and archives. It also names the region’s historical importance to American Judaism, as the city where Rabbi Isaac Mayer Wise, spiritual forefather of Reform Judaism, chose to base his fledgling movement.
Yost’s latest lawsuit, filed April 10, was the second time the Ohio AG had taken HUC to court over its planned downsizing. He also sued the school in 2024 following reports that leadership was exploring the sale of some of its rare books. The two parties settled the following year with an agreement intended to keep HUC from selling its items without 45 days’ notice to the state.
The post As Ohio again tries to block Hebrew Union College’s restructuring, a new rabbinical school emerges in Cincinnati appeared first on The Forward.