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Everyone knows about Herzl. Is it time for Max Nordau, the intermarried father of Zionism, to get his due?
(JTA) — In the weeks since Israel’s latest government was sworn in, questions relating to assimilation, defining Jewish identity and what it means to be a Zionist have been central to the public and political discourse, which in some ways is perhaps more heated and divisive than it has ever been.
One useful addition to the discourse might be recalling the thought and example of an author and Zionist leader who died 100 years ago last month. Max Nordau was a central figure in the early years of the modern political Zionist movement, literally founding the Zionist Organization (today’s World Zionist Organization) with Theodor Herzl and heading multiple Zionist congresses. A physician and renowned man of letters prior to his “conversion” to Zionism following the Dreyfus Affair in France, Nordau’s joining the Zionist movement gave it a notable boost in terms of renown and respectability.
He also coined the term “Muscular Judaism” — a redefinition of what it meant to be a Jew in the modern world; a critical shift away from the traditionally insular, “meek” Jewish archetype devoted solely to religious and intellectual pursuits. The “Muscular Jew” in theory and practice was necessary in order for a modern Jewish state to be established.
Reviving interest in Nordau now is a continuation of a conversation that an Israeli historian kicked off four decades ago. The historian, Yosef Nedava, embarked on a crusade to renew interest in and appreciation of Nordau. Nedava was a proponent of Revisionist Zionism, a movement led by Zeev Jabotinsky and later Menachem Begin that was considered to be the bitter ideological rival to the Labor Zionism of David Ben-Gurion and others. Broadly speaking, Revisionist Zionism was more territorially maximalist when it came to settling the Land of Israel, and favored liberal principles as opposed to the socialist ones championed by Ben-Gurion and his colleagues.
Nedava had a penchant for fighting the battles of unsung heroes of history who he thought should be better remembered. He led a crusade to clear the name of Yosef Lishansky, the founder of the NILI underground movement that assisted the British during World War I who was executed by the Ottomans. He also worked to exonerate fellow Revisionist Zionists accused of murdering Labor Zionist leader Haim Arlozorov — an event that shook Mandatory Palestine in the early 1930s and beyond.
About Nordau, Nedava said at the time, “For 60 years he wasn’t mentioned and he was one of the forgotten figures that only a few streets were named after.”
Nedava’s sentiment was clear, even if his words were somewhat hyperbolic. Nordau had in fact been studied and cited over the years, and there were in fact at least a few streets named after him in Israel. At the official state event marking six decades since Nordau’s death, Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin even declared, “We never forgot Max Nordau, his teachings and his historical merits.”
Following Nedava’s efforts leading up to the 60th anniversary of Nordau’s death in 1983, Begin set up an official committee to memorialize the Zionist leader. The committee was tasked with publishing Nordau’s works, establishing events and honoring him in other ways like getting his face on a stamp “and maybe on a monetary bill,” according to Nedava.
But no bill was ever printed with Nordau’s visage, and there’s no question that Nordau never has gotten nearly the credit nor recognition that Herzl received. If the streets referenced by Nedava are any indicator, there are currently a respectable 33 streets named after Nordau in Israel, though that’s just about half of what Herzl’s got. There’s a city called Herzliya, with a massive image of the Zionist founder overlooking one of Israel’s most-trafficked highways. Nordau has a beach in Tel Aviv, a neighborhood in Netanya and a small village far in the north — but no city of his own.
Trees line alongside Nordau Avenue in Tel Aviv, March 4, 2017. (Anat Hermoni/FLASH90)
That’s not to say he didn’t have his fans. The Revisionist movement and Begin’s Herut and Likud parties idolized him, often mentioning and depicting him alongside Herzl and Vladimir Jabotinsky. Revisionist historian Benzion Netanyahu, father of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, greatly admired Nordau, even editing four entire volumes of his writings.
“Alongside Herzl, the Revisionists loved him, as he was a liberal. Yet he was also accepted and respected by those on the other side of the political spectrum,” Hezi Amiur, a scholar of Zionism and the curator of the Israeli Collection at the National Library of Israel, told me.
Like many of his generation and ilk, Nordau, himself the son of a rabbi, rejected religion and tradition as a teenager, opting to join mainstream European secular culture. He changed his name from Simon (Simcha) Maximilian Südfeld to Max Nordau. The shift in surname from Südfeld — meaning “southern field” — to Nordau — meaning “northern meadow” — was very much an intentional act for Nordau, the only son in his religiously observant family who chose northern European Germanic culture over the traditions of his fathers. He even married a Danish Protestant opera singer, a widow and mother of four named Anna Dons-Kaufmann.
In a congratulatory letter sent to Nordau following his marriage to Anna, Herzl, who was also not a particularly observant nor learned Jew, wrote:
Your concerns regarding the attitudes of our zealous circles [within the Zionist movement] regarding your mixed marriage are perhaps exaggerated. … If our project had already been fulfilled today, surely we would not have prevented a Jewish citizen, that is, a citizen of the existing Jewish state, from marrying a foreign-born gentile, through this marriage she would become a Jew without paying attention to her religion. If she has children, they will be Jews anyway.
This particular vision of Herzl’s has certainly not come to fruition, and the topic remains a particularly heated one, continuing to roil the Israeli political system, and — no less — Israel-Diaspora relations.
Similar political forces to those that have kept this particular Herzlian vision at bay may have also been responsible for ensuring that Nordau’s impressively whiskered face never made its way onto Israeli currency.
According to one report, Begin’s Likud government abandoned its efforts to get Nordau’s onto a shekel note in 1983 in order to avoid a potential coalition crisis. The concern was that the religious parties that were part of the ruling coalition could become outraged at the prospect of having someone married to a non-Jew on Israeli money. Whether the report was fully accurate or not, the sentiments behind such a potential coalition scare are certainly familiar to anyone following contemporary Israeli politics.
Nonetheless, perhaps the two most influential religious Zionist rabbis of the 20th century, Rabbi Abraham Isaac HaKohen Kook and his son, Rabbi Zvi Yehuda, not only somewhat overlooked Nordau’s assimilationist tendencies and intermarriage, they even celebrated the man and his vision.
The elder Rabbi Kook, who served as the rabbi of Jaffa, Jerusalem and the Land of Israel in the opening decades of the 1900s, uncompromisingly criticized some of Nordau’s views, especially with respect to the separation of religion from Zionism. But he was a big fan of Nordau’s “Muscular Judaism,” writing among other things, that:
…a healthy body is what we need, we have been very busy with the soul, we have forgotten the sanctity of the body, we have neglected physical health and strength, we have forgotten that we have holy flesh, no less than we have the holy spirit… Through the strength of the flesh the weakened soul will be enlightened, the resurrection of the dead in their bodies.
Decades later his son, likely the most influential Israeli religious Zionist spiritual leader until his death in 1982, defined Nordau (as well as seminal Hebrew poet Shaul Tchernichovsky, who also married a non-Jew) as a “baal tshuvah” — a term imprecisely translated as “penitent” that is generally used to refer to non-observant Jews who become more religiously observant. Yehuda based his designation on a Talmudic teaching that “Anyone who transgresses and is ashamed of it is forgiven for all of his sins.”
Like anyone, Max Nordau probably regretted and felt ashamed of various decisions and actions in his life, but marrying a non-Jewish woman does not seem to be one of them. He and Anna stayed married for decades until his death in 1923.
Both Kooks were able to overlook the decidedly non-religious (if not outright anti-religious) life Nordau chose to lead. Instead of his personal choices, they focused on the central contribution he made to ensuring the reestablishment of a Jewish home in its ancestral land.
The majority of Israel’s current ruling coalition claims to be the ideological descendants of Begin and the Rabbis Kook, men who managed to have great admiration for the teachings and achievements of Nordau, even if they may have found his anti-religious, assimilationist tendencies and intermarriage reprehensible. Nedava wanted Israel to learn from Nordau 40 years ago. It’s possible the country still could today — if only the striking level of tolerance and respect with which he was considered in the past can still be summoned.
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The post Everyone knows about Herzl. Is it time for Max Nordau, the intermarried father of Zionism, to get his due? appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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A war-weary Jerusalem marks Purim one day after the rest of the world, a tradition born in what is now Iran
(JTA) — JERUSALEM — As the sun rose over Jerusalem on Wednesday morning, sirens rang out, signaling yet another incoming missile attack from Iran.
This time, it coincided with the morning of Shushan Purim, as thousands of Israelis gathered — despite a prohibition on public gatherings — to read the Megillah and fulfill the mitzvah of hosting a reading after sunrise on the day of Purim.
Purim in Jerusalem, known as Shushan Purim, takes place a day later than in the rest of the world due to its status as a walled city during the time of the holiday’s story, when the Jews in Shushan, also a walled city located in what is now Susa, Iran, fought for their survival a day longer than Jews elsewhere in the kingdom.
Emergency regulations imposed by Home Front Command ban large gatherings, even in shelters, but Israelis have eschewed the restrictions to continue their celebrations. Top rabbis in Israel encouraged Israelis to follow government guidelines but opined that Zoom readings do not fulfill the requirement under Jewish law to hear the Megillah read in a prayer quorum. On Tuesday, Israelis across the country celebrated Purim in bomb shelters and underground parking garages, many of which are rated to withstand bombs dropped from above.
Just a few hours after the air raid alert ended on Wednesday, Jerusalemites could be seen wandering the streets, some intoxicated and others wearing costumes — or both — to celebrate the public holiday.
Two yeshiva students from New Jersey said, while waiting to catch a light rail train into the city, that they “were not worried at all about the missiles. We check our phones and go to the shelter.”
In the haredi neighborhood of Mea Shearim, life continued largely as normal. Children wandered the streets wearing costumes, and families walked into synagogues for Shacharit services, with prayers echoing through the streets.
In more secular neighborhoods, friends gathered to drink and celebrate the holiday, with some describing a “waiting game” to get their drinking in before another missile is launched and they have to head back to the shelter.
An ultra-Orthodox man celebrates in the streets of Mea Shearim, holding wine in one hand and showing a thumbs up with the other. The official commandment from the Torah is to drink until one cannot tell the difference between “cursed is Haman” and “blessed is Mordecai.”
Amber, Maya and Vicky kept their family shop open on Jaffa Street despite the threat of missiles. You Need Coffee has been open at its current location since 2011, and Maya described how “during the last war our business took a really big hit, and it’s something we expected this time, but the community keeps showing up.”
Vicky added, “They need their coffee, and we know our customers, so there’s a sense of we’re all in this together. Plus, we have a shelter in the basement, so it’s safer here than anywhere else.”
This is the second full-scale war with Iran in the last nine months, but all of the workers in the shop said they were willing yet again to deal with the consequences for the “freedom of the Iranian people.”
A family wearing matching costumes waits to catch the light rail into the Jerusalem city center. Public transportation in Israel is operating at limited capacity due to the war. The light rail had been closed since the war’s start but reopened on Wednesday.
A child who lives in Beit Yisrael, a haredi neighborhood in central Jerusalem, poses for a photo to show off his IDF soldier costume.
Children walk down the streets of Mea Shearim with their parents as they shop for goodies to celebrate the holiday. Pashkevils, or public announcements, cover the walls and communicate rabbinical rulings and other public information.
A Beit Yisrael family poses for a photo showing off their Purim costumes.
A man wearing a bunny costume walks in the streets of Mea Shearim, where not everyone was in costume for the holiday. Still, Yiddish techno music could be heard echoing off the brick walls of the neighborhood from the parties taking place there.
On Etz Hayim Street, just outside the Jerusalem shuk, a young Israeli poses to show off his costume — one half Israeli soldier, the other half sporting a suit.
One of the commandments for the Purim holiday is to give tzedakah, or charity to the poor — matanot la’evyonim — which requires giving to at least two people in need on the holiday. A young boy waits on the street, asking passersby for donations.
The post A war-weary Jerusalem marks Purim one day after the rest of the world, a tradition born in what is now Iran appeared first on The Forward.
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Faith heals the Deepest Wounds, Soothes the Greatest Woes
Across centuries, the Jewish people have experienced collective trauma, from the ancient exiles to modern-day tragedies. Despite these painful occurrences, Jewish tradition is a real treasure trove of healing through religious practices and teachings of the Torah. The Torah shows people how to process and move beyond suffering, and how the Bible can be a source of resilience and hope, even when all seems lost.
One of the greatest Jewish principles of practice is the practice of remembrance. The Torah calls the Jewish people to recall past suffering, not to dwell in sorrow, but in order to take the moment to derive lessons and strength from their adversity. This is reflected in such rituals as Passover, which celebrates the Exodus from Egypt and the liberation of the Jewish people from slavery. Likewise, Tisha B’Av is a day of remembrance for the destruction of the First and Second Temples. These rituals are not reminders of sorrow but tools necessary for transmitting the lessons of history to future generations. Through the practice of remembrance, Jewish communities are reminded time and again of the strength they have shown over the ages and the necessity to cultivate hope for the future.
Aside from the remembering process, the Torah also provides organized practices designed to assist an individual in coping with loss and suffering. The mourning practices, like Shiva, the seven-day mourning period, and Yahrzeit, the yearly observance of a loved one’s death, are a supportive mechanism whereby both the individual and society can cope with their loss. The practices are social in nature, reinforcing the idea that healing is as much an individual process as it is a social one. The social aspect of the practices creates solidarity and provides mutual support so that everyone mourns together.
Prayer and fasting are of profound significance in the Jewish healing environment. Yom Kippur and Tisha B’Av are such special days for soul-searching, repentance, and spiritual rebirth. On such days, the individual and collective seek forgiveness, atonement, and healing. These are spiritual exercises aimed at cleansing the soul and reconciling with God, an indication of the faith that, irrespective of the intensity of the agony, a path to spiritual healing always exists.
Community lies at the core of healing trauma within Jewish life. At the center of healing is the idea of Klal Yisrael—the Jewish peoplehood. In times of adversity, Jewish communities unite through acts of interdependence, prayer, and shared ritual. The communal care creates a basis of resilience, reminding individuals that they are not isolated in their suffering. In fact, the community’s strength can become a healing force, repairing the damage of trauma.
Chaya Lerner’s book, Torah of Trauma, explores the spiritual and psychological aspects of healing in the Torah. In her book, Chaya addresses how scriptural lessons can guide individuals and communities through healing from trauma and transforming it into what makes them stronger. Chaya utilizes ancient Jewish sources and modern therapy methods to explain that the Torah offers healing tools. Chaya’s work emphasizes that healing from trauma is not merely an understanding of the past but also the transformation of that understanding into a path forward. The book explores how Jewish heritage offers hope, healing, and a way to heal the spirit after suffering.
In an age where trauma manifests in so many different disguises, affecting so many individuals and communities, the Jewish approach to healing with the Torah is a sage one. Chaya Lerner’s Torah of Trauma is a guide for those willing to discover how scripture can heal emotional and spiritual hurts. By immersion in the Torah, remembering past struggles, and participating in communal rituals, the Jewish faith traces a path to resilience, hope, and spiritual rebirth. Through these sacred rituals, individuals and communities can transform their pain into power, emerging from trauma not just as a whole but more resilient than ever before.
Essentially, Jewish heritage teaches the realization that collective trauma does not characterize the people, but rather completes them. By accepting the teachings of the Torah, individuals and communities can heal, not only for themselves, but for society as a whole as well. The teachings given within the Torah are an eternal reminder of redemption, a reminder that there is always space for renewal and development, even in the darkest of sufferings.
The post Faith heals the Deepest Wounds, Soothes the Greatest Woes appeared first on The Forward.
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Poland returns 91 Jewish objects to Greece, decades after they were stolen by the Nazis
(JTA) — A trove of sacred Jewish objects from Greece that was stolen by the Nazis and displaced for decades in Poland is finally heading back home.
Poland returned 91 religious and ceremonial artifacts to the Greek government at a ceremony in Warsaw on Wednesday. Among them were Torah scrolls, a Torah mantle and silver finials that adorned a scroll’s wooden rollers — fragments of a rich Greek Jewish heritage that was nearly wiped out.
This marks the first time Poland has repatriated cultural property held under its care that was illegally taken from another country.
The Nazis stole the objects from synagogues in Thessaloniki, a port city once known as the “Jerusalem of the Balkans.” Jews made up half of Thessaloniki’s residents in 1919. Some 59,000 Greek Jews, over 83% of the country’s Jewish population, were killed in the Holocaust.
These items were seized by the Einsatzstab Reichsleiter Rosenberg, a Nazi agency dedicated to looting Jewish valuables, as it plundered homes, synagogues, cemeteries and cultural institutions across Greece in 1941. The objects were transferred to Nazi depots in southwestern Poland and rediscovered at a castle in Bożków after the war. In 1951, the Polish Ministry of Culture moved them to the Jewish Historical Institute in Warsaw, where they remained until now.
This return follows years of advocacy and provenance research. The Greek government formally requested the collection’s restitution in 2024, and the World Jewish Restitution Organization coordinated with Greek and Polish authorities to facilitate it. Now, the objects are headed to the Jewish Museum of Greece in Athens.
About 5,000 Jews live in Greece today.
Poland is the only member of the European Union with no comprehensive legislation to address the restitution of property seized by the Nazis and later nationalized by the communist regime. Since the country became a democracy in 1989, several bills have been proposed to return private property to Holocaust survivors and their descendants, but none became law.
In 2021, Poland passed a law that prevented people who sought to claim property from challenging administrative decisions more than 30 years old. This time limit made it virtually impossible for former owners, including Holocaust survivors and their descendants, to recover properties that were appropriated during the communist era.
In a statement, WRJO president Gideon Taylor and COO Mark Weitzman said the return of the Greek Jewish collection represented a milestone in international cooperation for Holocaust-era restitution.
“While Poland has broader restitution issues to address, we hope this historic act marks the beginning of a consistent, systematic approach to historical justice,” they said.
The post Poland returns 91 Jewish objects to Greece, decades after they were stolen by the Nazis appeared first on The Forward.