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For the first time since Hitler, a Hebrew publisher sets up shop in Germany
In his job as a publisher, Moshe Sakal often needs to communicate with Israel about his books’ bar codes. Sometimes these phone calls sound like an Abbott and Costello routine.
Encountering an error, Sakal will tell the agent for the International Standard Book Number — used to identify a title in global book sales — the system won’t let him enter his address, as he’s based in Berlin. The guy on the other line will tell Sakal to enter his business’s Israeli address (it doesn’t have one, he’ll respond). The agent will then ask him what language his book is in. When Sakal answers “Hebrew,” the man responds, “So put your address in Israel,” not understanding how a press outside Israel could publish a Hebrew book.
The back and forth needs some explanation: Since the founding of Israel in 1948 — and until 2024 — there hadn’t been a major Hebrew publishing house outside of the country.
This wasn’t always the case.
Modern Hebrew has roots in 19th-century Europe, where Russian-born lexicographer Eliezer Ben-Yehuda lived and worked before joining the First Aliyah in 1881.
There were flourishing presses in the language, including the original Schocken Books, founded in Berlin in 1931 and boasting authors like future Nobel Laureate S. Y. Agnon. Hitler’s rise and the Holocaust, underscored by book burnings on the streets, put an end to the industry on the continent. Israel became the national home for Hebrew, and for Hebrew books on its founding in 1948, with many of the early, European-born luminaries of the revived language based there. By 2021, when author Sally Rooney cut ties with her Hebrew publisher but left open an opportunity for translation by a non Israel-based Hebrew press, none existed.
Sakal, a novelist, and Dory Manor, a poet and editor of the literary journal Oh!, are partners in life and business. They were born in Israel but have lived abroad for much of their adult lives, settling in Berlin in 2019. The couple are part of a vibrant Israeli expat community in the city. (When they arrived in 2019, NPR published an article estimating 10,000 Israelis had moved to Berlin in the last decade — the trend shows no sign of slowing.)
Over the years, as they mixed with journalists, writers and artists, they would occasionally mention how the Sapir Prize, the Hebrew language’s answer to the Booker, has since 2014, when New York-based novelist Reuven Namdar won, been closed to authors living outside of Israel.
“Everybody who heard that said, ‘So you should start an ecosystem of global diasporic Hebrew and have your own prize,’” Sakal recalled.
Sakal and Manor at first demurred, but the idea wouldn’t die. In 2023, they started developing Altneuland Press, based in Berlin and printing work in Hebrew, German and English. They established the company early in October 2023 — right before Oct. 7 — and began operations in June of 2024.
To date, Altneuland has published six books in Hebrew and two in German with two more titles on the way. Their authors include Hillel Cohen, author or Between the River and the Sea: My Travels in Israel and Palestine, which they published in Hebrew and German; Maya Arad, with the German translation of her novel Lady of Kazan; and journalist Ruth Margalit, whose forthcoming book will be their first in English.
The company prints books in Tel Aviv and their home base in Berlin for the Israeli and European markets.
“Berlin represents the possibility of Hebrew literature,” Manor said. “Hebrew culture that’s open to the world, rather than closed off or isolated or nationalistic, as is the case more and more in the current political climate in Israel, where democratic spaces are shrinking. We have here the possibility and the freedom to publish voices that might be silenced or marginalized back in Israel.”
The name “Altneuland,” taken from Zionist leader Theodor Herzl’s 1902 speculative novel about a future Jewish state in what is now Israel, is ironic, given the press’ desire to serve as a hub for the Israeli diaspora. But Manor says it speaks to an ideal in the spirit of Herzl’s book — really a utopian novel that imagined Jews and Arabs living together peacefully in a kind of Vienna of the Middle East.
“We think of Altneuland, old-new land, not as a territory,” Manor said, but a language and culture. He likened his vision of their work to Heinrich Heine’s description of the Torah as a “portable homeland.”
In a time of cultural boycotts, Sakal and Manor say being based outside of Israel helps to bypass some of the political minefields. Their books, like Gish Amit’s Cedrick, about the author’s investigation into the life of his former student, a Filipino-Israeli who died serving in the IDF in the Gaza War, have been well-received in Europe and Israel, though Sakal and Manor say they’ve had trouble finding a U.S. partner for the title.
Being outside of the Israeli system offers other freedoms.
In Israel, it is customary for authors to pay publishers to take on their first book — Manor and Sakal don’t take money from their writers. Selling their books in Europe, they also aren’t bound by the infrastructure of Israel’s bookstores, which, apart from a handful of independent shops, is a duopoly of Steimatzky and Tzomet Sfarim, who dictate the terms of the market. As for the titles they can take on, they noted some publishers in Israel may choose not to pursue books that are too anti-government for fear of losing help from public institutions.
It also opens the door for new stories to be told — ones that can center experiences had by Hebrew speakers outside of Israel. Sakal mentions the works of early modern Hebrew poet and novelist David Vogel, whose prose he says was different from the Hebrew he grew up with. Sakal, who is Sephardic, is also hoping to promote more writers with his background.
Some in the Israeli press have been skeptical of Altneuland, with publisher and editor Oded Carmeli writing in Haaretz that, “there aren’t enough Hebrew readers outside of Israel to support a publishing house – not even a bookstore, not even a shelf in a bookstore – and even if there were enough readers, no store in Berlin or Madrid would maintain such a shelf, for fear of repercussions.”
Manor responded, in his own Haaretz article, that Carmeli mischaracterized their operations and the vitality of the Israeli diaspora.
Maya Arad, who publishes with the Israeli press Xargol and went to Altneuland for the German translation of Lady of Kazan, wrote in an email that Hebrew literature still depends on Israel as a center.
“I would agree to admit that it is unlikely that a generation born outside Israel will arise in the Diaspora and begin writing in Hebrew, as Hebrew writers did at the end of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth,” Arad, who was born in Israel but who has lived abroad since 1994 and is based in the U.S., wrote in an email.
But, at the same time, she said it’s undeniable more Hebrew literature is coming from beyond the Jewish State and the subject of Israelis abroad has been attracting growing interest in Hebrew letters.
“The fact that about ten years ago it was decided to restrict the Sapir Prize to writers living in Israel paradoxically attests to the Israeli literary establishment’s recognition of a literary community outside Israel,” she said.
Altneuland, navigating the differing tastes of their global, trilingual markets, have a full slate for 2026, and are now exploring translating Yiddish literature into English, German and Hebrew.
For Manor, the thrill of seeing their Hebrew books on German shelves, for perhaps the first time since the 1930s, can’t be overstated. He recalled a story about an IDF delegation that visited Auschwitz in 1995. On that occasion, then-chief of general staff Ehud Barak said “We’ve arrived 50 years too late.”
“I found that remark chilling,” Manor said. “That idea that Jewish victory should be imagined as an Army arriving at Auschwitz. For me, the true victory lies elsewhere: in Hebrew books being printed in Germany again. That is a victory of culture over violence and over destruction. Victory, joined by hope, not by death.”
The post For the first time since Hitler, a Hebrew publisher sets up shop in Germany appeared first on The Forward.
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Board of Peace Members Have Pledged More Than $5 billion for Gaza, Trump Says
A drone view shows the destruction in a residential neighborhood, after the withdrawal of the Israeli forces from the area, amid a ceasefire between Israel and Hamas in Gaza, in Gaza City, October 21, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Dawoud Abu Alkas/File Photo
US President Donald Trump said Board of Peace member states will announce at an upcoming meeting on Thursday a pledge of more than $5 billion for reconstruction and humanitarian efforts in Gaza.
In a post on Truth Social on Sunday, Trump wrote that member states have also committed thousands of personnel toward a U.N.-authorized stabilization force and local police in the Palestinian enclave.
The US president said Thursday’s gathering, the first official meeting of the group, will take place at the Donald J. Trump Institute of Peace, which the State Department recently renamed after the president. Delegations from more than 20 countries, including heads of state, are expected to attend.
The board’s creation was endorsed by a United Nations Security Council resolution as part of the Trump administration’s plan to end the war between Israel and Palestinian Islamist group Hamas in Gaza.
Israel and Hamas agreed to the plan last year with a ceasefire officially taking effect in October, although both sides have accused each other repeatedly of violating the ceasefire. According to Gaza’s Health Ministry, more than 590 Palestinians have been killed by Israeli troops in the territory since the ceasefire began. Israel has said four of its soldiers have been killed by Palestinian militants in the same period.
While regional Middle East powers including Turkey, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Qatar and Israel – as well as emerging nations such as Indonesia – have joined the board, global powers and traditional Western US allies have been more cautious.
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Why a forgotten teacher’s grave became a Jewish pilgrimage site
Along Britton Road in Rochester, New York, a brick gatehouse sits across from ordinary homes. Beyond it lies Britton Road Cemetery, its grounds divided into family plots and sections claimed over time by Orthodox congregations and fraternal associations, past and present. Names like Anshe Polen, Beth Hakneses Hachodosh, B’nai Israel, and various Jewish fraternal organizations are found here.
On the east side of the cemetery, a modest gray headstone draws visitors who do not personally know the man buried there, who were never taught his name in school, and who claim no personal connection to his life. Some leave notes. Some light candles in a small metal box set nearby. Others whisper prayers and stand for a moment before going. They come because they believe holiness can be found here.
The grave belongs to Rabbi Yechiel Meir Burgeman, a Polish-born teacher who died in 1938. He did not lead a major congregation or leave behind an institution that bears his name. And yet, nearly a century after his death, people still visit.
Over time, Burgeman has come to be remembered as a tzaddik nistar, a hidden righteous person, whose holiness is known through their teaching and daily life rather than through any title or position. His grave has become a place of intercession. People come to pray for healing, for help in times of uncertainty, and for the hope of marriage. What endures here is not an individual’s biography so much as a practice: the belief that a life lived with integrity can continue to shape devotion, even after the body has been laid to rest.
In life, Burgeman was not known as a miracle worker or a public figure. He was a melamed, a teacher of children, living plainly among other Jewish immigrants in Rochester’s Jewish center in the early decades of the 20th century. At one point, he was dismissed from a teaching post for refusing to soften his instruction. He later opened his own cheder, or schoolroom. There was no congregation to inherit his name, no institution to archive his papers. When he died, he was buried in an ordinary way at Britton Road Cemetery, one grave among many.
What followed was not immediate.
Remembered in return
The meaning attached to Burgeman’s resting place accumulated slowly. Stories began to circulate. People spoke of his kindness, his discipline, his integrity. Over time, visitors came. The grave became a place not of answers, but of belief. For generations, this turning toward the dead has taken this same form. It is not worship. It is proximity. A way of standing near those believed to have lived rightly, and asking that their merit might still matter.
In Jewish tradition, prayer at a grave is a reflection on those believed to have lived with righteousness, asking that their merit accompany the living in moments of need. Psalms are traditionally recited. Words are often spoken quietly.
I have done something similar too. Years ago, before I converted to Judaism and before I had the means to travel, I sent a written prayer through a Chabad service that delivers letters to the grave of the Lubavitcher Rebbe in New York. Someone else carried it. I cannot say with absolute certainty what happened because of it. Only that the practice itself made space for hope that I was seen, and that a prayer was later answered in ways that shaped my life and deepened my understanding of Judaism.
Burgeman’s grave functions in a similar register, though without any institutional frame. People come not because his name is widely known, but because the story has endured. Over time, that story gathered details. The most persistent involves a dog said to have escorted Jewish children to Burgeman’s cheder so they would not be harassed along the way by other youths. The dog then stood watch until they were ready to return home. The versions differ. Some are reverent. Some are playful. Some verge on the miraculous. The story endures because it names something children needed: care, in a world that could be frightening.
In recent decades, Burgeman’s afterlife has taken on a digital form. His name surfaces in comment threads and genealogical forums, passed along by people who never met him and are not always sure how they are connected. Spellings are debated. Dates are corrected. A descendant appears. A former student’s grandchild adds a fragment. Someone asks whether this is the same man their grandmother spoke of. No single account settles the matter. Instead, memory gathers. What once traveled by word of mouth now moves through hyperlinks.
The internet allows fragments to remain visible. Burgeman’s story survives not because it was officially recorded, but because enough people cared to remember it. In this way, his legacy resembles the man himself: quiet, unadorned, sustained by actions rather than declaration.
This story does not offer certainty. It is about remembering a life and asking if we might still learn from it and if, perhaps, it can bring us closer to faith. Burgeman left no grand monument. He left descendants. A grave. A life of Jewish values that continues to teach.
Burgeman did not seek recognition in life. After death, he became something else: a teacher still teaching, not through words, but through the way people continue to act on his memory. That is the lesson. Not any miracle. Not any legend. The quiet insistence that a life lived with integrity does not end when the casket is placed into the earth.
Some graves are instructions.
This one still asks something of us.
The post Why a forgotten teacher’s grave became a Jewish pilgrimage site appeared first on The Forward.
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Turkey Sends Drilling Ship to Somalia in Major Push for Energy Independence
Turkish President Tayyip Erdogan speaks during a ceremony for the handover of new vehicles to the gendarmerie and police forces in Istanbul, Turkey, Nov. 28, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Murad Sezer
i24 News – Turkey has dispatched a drilling vessel to Somalia to begin offshore oil exploration, marking what officials describe as a historic step in Ankara’s drive to strengthen energy security and reduce reliance on imports.
Turkish Minister of Energy and Natural Resources Alparslan Bayraktar announced that the drilling ship Çagri Bey is set to sail from the port of Taşucu in southern Turkey, heading toward Somali territorial waters.
The vessel will pass through the Strait of Gibraltar and around the coast of southern Africa before reaching its destination, with drilling operations expected to begin in April or May.
Bayraktar described the mission as a “historic” milestone, saying it reflects Turkey’s long-term strategy to enhance national energy security and move closer to self-sufficiency.
The operation will be protected by the Turkish Naval Forces, which will deploy several naval units to secure both the vessel’s route and the drilling area in the Gulf of Aden and the Arabian Sea. The security arrangements fall under existing cooperation agreements between Ankara and Somalia.
The move aligns with a broader vision promoted by President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, aimed at reducing Turkey’s dependence on foreign energy supplies, boosting domestic production, and shielding the economy from external pressures.
Bayraktar said Turkey is also working to double its natural gas output in the Black Sea this year, while continuing offshore exploration along its northern coastline. In parallel, Ankara is preparing to bring its first nuclear reactor online at the Akkuyu Nuclear Power Plant, which is expected to begin generating electricity soon and eventually supply about 10% of the country’s energy needs.
The current drilling effort is based on survey data collected last year and forms part of Ankara’s wider plan to expand its energy exploration activities both regionally and internationally.