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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.”
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A Jewish farmer broke ground on a synagogue in an Illinois cornfield. His neighbors showed up to help.
STERLING, ILLINOIS — On Wednesday, Nik Jakobs was planting corn. On Thursday, the 41-year-old Illinois cattle farmer stood in a two-acre cornfield preparing to plant something else: a synagogue.
Around 75 people gathered on the edge of the field this week in Sterling, Illinois, a two-hour drive west of Chicago, where Jakobs and his family broke ground on a new home for Temple Sholom, the small congregation that has anchored Jewish life here for more than a century, and where his family has prayed since the 1950s.
The planned 4,000-square-foot building will also house a Holocaust museum inspired by the story of Jakobs’ grandparents, Edith and Norbert, who survived the war after Christian families in the Netherlands hid them in their homes for years. Jakobs described the future museum as a place devoted not only to Jewish history, but to teaching the dangers of hatred and division. “If you have the choice to be right or kind,” he said, repeating advice from his grandmother, “choose kind.”
A 60-foot blue ribbon — chosen by Jakobs’ wife, Katie, to match the color of the Israeli flag — stretched across the future building site. His four daughters held it alongside his parents, brothers and friends. Then Jakobs lifted oversized gold scissors and cut the ribbon as pastors, farmers, city officials and members of neighboring churches applauded.
I’m writing a book about a young Jewish farmer who is building a synagogue in a two-acre cornfield in rural Illinois using sacred objects (ark, Torah, stained glass windows) donated by closing congregations across America. Today, they held the groundbreaking. 🧑🌾 🌽🕍 pic.twitter.com/90TynBMWHC
— Benyamin Cohen (@benyamincohen) May 8, 2026
The synagogue rising from this Illinois cornfield will house pieces of the past.
A nearby storage area holds Jewish objects Jakobs rescued from shuttered synagogues across the country: stained-glass windows, Torah arks, rabbi’s chairs, memorial plaques and wooden tablets engraved with the tribes of Israel. Many came from Temple B’nai Israel, a 113-year-old synagogue that closed down in 2025. It served generations of Jews in McKeesport, Pennsylvania, now a ghost town since the steel mills closed. Its remaining congregants donated sacred objects to Jakobs so their story could live on rather than disappear.
The day before the groundbreaking, the Jakobs family began opening some of the crates for the first time since they were packed away nearly a year ago. Nik’s father, Dave Jakobs, pried open one box with a hammer and crowbar while Nik loosened screws with an electric drill, the family gathered around like archaeologists opening a tomb.
Inside was a stained-glass window with images of a tallit and shofar bursting in jewel tones of blue, yellow and red. Jakobs’ mother, Margo, lifted Annie, the youngest of Nik’s daughters, so the 4-year-old could peer inside. The bright red glass matched the bow in her hair.
Nearby sat the massive wooden ark salvaged from Pennsylvania, topped with twin Lions of Judah whose carved paws once overlooked generations of worshippers.
Faith on the farmland
Temple Sholom — founded in 1910 — was once the center of Jewish life in Sterling, a town of 14,500 surrounded by flat farmland and tall grain silos. Its Jewish community once included a pharmacist, the manager of Kline’s department store and the owner of a local McDonald’s franchise.
Over time, membership dwindled. The roof sagged. The pews emptied.
Last year, the congregation sold its aging building and relocated High Holiday services to a tent on the Jakobs’ farm, where prayers mingled with the smell of manure and cattle lowing nearby.
At a moment when many small-town synagogues are closing, Temple Sholom is doing something increasingly rare: building a bigger new sanctuary from scratch. The synagogue will sit prominently along one of Sterling’s main roads — a highly visible expression of Jewish life in a region where Jews are few.
Thursday’s groundbreaking took place on the National Day of Prayer, the annual observance formalized under President Ronald Reagan, who grew up a few miles away in Dixon, Illinois. Earlier that morning, attendees gathered inside New Life Lutheran Church for a breakfast sponsored by Temple Sholom.
“I was so happy to see bagels, lox and cream cheese,” said Rev. James Keenan, a Catholic priest originally from Brooklyn. “It reminded me of home.”
Inside the church sanctuary, a large wooden cross glowed amber and blue above the dais while two giant screens displayed the National Day of Prayer logo. Jakobs, wearing cowboy boots, jeans and a powder-blue blazer, addressed the crowd.
“Tolerance is not weakness,” he said. “It is strength.”
The new synagogue will sit beside New Life Lutheran Church on land sold to Temple Sholom by farmer Dan Koster, 71, who has known the Jakobs family for three generations.
“We need more religious presence in the community,” Koster said.
For Drew Williams, New Life’s 38-year-old lead pastor, the synagogue and museum represent more than neighboring buildings. His church already hosts food-packing drives, summer meal programs and community events. He imagines future partnerships with Temple Sholom.
“I don’t think there’s any community that is immune to hate,” Williams said. “That just means it’s on us” to be on the other side “spreading peace.”
Sterling Mayor Diana Merdian, who is 41 and grew up in town with Jakobs, said the project reflects a broader desire among younger generations to preserve local history and identity. “If we don’t carry those stories, we lose them,” she said. “Once you lose that, you can’t get it back.”
During the ceremony in the cornfield, Temple Sholom’s longtime cantor, Lori Schwaber, asked those gathered to remember the congregation’s founding members and recite the Mourner’s Kaddish together. Jews and Christians stood side by side in the prairie wind as Hebrew prayers drifted across the open farmland.
Lester Weinstine, a 90-year-old congregant who was the first bar mitzvah at Temple Sholom when the shul was still housed out of a Pepsi bottling plant, looked out across the field in disbelief. “I never thought I would see this,” he said.
For Jakobs, the synagogue project has become inseparable from the lessons his grandparents’ survival taught him. “You sometimes feel on an island as a Jew, especially in rural America,” he said. “But this community — that’s not what I’ve experienced here.”
If construction stays on schedule, the synagogue will open in fall 2027. Its first major service will not be a dedication ceremony, but the bat mitzvah of Jakobs’ oldest daughter, Taylor.
Members of the Pennsylvania congregation are planning a bus trip to Illinois for the occasion, after donating many of their sacred objects to help build Jakob’s synagogue. Their former rabbi has offered to officiate.
“If a farmer can build a synagogue in a cornfield,” Jakobs said, “anybody can do it anywhere.”
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Is this Apple TV thriller hasbara — or societal critique?
AppleTV+’s new thriller Unconditional has the trappings of so much streaming content.
A young woman disappears into hostile territory. Her mother, already juggling a family health crisis, does her own sleuthing to get her daughter back. People die, twisty alliances emerge. It’s all part of the suspense boiler plate, and it sizzles just enough to keep your interest. What makes the show, airing May 8, different from every other show is the early response.
Sight almost entirely unseen, the internet was in an uproar. The show is Israeli, and the announcement trailer showed the character Gali (Ronn Talia Lynne) in her IDF uniform. Pro-Palestine accounts were quick to shout “hasbara” or “overt ziopropaganda” for a show whose premise is ostensibly a sympathetic story of an Israeli taken prisoner by the evil, Putin-era Russian state. (The trailer makes no mention of Palestinians or a war in Gaza. The show doesn’t either.)
The online response alone proves the challenging optics for anything Israeli, but the show actually has quite a bit to say about the Jewish state’s propaganda apparatus — within the country and without.
On a layover in the Moscow Airport, Gali and her mother, Orna (Liraz Chamami), are taken in for questioning. Security claims to have found drugs in Gali’s backpack — an echo of the Naama Issacher affair from 2019 — and she’s summarily sentenced to seven years in a Russian jail.
Orna returns to Israel and hires a PR handler to plead Gali’s case. Together they curate a specific image to sell to the state media.
Gali is a “happy, good-hearted girl. She served in the army, like everyone” and even extended her service, Orna says in radio and television interviews. The file photo for news segments is exactly what so many outside of Israel would object to: Gali in uniform. In Israel it tugs heart strings. Abroad, it makes the abductee a war criminal who had it coming.
It’s probably not giving much away, given that the hands behind this show are the creators of Hatufim, which became a hit in the U.S. as the antihero-forward War on Terror commentary Homeland, that Gali is not a perfect victim. This is a strange sort of hasbara, if one Israel often produces, the kind that’s peopled by problematic characters operating in the society’s gray zones. (See streaming hit Fauda, following a morally-dubious undercover unit made up of trigger-happy adulterers exploiting their Palestinian contacts.)
What’s surprising, given the premise, is how much time the show spends not in Russia or Israel, but in India, where Gali and Orna were touring before their fateful missed connection in Moscow. It’s here we’re given entree into the Ugly Israeli abroad, a stereotype that is growing increasingly common thanks to reports of poor behavior — stealing money from temples, creating chaos in hospitals and restaurants — in the global East. (On the flip side, many Israelis, like a couple at a noodle shop in Vietnam, are being harassed by other tourists for no reason other than their country of origin and some feel the need to hide their identity while traveling.)
Gali sings the praises of an Indian gastropub that will give you dysentery. “We are so lucky because for the last three months the kitchen has been condemned by the health department,” she smirks. “But yesterday some truck driver hit a wild boar, so they gave them an exemption. So it won’t be a waste.”
In a later episode, one of Gali’s companions wisecrack about the pestilential heat and jibe that prisons in India are particularly atrocious. (This must ring alarm bells for those aware of Israel’s carceral system for Palestinians.)
Russia is equally backward. Unlike in Israel, “not everyone here is happy to work with a woman,” a Russian arms dealer weighs in. If you didn’t get it, these countries are backward. Israel has its problems, but at least it has women in power!
Watching, I was reminded of social media posts by Indians complaining about racism and drug use from IDF veterans on the so-called “Hummus trail.” One post by AJ+ said the soldiers come there to “detox” from “carrying out a genocide in Gaza.”
Unconditional is under no illusions that Israelis can be a disruptive presence. If anything, it pushes the concept to new places. These Sabras ruin mindfulness workshops and start shoot-outs in hotel lobbies. It’s not great for the brand.
But then again, we live in a climate where simply acknowledging the existence of Israelis — as seen in a recent ballyhoo surrounding author R.F. Kuang — can prove controversial or politically-loaded, no matter how neutral the depiction.
Why Apple would give their imprimatur to an Israeli project today, when public opinion of the Jewish state has fallen off a demographic cliff, is a valid question likely explained by the positive reception of another Israeli import on the streamer, the show Tehran, about an IDF hacker stuck in Iran. From within the silos it’s hard to tell if audiences will cancel their subscriptions, as some have threatened.
Maybe, like Gali’s uniform, the show is a Rorschach. BDS types may boycott, yet the show seems to echo many of their talking points about Israel’s overzealous campaign in Gaza after Oct. 7 — at least by way of metaphor.
In a late episode, Orna tells her government companion Rita (Evgenia Dodina) about a time a classmate broke Gali’s arm, and the teacher excused his actions because his mother was in the hospital.
“You’re exactly like the teacher,” Rita tells Orna. “You give me a thousand excuses for Gali. ‘It’s because of me. It’s not her fault. Poor thing.’ It doesn’t matter she didn’t understand what she was getting into, and it doesn’t matter she didn’t mean to.”
Orna says it’s different with Gali — because it’s her daughter. One can overlook a lot when it’s your family, or, for that matter, your country.
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Israeli man indicted in attack on Catholic nun in Jerusalem’s Old City
(JTA) — An Israeli man was indicted on Thursday in connection to the violent assault of a Catholic nun in Jerusalem last month, after prosecutors said he targeted her over her Christian identity.
Yona Schreiber, 36, from the West Bank settlement of Peduel, was arrested last week and has since been indicted on charges of “assault causing actual injury motivated by hostility toward the public on the grounds of religion, as well as simple assault,” the state attorney’s office said in a statement.
According to the indictment, Schreiber, who is Jewish, attacked the nun just outside of the Old City in Jerusalem because he identified her as a Catholic nun. Schreiber allegedly pushed and then kicked the nun as she was lying on the ground and also attacked a passerby who attempted to intervene.
תקיפת הנזירה אתמול באזור קבר דוד בירושלים – שוטרי מרחב דוד איתרו את החשוד (36) ועצרו אותו בחשד לתקיפה ממניע גזעני >>> pic.twitter.com/agRpznR84X
— משטרת ישראל (@IL_police) April 30, 2026
The nun, a researcher at the French School of Biblical and Archeological Research, suffered bruises on her face and leg due to the attack, the state attorney’s office said.
The attack, which drew condemnation from Catholic leaders as well as faculty at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, comes amid mounting concern over hostility toward Christian clergy and holy sites in Israel.
Cases of Jews harassing Christians have risen sharply in recent years. Last month, the IDF punished a soldier who was filmed bludgeoning a statue of Jesus in southern Lebanon. This week, the IDF also announced that it would discipline a different soldier who was seen placing a cigarette into the mouth of a statue of the Virgin Mary in a photo posted on social media.
Israel’s attorney general asked the Jerusalem Magistrate’s Court, where the indictment was filed, to hold Schreiber in detention for the duration of the legal proceeding.
The assault carries a maximum prison sentence of three years, which could increase to six years if prosecutors prove the attack was motivated by religious bias.
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