Uncategorized
I can’t forget what the Nazis did to my family, but I can be grateful to a repentant Germany
(JTA) — Picture a cute-looking, 6 1/2-year-old girl with curly braided hair. She is standing on a sidewalk, on a cold, dreary day in Leipzig, Germany, together with her parents and my wife and me. My granddaughter Vivi is staring intently at a 75-year-old worker, kneeling on the ground. He is digging a hole through the pavers to install several 4” x 4” brass plaques mounted on cement cubes — memorials to relatives who perished at the hands of the Nazis more than 80 years ago.
In February, we traveled 9,500 miles round-trip to dedicate 12 Stolpersteine plaques in memory of relatives I never knew, or even knew I had. (All 16 of my family members would have stood with us that day, but Germany’s airport worker strike canceled the others’ flights.) They were just some of my late father’s aunts, uncles and cousins who were murdered in the Holocaust, and we regarded the ceremony as a pseudo-levaya, a quasi-funeral that would be the final act of respect and farewell Hitler had denied my relatives.
I couldn’t have imagined, 60 years earlier when I first visited Germany, that I would ever return in a spirit approaching forgiveness, or that I’d feel a deep connection to a country that was once synonymous with brutality, pain, humiliation and suffering.
Stolpersteine, a German word meaning “stumbling block,” refers to a design brilliantly conceived by the non-Jewish German artist Gunter Demnig in the early 1990s. Installed in front of the homes where innocent Jewish victims last freely lived, the brass plaques simply and artistically memorialize, honor and personalize those brutally persecuted. On each plaque are engraved the victim’s name, dates of birth and death. As Demnig once said, “A person is only forgotten when his or her name is forgotten.” Hence, 100,000 of his plaques throughout Europe remind us that Jews are part of a shared history, and a common memory.
Whether consciously or not, the “stumbling pedestrian” instantly recalls the extraordinary evil unleashed by ordinary people, on once vibrant Jewish communities, and the terrorized Jewish neighbors who lived within them. This evil was driven by a blind loyalty to a gratuitous hatred of “the other,” meaning non-Aryans.
Who were these relatives I recently memorialized? Recently uncovered documents suggest my relatives were all decent, law-abiding citizens who contributed to Leipzig’s economy, enriched its cultural life and strengthened its social fabric. Sadly, being model citizens did not spare them from torturous fates.
One of those relatives, Elfriede Meyerstein, my paternal grandfather’s sister, was born Feb. 27, 1871 in Breslau. At 20, she came to Leipzig where her husband Menny ran a textile trading company with his family. They lived at the same address for many years. By 1931, after Menny’s death, she lived with her daughter Käthe Huth.
The Nazis, once in power, immediately expropriated Elfriede’s assets, comprising foreign stocks meticulously accumulated by Menny. The Nazi “Ordinance on the Registration of Jewish Assets” of April 26, 1938, forced her to surrender those securities to the state. In 1939, shortly after Kristallnacht on Nov. 9-10, 1938, the Nazis collected a “reimbursement tax” as “atonement,” from Elfriede and the rest of Germany’s Jewish community, for the damage Nazis did that night.
Just prior to her Sept. 19, 1942 deportation to Theresienstadt at age 71, Elfriede was forced to sign a “home purchase agreement,” the Nazis’ final act of expropriation. The document falsely and cynically promised her a “retirement home,” with free lifetime accommodation, food and medical care, but paid for by her, in advance. The Reich Security Main office confiscated 65,000 Reichsmarks ($300,000 in today’s currency). Her “retirement home” was in a ghetto with disastrous hygienic conditions, starvation, and no medical care. Elfriede died one month later.
After considerable soul-searching and three visits to Germany, spaced over 60 years, my attitudes and feelings today, vis a vis Germany and its citizens, are dramatically different from when I first visited in 1966.
Then, I came with unprocessed emotional baggage. In 1939, my father, Ralph Meyerstein, fled Dusseldorf and my mother, Cecily Geyer, fled Dresden, both for England. My paternal grandparents, Alfred and Meta Meyerstein, were deported from Dusseldorf on Nov. 8, 1941, to Minsk, where they were killed. My maternal grandmother, Salcia, was deported to Riga in January 1942; in November 1943 she was sent to Auschwitz and murdered.
My parents met in Ware, a small town north of London, where some German Jews took refuge. They moved to London where they married during the Blitz and we came to the United States in December 1947.
The German-issued ID card of Max Israel Meyerstein, the author’s great-uncle, who was murdered by the Nazis in 1942 at the age of 80. (Courtesy Michael Meyerstein)
As an only child, I shouldered much of my parents’ guilt over abandoning their parents, even though it was their parents who, thankfully, had urged them to flee Germany. When retelling their survival story, my eyes still well up with tears, revealing a lifetime of trauma I’ve absorbed on their behalf. That first visit felt almost adversarial in tone. It was I, representing my parents’ personal losses and those of the Jewish people, versus Germany and Germans. I reacted viscerally to hearing guttural Deutsch being spoken. I eyeballed Germans on the street and asked myself: How old are they? Did they commit heinous crimes against my family and my people?
By 2018, when I dedicated a Stolpersteine in my maternal grandmother’s memory, my judgmental attitudes and harsh feelings had softened. Maybe I realized that 75 years later, the ordinary citizen on the street could not be held responsible for the carnage of the Holocaust. Also, working with non-Jewish German volunteers in planning the ceremony showed me their humanity, sensitivity and outright remorse for Nazism’s impact on my family and their German state. Their kindness was an atonement for a past not of their making.
My visit in February shed further light on my evolving relationship with Germany and Germans. Today’s Germany is doing teshuva, or repentance, by strengthening democracy, creating an inclusionary society, responding resolutely to far-right extremism, educating its young about the Holocaust, offering sanctuary to Jews fleeing Russia and Ukraine and being a true friend to the State of Israel. It also is supporting Jewish communal institutions, paying reparations to Israel, to individual victims and their descendants.
My relationship became much more nuanced upon learning that Germany was once home to five generations of my family, as far back as 1760, in the small town of Grobzig where Matthias Nathan Meyerstein was born. On our visit to its mid-17th-century Jewish cemetery, I gazed incredulously at the graves of Meyersteins. I saw schutzbriefen, documents issued by the reigning duke, that assured my ancestors protection, commercial privileges and religious rights. In the old Leipzig Jewish cemetery, I visited 12 relatives’ graves from the 1800s and 1900s, which reflected much about their secure socio-economic status.
Before my retirement, I never knew that Grobzig or Leipzig or other towns were in my family’s history. This discovery led to one conclusion: Unquestionably, 1933 to 1945 was a tragic anomaly in human history, and especially Jewish history. However, I must also gratefully acknowledge the Germany that sustained my family for over 300 years, and Jewish communal life for 1,700 years.
Nazi Germany’s ill-treatment and intolerance of “the Other” still affects me today as I mourn my relatives’ death. On the other hand, I feel heartened by this sentiment written by a non-Jewish German who funded research about my family: “For me, as I am part of this country and its history, it will be a never-ending task to find ways to deal with this horrible past and most importantly, never to forget,” she wrote.
Navigating this complex relationship with Germany and Germans is intellectually and emotionally messy for Jews. My engagement with “the Other,” however, has been profoundly satisfying.
—
The post I can’t forget what the Nazis did to my family, but I can be grateful to a repentant Germany appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
Uncategorized
‘The most Australian name’: Matilda, the youngest victim of the Bondi Beach attack, embodies a nation’s grief
(JTA) — The youngest victim of the Bondi Beach Hanukkah massacre is known by just one name — but it’s all that’s needed to make her a symbol for her fellow Australians.
“I named her Matilda because she was our firstborn in Australia. And I thought that Matilda was the most Australian name that could ever exist,” her father Michael, a Jewish immigrant from Ukraine, said at a vigil earlier in the week. “So just remember – remember her name.”
The poem and song “Waltzing Matilda,” written in 1895, is considered an unofficial anthem in Australia, which has been rocked by the terror attack on Bondi Beach that killed 15 people attending a Hanukkah celebration.
At a vigil on Thursday night at Bondi Pavilion — a public space now transformed into a memorial flooded with flowers and displays of solidarity — hundreds of mourners gathered and sang the song to memorialize Matilda, who at 10 was the youngest among the dead.
Matilda had been filmed shortly before the attack admiring as her father put on tefillin, the phylacteries used in prayer that emissaries of Chabad, the group that organized the Hanukkah celebration, routinely help Jewish men put on to fulfill a religious commandment. She was shot while standing with her mother Valentyna and 6-year-old sister.
Seeking to protect their privacy, the family has asked that their last name not be published in the media. Instead, Matilda has become associated her middle name, Bee.
At the somber memorial, all of the attendees were given stickers with Matilda’s name alongside a smiling bumblebee clutching a menorah, a symbol that has become a quiet emblem of remembrance in the days since her death.
At her funeral on Thursday, held at the Chevra Kadisha Memorial Hall, mourners clutched bee balloons and placed bee posters on the exterior of their cars.
A giant plush bumblebee was placed on Matilda’s small white casket at the funeral, one similar to the many that now adorn the Bondi Pavilion flower memorial alongside illustrations of bumblebees.
On social media, parents and schools around the world have posted children’s illustrations and photos of bees at the request of Matilda’s parents, a tribute that has spread widely as a way of remembering her. On Facebook, Matilda’s father, Michael, has reposted many of the online memorials.
Build a Bear Workshop Australia also announced the production of a limited-edition plush bee in memory of Matilda, with all proceeds going to her family. A GoFundMe page set up by her language teacher has also drawn over $550,000 in donations.
“She loved the outdoors, animals, she went to school, she had friends, everybody loved her,” Rabbi Yehoram Ulman, whose son-in-law, Rabbi Eli Schlanger, was also killed in the attack, said during his eulogy for Matilda. “The tragic, so totally cruel, an unfathomable murder of young Matilda is something that’s painful to all of us as if our own daughter was taken from us.”
Valentyna said at the vigil that until Sunday, she had been happy that her family had moved from Ukraine, which has been at war with Russia since Russia invaded in 2022.
“I came from Ukraine. I brought from Ukraine my oldest son, with him, and I was so happy that he’s not there right now. He’s not fighting for his land, and he’s safe here,” she said as she broke down in sobs. “I couldn’t imagine I would lose my daughter here.”
Chris Minns, the premier of New South Wales, the Australian state that includes Sydney, quoted from “Waltzing Matilda” at Matilda’s funeral.
“She bore the name Matilda to honor this great land, Australia’s heart and spirit forever hand in hand,” said Minns, who wore the bumblebee sticker on his lapel, according to ABC. “Her spirit like a swagman’s will never fade away. She’s waltzing with the angels, where love will always stay.”
The post ‘The most Australian name’: Matilda, the youngest victim of the Bondi Beach attack, embodies a nation’s grief appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
A Wider Bridge, a pro-Israel advocate in LGBTQ spaces, is shutting down
(JTA) — A Wider Bridge, a pro-Israel LGBTQ organization that became a flashpoint in debates over Israel, antisemitism and “pinkwashing” inside the American queer community, announced Friday that it will shut down at the end of the year.
The San Francisco–based nonprofit said it will wind down operations as of Dec. 31, 2025, citing financial strain, according to a statement from board chair Daniel Hernandez that was shared with supporters Friday.
“After 15 years, A Wider Bridge has made the difficult decision to wind down our operations,” Hernandez wrote. “The organization has been weathering difficult financial realities despite efforts to secure sustainable funding.”
The group’s closure also follows a period of internal turmoil. In late 2024, its executive director, Ethan Felson, was charged with sexual misconduct; he pleaded not guilty, and the organization installed interim leadership. Asked whether the case played any role in the decision to shut down, the group responded that the closure was driven by financial realities.
Founded in 2010 by activist Arthur Slepian, A Wider Bridge set out to connect LGBTQ communities in North America with their counterparts in Israel, promoting Israel’s record on LGBTQ rights while pushing back against antisemitism and anti-Zionist exclusion in queer spaces. The group organized trips to Israel, partnered with Israeli LGBTQ organizations, and launched initiatives such as PrideSafe and Queers Against Antisemitism.
Over time, however, A Wider Bridge became one of the most polarizing Jewish organizations in progressive LGBTQ circles, frequently clashing with activists who viewed any pro-Israel presence at Pride as political propaganda.
Critics accused the group of “pinkwashing” — using Israel’s comparatively strong legal protections for LGBTQ people to deflect attention from Israel’s treatment of Palestinians. A Wider Bridge rejected the charge, arguing that LGBTQ rights in Israel were substantive and that efforts to bar Zionist organizations from queer spaces amounted to discrimination against Jews.
Those tensions burst into public view in 2016 at the National LGBTQ Task Force’s Creating Change conference in Chicago, when an event involving A Wider Bridge and an Israeli LGBTQ organization was canceled after activist pressure, reinstated and ultimately disrupted by protesters.
The following year, the group drew national attention after Jewish marchers carrying rainbow flags with Stars of David were asked to leave the Chicago Dyke March. Organizers said the march was anti-Zionist and that the flags made some participants feel unsafe. A Wider Bridge and its allies countered that Jewish identity was being treated as inherently political, and therefore unwelcome, in queer spaces.
The dispute became a template for similar conflicts at Pride events in other cities, as debates over Zionism, antisemitism and Palestinian solidarity intensified inside progressive movements.
In recent years, A Wider Bridge increasingly framed its mission around combating antisemitism within LGBTQ communities, particularly after Hamas’ Oct. 7, 2023, attack on Israel and the ensuing war in Gaza deepened fractures within left-leaning coalitions. It came to the aid of Aguda, Israel’s leading LGBTQ advocacy group, after it was dropped as a member of the International Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual Trans and Intersex Association during the war.
The group spent more than it brought in in 2023, according to its federal tax filing from that year. Last year, the group’s budget was more balanced, but it also raised less from supporters, bringing in just $1.1 million, compared to more than $1.6 million in each of the previous two years.
In an email to supporters, A Wider Bridge emphasized what it described as its legacy, pointing to advocacy for LGBTQ rights in Israel, support for Israeli LGBTQ organizations, and efforts to push back against antisemitism and anti-Zionism in queer spaces.
“Though we are winding down, this is not a time to back down,” Hernandez wrote, adding that board members and supporters would continue the work in their individual capacities.
The post A Wider Bridge, a pro-Israel advocate in LGBTQ spaces, is shutting down appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
Why aren’t we hearing about the dramatic growth of the Israeli stock market?
דאָס איז אַן איבערזעצונג פֿונעם ענגלישן אַרטיקל, וואָס איר קענט לייענען דאָ
דעם פֿאַרגאַנגענעם שבת האָב איך געלייענט וועגן דעם אויסערגעוויינטלעכן וווּקס פֿון דער ישׂראלדיקער בערזע זינט דעם 7טן אָקטאָבער — היפּש בעסער ווי דער אויפֿשטײַג פֿון דער אַמעריקאַנער בערזע.
די 35 ישׂראלדיקע אַקציעס מיטן גרעסטן ווערט זענען זינט דעם 7טן אָקטאָבער געוואַקסן מיט נישט ווייניקער ווי 90 פּראָצענט. במשך פֿון דער זעלבער צײַט איז די אַמעריקאַנער בערזע געשטיגן מיט 60 פּראָצענט.
ס׳איז מיר געווען אַ חידוש פֿאַר וואָס איך האָב פֿריִער נישט געהערט וועגן דעם. דערנאָך האָב איך געלייענט וואָס דער פֿאָרזיצער פֿון דער תּל־אָבֿיבֿער בערזע, יודזשין קאַנדעל, האָט געזאָגט בעת אַן אינטערוויו מיט דער אינוועסטאָרן־צײַטונג Investors Business Daily.
„ישׂראל איז באַפֿאַלן געוואָרן, און ווערט נאָך אַלץ באַפֿאַלן פֿון אידעאָלאָגן, וואָס פֿינאַנצירן ריזיקע קאַמפּאַניעס קעגן אונדז,“ האָט קאַנדעל געזאָגט. „אָבער אַפֿילו במשך פֿון די פֿאַרגאַנגענע צוויי יאָר, האָט זיך נישט אָפּגעשטעלט ישׂראלס צוזאַמענאַרבעט מיט אַזוי פֿיל אָרגאַניזאַציעס, פֿירמעס, רעגירונגען און אינוועסטאָרן, נישט געקוקט אויף די דראָונגען און פּראָטעסטן קעגן איר.“
פֿאַר וואָס הערן מיר נישט וועגן אָט די קאָלאַבאָראַציעס?
כ׳האָב גענומען זוכן מער אינפֿאָרמאַציע וועגן דעם אָבער פּלוצלינג האָב איך זיך דערוווּסט וועגן דעם שיסערײַ אויף דער חנוכּה־מסיבה אין באָנדי־ביטש, אויסטראַליע. מיט אַ מאָל איז בײַ מיר פֿאַרשוווּנדן געוואָרן די שבת־מנוחה, ווי אויך מײַן גריבלען זיך אין די פּרטים וועגן ישׂראלס עקאָנאָמישער צוזאַמענאַרבעט.
איך האָב שוין פֿריִער געקלערט וועגן דעם וואָס טעראָריסטן איבער דער וועלט ווייסן גענוי די דאַטעס פֿון אַלע ייִדישע יום־טובֿים. דאָס וואָס די לעצטע שחיטה איז דורכגעפֿירט געוואָרן חנוכּה איז נישט געווען קיין צופֿאַל, און ייִדן איבער דער וועלט ווייסן דאָס גוט.
מיר לעבן איצט איבער אַ לאַנגע קאַמפּאַניע צו ווירקן אויף ייִדן, זיי זאָלן מורא האָבן זיך אויסצולעבן ווי ייִדן. די אַטאַקן אויף ייִדישע יום־טובֿים זענען אַ מיטל אָפּצומעקן ייִדישע פֿרייד, אָפּצומוטיקן ייִדן פֿון היטן ייִדישע טראַדיציעס און אינעם פֿאַל פֿון חנוכּה — אָפּצוּווישן די ייִדישע געשיכטע.
און אפֿשר איז דאָס אויך אַ קאַמפּאַניע צו מינימיזירן די אויפֿטוען פֿון דער ייִדישער מדינה.
עטלעכע פּאָליטיקער האָבן דאָס שוין באַמערקט
עטלעכע פּאָליטיקער האָבן שוין אָנגעהויבן זיך פֿאַרנעמען מיט דעם ענין. ברײַען מאַסט, אַ רעפּרעזענטאַנט אינעם אַמעריקאַנער קאָנגרעס, דער פֿאָרזיצער פֿונעם קאָמיטעט פֿון אויסלענדישע ענינים בײַם רעפּרעזענטאַנטן־הויז און אַ פֿלאָרידער רעפּובליקאַנער, האָט געזאָגט אַז ער זעט „אַ ספּעציפֿישע נעץ פֿון גרופּעס, וואָס קאָלאַבאָרירן צו פֿאַרזייען אַנטיסעמיטיזם איבער דער מעדיאַ, סײַ בײַם לינקן לאַגער סײַ בײַם רעכטן, כּדי צו שטערן די באַציִונגען.“
מיט „באַציִונגען“ מיינט ער די צוזאַמענאַרבעט צווישן די פֿאַראייניקטע שטאַטן און ישׂראל.
רעדנדיק אויף אַ קאָנפֿערענץ וועגן אַנטיסעמיטיזם געשטיצט פֿונעם „האָדסאָן־אינסטיטוט“, האָט מאַסט באַצייכנט די נעץ ווי „זייער אַן ערנסטע גלאָבאַלע סכּנה, וואָס פֿאַרשפּרייט זיך איבער פֿיל־לענדיקע אָרגאַניזאַציעס, דער גלאָבאַלער מעדיאַ, אונדזערע קעגנערס און טעראָריסטישע אָרגאַניזאַציעס.“
ווען ער האָט דערמאָנט דאָס וואָרט „מעדיאַ“, האָב איך גלײַך געטראַכט וועגן דעם וואָס כּמעט קיינער האָט נישט געשריבן וועגן דעם אוגעריכטן וווּקס פֿון דער ישׂראלדיקער בערזע און דעם כּוח פֿון די ישׂראלדיקע אַקציעס.
אַ שטיין אַראָפּ פֿון האַרצן
ס׳קלינגט אפֿשר מאָדנע אָבער לייענענדיק מאַסטס באַמערקונגען איז מיר אַראָפּ אַ שטיין פֿון האַרצן. איך האָב אָפּגעאָטעמט, הערנדיק ווי עמעצער באַשטעטיקט אָט דעם פֿענאָמען, כאָטש איך בין נישט זיכער אַז דאָס וואָרט „נעץ“ איז נישט אַקוראַט.
די וואָך בין איך בײַגעווען אויף אַן אומסעקטאַנטישער מסיבה לכּבֿוד די סוף־יאָריקע פֿײַערונגען, און קיינער האָט גאָרנישט דערמאָנט וועגן דעם שיסערײַ אין אויסטראַליע. ס׳איז מיר געווען אַ חידוש. צי וואָלט דער שמועס אויף דער מסיבה געווען אַנדערש, ווען מע וואָלט באַשאָסן אַ גרופּע מענטשן וואָס צינדן אָן אַ קאָמונאַלן ניטלבוים? וואָס וואָלט געווען דער שמועס אויב דער ציל פֿון די טעראָריסטן וואָלט געווען אַן אַנדער גרופּע, נישט די ייִדן?
ס׳איז שווער צו גלייבן אַז יעדער וואָלט געשוויגן; אַז קיינער וואָלט עס נישט אָנערקענט; אַז אין אַ צימער געפּאַקט מיט מענטשן וואָס אַרבעטן טאָג־טעגלעך מיט ווערטער זאָל קיינער נישט אַרויסרעדן קיין וואָרט וועגן דעם.
די דראָונג איז נישט בלויז די דראָונג וואָס דער רעפּרעזענטאַנט מאַסט האָט באַשריבן, אָדער די דראָונג וואָס קאַנדעל האָט באַשריבן. פּונקט אַזאַ סכּנה אויך דאָס שווײַגן — אַ שווײַגן וואָס איז אַזוי בולט אַז מע קען עס זען ווי אַ ליכטל אין דער פֿינצטער.
ווי אַזוי מע דאַרף רעאַגירן אויף דעם שווײַגן
איך ווייס אַליין נישט ווי מע דאַרף רעאַגירן אויף אַזאַ שווײַגעניש אָבער אפֿשר ווייסן קליגערע מענטשן פֿון מיר, וואָס מע דאַרף טאָן.
נעכטן שפּעט בײַ נאַכט האָב איך דערזען ווי עס פֿאָרט פֿאַרבײַ אויפֿן „ניו־יאָרק סטייט טרוּוויי“ (אַ באַקאַנטן ניו־יאָרקער שאָסיי) אַ לאַנגע ריי אויטאָס מיט חנוכּה־לעמפּ אויף די דעכער. די ריי אויטאָס האָט זיך געצויגן און געצויגן. דער שטילער באַטײַט איז געווען: „האָט נישט קיין מורא.“ בײַ מיר איז דאָס קלאָר געווען אַן אָפּרוף אויף „באָנדי־ביטש“.
איך האָף אַז מע צינדט איצט מער חנוכּה־לעמפּ, נישט ווייניקער, ווי פֿריִער. איך האָף אויך אַז מיר קענען אין דער ליכטיקייט אַנטפּלעקן די כּלערליי שיכטן פֿון אמת. אַ מאָל קענען אָט די שיכטן רעפּרעזענטירן סײַ אַ געזונטע דאָזע רעאַליטעט, סײַ אַן אַנטימיטל קעגן ייִאוש.
יאָ, אַ טאַטע און אַ זון זענען באַפֿאַלן די ייִדן אין אַ ייִדישן יום־טובֿ. ס׳איז אָבער אויך וויכטיק און אמת, אַז אַ נישט־באַוואָפֿנטער מוסולמענישער טאַטע און פֿרוכט־פֿאַרקויפֿער מיטן נאָמען אַכמעד אַל אַכמעד האָט געשפּרונגען אויף איינעם פֿון די טעראָריסטן און אַ דאַנק דעם אָן שום ספֿק געראַטעוועט דאָס לעבן פֿון אַ סך מענטשן.
דער ווידעאָ פֿון זײַן העלדישן אַקט דאַרף יעדער איינער זען. עס דערמאָנט אונדז אַז אפֿשר איז אויך דאָ אַן אַנדער „נעץ“ פֿון מענטשן וואָס שטעלן זיך אַנטקעגן אַזאַ שׂינאה. אַכמעד אַל אַכמעד האָט אונדז באַוויזן דעם כּוח פֿון אַ יחיד, און דעם כּוח פֿון איין שיכט פֿונעם אמת.
וואָס שייך דעם שווײַגן וועגן די ישׂראלדיקע פֿירמעס וואָס האָבן מצליח געווען, נישט געקוקט אויף דער מלחמה און די בויקאָטן; וואָס האָבן געהאָלפֿן פֿאַרהעכערן דעם אינדעקס מיט 90 פּראָצענט זינט דעם ערגסטן טאָג אין דער געשיכטע פֿון מדינת־ישׂראל; וואָס האָבן נישט אויפֿגעהערט זייער מיטאַרבעט מיט שותּפֿים איבער דער וועלט, נישט געקוקט אויף דער קאַמפּאַניע זי אויסצושליסן — אַפֿילו אין דער פֿינצטערניש, אַפֿילו דורכן שווײַגעניש, זײַ וויסן, ישׂראל: מיר זעען דיך.
אַבֿיה קושנער איז די שפּראַך־קאָלומניסטקע פֿונעם „פֿאָרוואַרד“
The post Why aren’t we hearing about the dramatic growth of the Israeli stock market? appeared first on The Forward.