Uncategorized
In Turkey, a festival revives a jewel of the Sephardic world and aims to break stereotypes
IZMIR, Turkey (JTA) — Prague has the dubious honor of being chosen by Adolf Hitler to be a record of what he hoped would be the vanquished Jews of Europe. The Nazis left many of the city’s synagogues and Jewish sites relatively intact, intending to showcase them as the remnants of an extinct culture.
That has made Prague a popular tourist destination for both Jewish travelers and others interested in Jewish history since the fall of the Iron Curtain: the city provides an uncommon look into the pre-war infrastructure of Ashkenazi Europe.
Could Izmir, Turkey’s third largest city, become a Sephardic version, in terms of history and tourism? That’s the goal for Nesim Bencoya, director of the Izmir Jewish Heritage project.
The city, once known in Greek as Smyrna, has had a Jewish presence since antiquity, with early church documents mentioning Jews as far back as the second century AD. Like elsewhere in the Ottoman Empire, though, its community grew exponentially with the influx of Sephardic Jews who came after their expulsion from Spain.
At its peak, the city was home to around 30,000 Jews and was the hometown of Jewish artists, writers and rabbis — from the esteemed Pallache and Algazii rabbinical families, to the musician Dario Marino, to the famously false messiah, Shabbetai Zevi, whose childhood home still stands in Izmir today.
Today, fewer than 1,300 remain. The establishment of the state of Israel, coupled with a century of economic and political upheaval, led to the immigration of the majority of Turkish Jewry.
“From the 17th century, Izmir was a center for Sephardic Jewry,” Bencoya told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “We can’t recreate that, but we cannot forget that either.”
Izmir is located on Turkey’s Aegean coast. (David I. Klein)
Celebrating in the former Jewish quarter
Bencoya, who is in his late 60s, was born in Izmir but spent most of his adult life in Israel, where he led the Haifa Cinematheque, but he returned to Izmir 13 years ago to helm the heritage project, which has worked to highlight the the culture and history of Izmir’s Jewish community.
Over nine days in December that included the week of Hanukkah, thousands attended the annual Sephardic culture festival that he has organized since 2018. The festival included concerts of Jewish and Ladino music, traditional food tastings, lectures on Izmir’s Jewish community, and — since it coincided with Hanukkah and also a Shabbat — both a menorah lighting ceremony and havdalah ceremony were conducted with explanations from Izmir’s leading cantor, Nesim Beruchiel.
This year’s festival marked a turning point: it was the first in which organizers were able to show off several of the centuries-old synagogues that the project — with funding from the European Union and the local municipality — has been restoring.
The synagogues, most of which are clustered around a street still called Havra Sokak (havra being the Turkish spelling of the Hebrew word chevra, or congregation) represent a unique piece of cultural heritage.
Nesim Bencoya speaks from his office next to the restored Sinyora Synagogue in Izmir. (David I. Klein)
Once upon a time, the street was the heart of the Jewish quarter or “Juderia,” but today it is right in the middle of Izmir’s Kemeralti Bazaar, a bustling market district stretching over 150 acres where almost anything can be bought and sold. On Havra Sokak, the merchants hock fresh fruits, and hopefully fresher fish. One street to the south one can find all manner of leather goods; one to the north has markets for gold, silver and other precious metals; one to the west has coffee shops. In between them all are other shops selling everything from crafts to tchotchkes to kitchenware to lingerie.
Several mosques and a handful of churches dot the area, but the synagogues revive a unique character of the district that had been all but lost.
“The synagogues here were built under the light of Spain. But in Spain today, there are only two major historic synagogues, Toledo and Cordoba, and they are big ones. You don’t have smaller ones. Here we have six on one block, built with the memory of what was there by those who left Spain,” Bencoya said.
Those synagogues have been home to major events in Jewish history — such as when Shabbetei Zvi broke into Izmir’s Portuguese Synagogue one Sabbath morning, drove out his opponents and declared himself the messiah (he cultivated a large following but was later imprisoned and forced to convert to Islam). The synagogue, known in Turkish as Portekez, was among those restored by the project.
Today, only two of Izmir’s synagogues are in regular use by its Jewish community, but the others that were restored are now available as exhibition and event spaces.
Educating non-Jews
Hosting the festival within Izmir’s unique synagogues has an additional purpose, since the overwhelming majority of the attendees were not Jewish.
“Most of the people who come to the festival have never been to a synagogue, maybe a small percentage of them have met a Jew once in their lives,” Bencoya said.
That’s particularly important in a country where antisemitic beliefs are far from uncommon. In a 2015 study by the Anti-Defamation League, 71% of respondents from Turkey believe in some antisemitic stereotypes.
The festival included concerts of Jewish and Ladino music, traditional food tastings and lectures on Izmir’s Jewish community.(David I. Klein)
“This festival is not for Jewish people to know us, but for non-Jews,” Bencoya said. Now, “Hundreds of Turkish Muslim people have come to see us, to listen to our holidays and taste what we do.”
Kayra Ergen, a native of Izmir who attended a Ladino concert and menorah lighting event at the end of the festival, told JTA that until a year ago, he had no idea how Jewish Izmir once was.
“I know that Anatolia is a multicultural land, and also Turkey is, but this religion, by which I mean Jewish people, left this place a long time ago because of many bad events. But it’s good to remember these people, and their roots in Izmir,” Ergen said. “This is so sad and lame to say out loud, but I didn’t know about this — that only 70 years ago, 60% of this area here in Konak [the district around Kemeralti] was Jewish. Today I believe only 1,300 remain. This is not good. But we must do whatever we can and this festival is a good example of showing the love between cultures.”
“I think it’s good that we’re respecting each other in here,” said Zeynep Uslu, another native of Izmir. “A lot of different cultures and a lot of different people. It’s good that we’re together here celebrating something so special.”
Izmir’s history as a home for minorities has not been all rosy. At the end of the Ottoman period, the city was around half Greek, a tenth Jewish and a tenth Armenian, while the remainder were Turkish Muslims and an assortment of foreigners. In the Greco-Turkish war of 1919-1922 — remembered in Turkey as the Turkish War of Independence — the Greek and Armenian quarters of Izmir were burned to the ground after the Turkish army retook the city from the Greek forces, killing tens of thousands. A mass exodus of the survivors followed, but the Jewish and Muslim portions of the city were largely unharmed.
Izmir is not the only city in Turkey which has seen its synagogues restored in recent years. Notable projects are being completed in Edirne, a city on the Turkish western border near Bulgaria, and Kilis, on its southeastern border near Syria. Unlike Izmir, though, no Jews remain in either of those cities today, and many have accused the project of being a tool for President Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s government to assuage accusations of antisemitism, without actually dealing with living Jews.
Losing Ladino and a ‘quiet’ mindset
Bencoya lamented that he is among the last generation for whom Ladino — the Judeo-Spanish language traditionally spoken by Sephardic Jews, but only spoken by tens of thousands today — was at least a part of his childhood.
“When you lose language, it’s not only technical, it’s not only vocabulary, it’s a whole world and a way of thinking,” Bencoya said.
The project is challenging a local Jewish mentality as well. Minority groups in Izmir, especially Jews, “have for a long time preferred not to be seen, not to be felt,” according to Bencoya.
That mindset has been codified in the Turkish Jewish community’s collective psyche in the form of a Ladino word, “kayedes,” which means something along the lines of “shhh,” “be quiet,” or “keep your head down.”
“This is the exact opposite that I want to do with this festival — to be felt, to raise awareness of my being,” Bencoya said.
The Bikur Holim Synagogue is one of the few still functioning in Izmir. (David I. Klein)
One way of doing that, he added, was having the festival refer to the community’s identity “as Yahudi and not Musevi!” Both are Turkish words that refer to Jews: the former having the same root as the English word Jew — the Hebrew word Yehuda or Judea — while the latter means “follower of Moses.”
“Yahudi, Musevi, Ibrani [meaning Hebrew, in Turkish] — they all mean the same thing, but in Turkey, they say Musevi because it sounds nicer,” Bencoya said. “To Yahudi there are a lot of negative superlatives — dirty Yahudi, filthy Yahudi, and this and that. So I insist on saying that I am Yahudi, because people have a lot of pre-judgements about the name Yahudi. So if you have prejudgements about me, let’s open them and talk about them.”
“I am not so romantic that I can eliminate all antisemitism, but if I can eliminate some of the prejudgements, then I can live a little more at peace,” he added.
So far, he feels the festival is a successful first step.
“The non-Jewish community of Izmir is fascinated,” Bencoya said. “If you look on Facebook and Instagram, they are talking about it, they are fighting over tickets, which sell out almost immediately.”
Now, he is only wondering how next year he will be able to fit more people into the small and aged synagogues.
“For Turkey, [the festival] is very important because Turkey can be among the enlightened nations of the world, only by being aware of the differences between groups of people, such as Jews, Christians, others, and Muslims,” he said.
—
The post In Turkey, a festival revives a jewel of the Sephardic world and aims to break stereotypes appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
Uncategorized
‘Long overdue’: Henry Ford home to confront his antisemitism
(JTA) — DEARBORN – The bust of Henry Ford looked on sternly as hundreds of Jewish professionals flooded his pool room.
The visiting Jews admired the views of the Rouge River from Ford’s windows and strolled through his immaculately maintained garden. They studied a mock-up for a Navajo rug in his basement woven with a particular pattern — one that appeared to resemble a Nazi swastika.
The staff at Fair Lane, the historic Dearborn home of Henry and his wife Clara, welcomed the Jewish educators, historians and museum staff. Why they did soon became clear during a panel discussion in that pool room. When the home reopens to the public in June 2027, after a 17-year closure for restoration, staff will teach visitors about Ford’s antisemitism.
This facet of the pioneering industrialist’s life was hardly incidental. The onetime richest man in America published venomous conspiracy theories in his newspaper, The Dearborn Independent, for years. Hitler was a professed admirer, and Nazi Germany awarded him a medal.
Leaders of Jewish groups greeted the news that the home would address Ford’s antisemitism with optimism.
“We applaud Fair Lane’s commitment to addressing Henry Ford’s antisemitism publicly,” Catherine Cangany, CEO of the Jewish Historical Society of Michigan, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency in a statement. “This history happened, it caused harm, and it continues to have consequences we all must confront.”
Cangany, who has research expertise on the Dearborn Independent, sat on the June panel with Fair Lane’s curators but is not involved in the antisemitism initiative itself. Local Jewish groups including hers have been pushing for Ford’s enterprises to acknowledge his antisemitism for years.
“The reckoning is long overdue, and we all will be better for it,” she said.
The curators did not broach specifics of their plan with their Jewish audience in June. For the rest of the summer, as Fair Lane proceeded with its renovations, most of the Detroit area’s Jewish leaders were kept in the dark.
More than two months after the conference, top staffers Austin Eighmey and Hannah McCready sat down with JTA in Ford’s library to outline their educational plans in more detail.
Surrounded by replicas of books on German race science that helped to inform Ford’s attitude toward Jews, they explained that they viewed discussions of antisemitism as core to the revitalized Fair Lane’s statement of purpose. Such information would sit, they said, alongside other unflattering aspects of Ford’s character, such as his union-busting activities.
“Our mission is to illuminate the lives and legacy of Henry and Clara Ford,” Eighmey, senior director of historic resources, said. Part of that legacy, he said, was noting that “he was an ignorant man, fed a lot of poor information that he himself sought out.”
“It’s our job to tell a more full picture and give people a lens with which to view history,” added McCready, the site’s director of interpretation and education.
In the Detroit area, where Ford’s name still looms large nearly 80 years after his death, such a commitment is notable. In 2023 the former president of the Ford Foundation, the family’s charitable arm, acknowledged and condemned its namesake’s antisemitism. Other local institutions devoted to historic purveyors of antisemitism have reckoned with their own legacies in recent years, including the church founded by demagogic “radio priest” Father Charles Coughlin.
But as Ford the man continues to be heavily mythologized today, by new generations of entrepreneurs and gearheads — and white supremacists — the physical museums and educational institutions in the region that bear Ford’s name and have connections to his family largely have not broached his antisemitism.
Those include The Henry Ford, a museum built around his personal collections; Greenfield Village, a historic reenactment village that includes a restoration of the mogul’s childhood home; and the Ford Piquette Avenue Plant, a Detroit heritage site where Ford’s Model Ts were built.
For a long time Fair Lane, too, didn’t touch the subject. After Ford’s widow Clara died in 1950, the property was turned over to the Ford Motor Company, which brokered a deal with the University of Michigan to build a Dearborn satellite campus on the site.
For decades the university offered tours of the grounds on a largely volunteer basis, also using it as an events space. The house has been closed to visitors since 2010, as the team undertook an extensive restoration project with an eye toward reopening for the public.
Eighmey said the plan to teach about antisemitism had been the goal since the restoration’s early days. The staff met with representatives from the Zekelman Holocaust Center, the state’s flagship Holocaust museum, to discuss how such a project would look.
“They were straightforward about Henry Ford’s antisemitism and hope that it will be incorporated into the interpretive narrative where appropriate but, at the same time, they respectfully acknowledged many of Henry Ford’s strengths and expressed a deep regard for Fair Lane’s stories, physical spaces, and current restoration work,” reads one executive summary of the focus group that a consultant shared with JTA.
A spokesperson for the Zekelman declined to comment to JTA for this article.
Local controversies in the interim called such educational commitments into question. In 2019 the city of Dearborn — where the Ford Motor Company is the largest employer — quashed a planned historical magazine that would have discussed Ford’s antisemitism, tied to the 100th anniversary of his acquisition of the Dearborn Independent.
In what Eighmey today refers to as “the whole fiasco here in Dearborn,” the city’s then-mayor, John “Jack” O’Reilly, fired the magazine’s editor, prompting outcry. O’Reilly died last year. His son, Devon O’Reilly, now serves as Fair Lane’s CEO.
Despite this history, the younger O’Reilly is supportive of the plan to teach Ford’s antisemitism on the site, the curators said. “We have not talked about his personal life, really, and his familial connections at all,” Eighmey said of O’Reilly.
The team has developed talking points about Ford’s antisemitism as part of their “non-negotiables,” museum terminology for facets of history that every visitor will encounter. Donna Braden, a museums consultant who formerly worked with The Henry Ford and who is Jewish herself, was hired to give her feedback on the plan and drafted her own proposed “non-negotiables” for the subject.
“Explaining the true story of Henry Ford’s antisemitism to non-Jewish people will help them understand why it is so important to the Jewish community,” Braden told the Fair Lane team in a report on their efforts.
In a summary she shared with JTA, Braden also advised the team to “be aware of many people who are unaware of Henry Ford’s antisemitism, and it will surprise them.”
Braden drew from “The People’s Tycoon: Henry Ford and the American Century,” an acclaimed 2006 biography by Steven Watts. Unlike other Ford biographers before him, Watts tackled his subject’s antisemitism head-on. His approach would later find surprising admirers within the Ford dynasty, leading to him presenting on the subject in 2018 to a room full of The Henry Ford staff and Ford family members.
“It was, I must say, quite an experience, because I spoke pretty frankly about all of this,” Watts, an emeritus history professor at the University of Missouri, recalled to JTA about his 2018 talk. “Most of the staff that talked to me about it actually indicated that they were a little relieved, I think, to have this brought out into the open in a fairly frank way.”
The talk, co-presented with the Jewish Historical Society of Michigan, did not lead to change — at least not at The Henry Ford, which has a separate ownership structure from Fair Lane. Today, no mention of Ford’s antisemitism can be found in The Henry Ford’s physical museum space, despite efforts from Braden and others to add such material. Some pages of its website now include some brief words on the subject.
Amid new efforts to push Ford’s family on the subject, Watts returned to Dearborn in 2024, partially to address Fair Lane at Braden’s invitation.
“I hope that they will move forward to bring Henry Ford’s antisemitism to the public,” he said, of both Fair Lane and The Henry Ford. “I got the idea when I was there that they were thinking strongly about a more frank and open approach to all of this, and I guess I would hope that is the approach that they take, and not the ‘sweep it under the rug’ maneuver.”
He told JTA that Ford’s antisemitism became most pronounced in the 1920s, shortly after the height of his business success.
Watts traces Ford’s antisemitism not to any one specific root cause, but rather to a confluence of factors, including the mogul’s economic populism; his failed efforts to send a “Peace Ship” of dignitaries to Europe during World War I, which he came to blame on a “Jewish financial interest in Europe”; and his embrace of conservative cultural signifiers, including square dancing.
“He basically begins to argue that Jews lay behind the corruption of that old-fashioned kind of rural, WASP cultural virtue, that Jews were behind jazz music, Jews were behind Hollywood movies, and that there was a kind of moral degradation that was at work,” Watts said.
Fair Lane has a separate ownership structure from The Henry Ford and Greenfield Village, both of which are largely built around other subjects Ford was passionate about, such as American innovation, rather than the mogul himself. Fair Lane, its curators say, is the natural place for visitors to learn about the Fords’ personal lives and beliefs.
Ford descendants still weigh heavily on Fair Lane’s board — including chair Edsel Ford II, Henry’s great-grandson, whom Eighmey refers to as “the Deuce.”
The family was onboard for this reappraisal, the curators said. Fair Lane’s models in the museum space include Monticello, Thomas Jefferson’s plantation in Virginia that has taught visitors about his slaveholding; and the Frick museum in Pittsburgh, where industrialist Henry Clay Frick comes under scrutiny for his fierce anti-union stance.
Visitors to Fair Lane, Eighmey promised, will “never leave here thinking, ‘Oh, it wasn’t that big of a deal.’”
The Fair Lane team chose to restore the house to its condition in 1919 — in part because the home was photographed for an architectural magazine that year, allowing the curators to use it as a visual reference.
The date is significant for another reason. 1919 was also the year that Ford acquired the Dearborn Independent, which he would soon use to publish a series of antisemitic conspiracies called “The International Jew” as well as the Russian forgery “The Protocols of the Elders of Zion,” which purported to outline secret Jewish plans for world domination.
Ford would require his dealerships to distribute copies of the paper with every automobile purchase, making the Independent, for a brief time, one of the country’s highest-circulated newspapers. Ford’s role as newspaper publisher was, in Watts’ estimation, the most notorious and seismic way the mogul’s antisemitism manifested in his lifetime.
The choice to reset his home to the year he launched the paper “is further bringing all of this together as a narrative throughline,” McCready said.
After the paper shut down in 1927, owing in part to a libel suit brought against Ford by Jewish attorney and labor activist Aaron Sapiro, Ford — with the help of Jewish community figures — publicly apologized for spreading antisemitism. Around the same time, the celebrated Jewish architect Albert Kahn helped renovate Fair Lane.
The planned 90-minute Fair Lane tour, which is currently being workshopped, touches on the Peace Ship and Ford’s wielding of the Dearborn Independent. McCready described the tour’s intended arc: “He fails with the Peace Ship. He decides that there is a hostile press that’s controlled by financiers that’s against him. He purchases this failing local newspaper and starts getting really obsessed with his image in the media, and we kind of take it from there.”
It does not get into the Sapiro trial, though tour guides will discuss the topic if visitors bring it up. They also don’t plan to discuss the medal Ford received from Nazi Germany in the late 1930s when Hitler publicly expressed admiration for him, noting that it falls nearly two decades after the time period represented by the house’s restoration.
Watts, the Ford historian, told JTA that Ford had suffered two strokes at the time he received the medal, and “was in very bad shape” — possibly impairing his judgment.
“I think Ford’s got a lot to answer for, but I don’t think he was a Nazi,” Watts said. “I think things kind of went off the rails there.” By 1942, Ford was again publicly renouncing antisemitism, calling it “a distinct disservice to our country.”
At the Jewish museums conference, Cangany, the Jewish Historical Society of Michigan CEO, suggested the Fair Lane team should display copies of the Dearborn Independent around the house to demonstrate the effects of Ford’s worldview. That’s not part of the plan, Eighmey said: “It’s not on the site, and it never was.”
But the house does have other eye-catching artifacts. A room in the basement, in keeping with historic specifications, will be outfitted with a Navajo rug stitched with the ancient “whirling logs” symbol, which the Nazis later co-opted as the swastika. Ford had acquired the rug and displayed it in his home beginning in the 1910s, well before the Nazi swastika was popularized.
Maintaining an honest assessment of its founder’s troubling history is a tall order for any museum in modern times. Even Monticello, which Fair Lane held up as a model, has faced right-wing backlash from figures who want the site to minimize discussions of slavery.
Meanwhile, Ford’s legacy continues to shape the modern era as new conservative cultural figures from the business world push similar brands of populism.
In 2022, amid a dispute with the tech mogul Elon Musk over the prevalence of antisemitism on his social network X, the Anti-Defamation League’s CEO, Jonathan Greenblatt, called Musk “the Henry Ford of our time.”
Greenblatt later apologized for the comparison -– but some commentators noted that it was even more apt than he may have meant. “Twitter is to Musk as The Dearborn Independent was to Ford,” the writer Parker Molloy wrote at the time.
Last month in Dearborn, which today has a large Arab/Muslim community, neo-Nazi activists wearing swastika armbands staged an anti-Muslim rally. Their choice of venue carried historical echoes: They organized outside the Henry Ford Centennial Library.
The Fair Lane team is aware of the modern significance of Ford’s antisemitism, they said.
“Populist movements, they always end up using antisemitism as some sort of way to recruit people to their cause,” Eighmey told JTA. “And it’s a reality that I hope, after people leave their experience here, they do reflect on it and see, ‘Wow, wait a minute. Is this happening right now around me?’”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post ‘Long overdue’: Henry Ford home to confront his antisemitism appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
Jewish artists face a relentless culture war over Israel. Some are building a way around it.
The pop star P!nk went into Rosh Hashanah explaining herself.
After sharing a post calling for rapper Macklemore to be dropped from Ed Sheeran’s tour over his pro-Palestinian performances, the Jewish singer faced a backlash of her own. On Friday, she clarified that she supported Palestinian humanity, opposed silencing artists and wanted room to express Jewish fear without being accused of endorsing Israel’s war.
Macklemore, meanwhile, said his criticism of Israel was not directed at Jews. Their exchange captured how quickly an argument about a performance can become a fight over identity — and who gets to define someone else’s.
Nearly three years after the Oct. 7 Hamas attacks, those fights are becoming part of the ordinary business of culture: promoting a movie, booking a concert, selling a manuscript. And some Jewish artists and executives are responding by building new places to take their work.
Consider Gal Gadot. While promoting her new Prime Video thriller, The Runner, the Israeli actress and former IDF soldier appeared on Jimmy Kimmel Live! last week, where she and Kimmel blew shofars for Rosh Hashanah. “Why platform her?” read a typical comment under the video on social media. Even sharing an episode became a point of contention: A member of MUNA, the musical guest, subsequently said the band’s performance had been prerecorded and that it hadn’t known who else would appear, adding a message supporting Palestinian freedom.
Artists critical of Israel face their own confrontations. Last month, Paramount accused Mark Ruffalo of invoking antisemitic tropes after he attacked the Ellison family’s corporate interests and Oracle’s work with the Israeli military. Ruffalo rejected the accusation, saying he was criticizing executives and government policy. The disputes involve different conduct and different stakes, but they keep returning to the same contested boundary between political criticism and prejudice.
In publishing, the consequences can be harder to see. Jewish and Israeli authors told The Wall Street Journal that agents had dropped them, editors had sought to remove Jewish or Israeli elements from manuscripts, and overseas publishers had become unwilling to buy their work. Some agents explicitly reject submissions from Zionists.
The picture is uneven: Jewish writers across the political spectrum continue to produce bestsellers, and a rejected manuscript alone cannot establish discrimination. But the accounts have helped spur new businesses.
A wave of new publishers has emerged to give Jewish and Israeli writers a home after agents and editors say mainstream houses have quietly frozen them out since Oct. 7: Neil Blair, best known as J.K. Rowling’s literary agent, launched High Line Publishing Studio last week to publish authors he says have been shut out elsewhere; Canary Publishing opened this month with the same mission; and Meg Keene Books, a new fiction imprint, will publish the American edition of Howard Jacobson’s Howl, which struggled to find a U.S. publisher despite its Booker Prize-winning author.
A similar response is taking shape in Hollywood. Former NBC co-chairman Ben Silverman is among the backers of SHOOQ, a new platform connecting Jewish filmmakers with investors and philanthropists. Its founders say talented storytellers need help finding the funding to get their projects made.
These ventures offer something practical to people exhausted by defending their right to participate: a publisher, a financial introduction, a way to keep working. They also raise a question that will outlast the latest celebrity argument: Can new Jewish cultural institutions help artists reach a wider public, or will an increasingly divided industry leave them speaking mainly to their own?
This essay first appeared in our Forwarding the News morning newsletter. Subscribe here.
The post Jewish artists face a relentless culture war over Israel. Some are building a way around it. appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
‘We return changed’: Michigan synagogue reopens for Rosh Hashanah six months after a gunman forced them out
Six months after he was injured protecting his synagogue, Danny Phillips helped carry a Torah back into its sanctuary. The security director was still recovering. So was the congregation.
On Friday evening, the Jews of Temple Israel in West Bloomfield, Michigan, returned to celebrate Rosh Hashanah in the sanctuary they had been forced to leave after a gunman attacked their synagogue in March. The Torah scrolls came home to their ark. Familiar prayers filled the room again. And the High Holidays’ ancient invitation to return took on a meaning no one there could have anticipated a year earlier.
“This room holds more than our services; it holds our memories,” Cantor Neil Michaels said in his welcome, recalling the weddings, coming-of-age ceremonies and farewells that had taken place there.
Throughout the service, clergy and congregational leaders spoke openly about what it meant to enter a sacred space where their sense of safety had been shattered. They described gratitude alongside grief, and the effort of caring for others while still struggling themselves. Returning to the building was one step toward learning to feel at home again.
The congregation’s co-presidents, Debra Gordon and Jodi Neff, gave that work a plainspoken expression: “How do you lead others when you are trying to steady yourself?” Gordon asked.
The answer, in the stories shared from the bimah, was that others helped carry the weight.
The prayer books came from other congregations. Temple Israel’s machzors had been destroyed in the attack, and the edition it used was out of print. Synagogues around the country sent replacements. Rabbi Harold Loss told worshippers that the book he picked up bore another congregation’s initials — a small reminder, held in his hands, of the community that had sustained them.
The children had already made their own return. Earlier that week, students came back to the early childhood center and received teddy bears marking the occasion with the Shehecheyanu, the blessing of gratitude for reaching a significant moment. An educator recalled a parent saying that, after six months in which nothing had felt normal, the first day back finally did.
Their neighbors had helped make the journey possible. On the day of the attack, the Chaldean Christian community’s Shenandoah Country Club across the street sheltered children and teachers. The following evening, it hosted the congregation for Shabbat. At the holiday service, Temple Israel’s leaders again thanked those neighbors, along with the staff, first responders and restoration workers who helped sustain and rebuild their community.
Coming home still required protection. The March 12 attacker drove a truck into the synagogue and exchanged gunfire with security personnel while preschoolers were inside. The reopening included additional security measures. Temple Israel’s Rabbi Josh Bennett has also spoken about the emotional and financial difficulty of making a synagogue secure while preserving its welcome — a challenge facing Jewish congregations far beyond Michigan.
Near the end of their remarks, the co-presidents described teshuvah, the season’s work of return, as something that allowed room for everything the congregation had endured.
“We return changed,” Neff said, “but still rooted.”
This essay first appeared in our Forwarding the News morning newsletter. Subscribe here.
The post ‘We return changed’: Michigan synagogue reopens for Rosh Hashanah six months after a gunman forced them out appeared first on The Forward.
