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Jewish orphans evacuated from Odessa to Berlin at Ukraine war’s start are headed home again
ODESSA, Ukraine (JTA) – A year after Rabbi Mendy Wolff spirited 120 children and staff away from the Mishpacha Orphanage in this war-torn country to the safety of Berlin, he is preparing to bring them home.
That’s not because the war is over — far from it. One year after Russian tanks first rolled into Ukraine, fighting grinds on and much of Ukraine has been plunged into austerity conditions.
Instead, the children of Mishpacha are headed back to Odessa because of the high cost of keeping them fed, housed and educated in Germany. Chaya Wolff, Mendy’s mother and the wife of Odessa’s chief rabbi, Avraham Wolff, said the price tag was 750,000 euros — close to $800,000 — a month. They’ll join other Ukrainians who have returned to their homeland as it became clear that the war would not end quickly.
“We could have bought seven buildings for the [Jewish] community in Odessa with that money,” she said from Odessa, where she stayed along with her husband after the Russian invasion to care for remaining Jews in the city, where the Wolff family operates Chabad of Odessa. “But now the money is finished and it’s time to bring our children home.”
Mendy Wolff said that when he first headed to Berlin several days after Russia’s Feb. 24, 2022, invasion, he expected to return home in a matter of days. He had become the orphanage’s director overnight, when his parents tasked him with getting the children out of Ukraine. He and his wife, Mushky, had instructed their charges to pack two of each item of clothing.
German President Frank-Walter Steinmeier talks with refugee children from the Jewish community in Odessa at a Chabad center in Berlin two days after their arrival as refugees, March 7, 2022. (Clemens Bilan – Pool/Getty Images)
“As I was packing, I remember spotting my Megillat Esther on the shelf and thinking I won’t be needing that because Purim is two weeks from now and we’ll be back by then,” Wolff told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency, referring to the biblical book traditionally read on Purim.
The journey to Berlin took 53 hours and traversed five international borders, but Wolff and his wife tried to make the atmosphere as fun as possible for the children.
“We sang songs all the way and even though most of the children knew what was happening, we made it feel like summer camp — only in the winter,” Wolff said.
Getting the children out of Ukraine meant pulling strings of all kinds, since most did not have passports or even original birth certificates. Most of the children in the orphanage have parents who are unable to care for them; Wolff got the parents’ permission to take the children out of the country, a challenging task in the chaos after the invasion. “That is why we didn’t escape on the first day of the war,” he told JTA from Berlin at the time.
For 40 children for whom no living relatives could be found, Rabbi Avraham Wolff and his wife, Chaya, signed on as legal guardians. The Chabad emissaries in Berlin managed to secure VIP status for the young refugees to bring them across EU borders as personal guests of German President Frank-Walter Steinmeier, who greeted them on their arrival in the German capital.
The Wolff family operates Chabad of Odessa. Rabbi Avraham and Chaya Wolff are sitting. Rabbi Mendy Wolff, who has overseen the children relocated from the group’s orphange to Berlin, is at the center in the back row. (Courtesy Chabad Odessa)
The children and orphanage staff were joined by other Odessians: university students, single mothers and their own offspring. Their flight and warm welcome in Berlin captured international headlines.
“Everyone knew there was an orphanage coming,” Mendy Wolff told JTA in Berlin shortly after the group’s arrival. “It was an unbelievable hug. It made us feel good in our hearts.”
But even then, the high cost of caring for the children in Berlin was weighing on the volunteers who leapt to help them. “We’ve received an outpouring of support from the community and beyond, lots of clothes and other supplies, but what we really need now are financial donations — only the food for all the children costs about 5,000 euros every day,” one told the Associated Press at the time.
Over the course of the next 11 months, the Hotel Müggelsee, on the banks of Berlin’s largest lake of the same name, would become home to some 300 Jewish refugees. In that time, the group celebrated not just Purim but a full year of Jewish holidays, as well as the gamut of Jewish lifecycle events, from bar mitzvahs to births and brisses. The group recently celebrated the first birthday of the youngest child to make the trek from Odessa, Tuvia, who was just 5 weeks old when he arrived in Berlin.
Jewish children from Odessa in war-torn Ukraine celebrate Purim 2022 with members of the Chabad Berlin Jewish community, March 17, 2022. (Omer Messinger/Getty Images)
For Wolff, the hardest part was grappling with the unknown. “It was very similar to what people experienced at the beginning of the coronavirus pandemic. You don’t know who it will infect or how many people will die or how long you’ll need to live like this.”
Like many others, Wolff was certain that Russian President Vladimir Putin’s army would crush Ukraine in a matter of days. “With each passing day we saw that the Ukrainians were far more resilient than we had given them credit for and that the Russians weren’t as much as superheroes as we thought.”
The irony that Germany, and not Israel, became the host country for Jewish refugees from Eastern Europe is not lost on the Wolffs. While Mendy is reluctant to express political opinions of any kind, his mother, Chaya, is more forthright, saying that Israel had refused them entry.
Mark Dovev, the regional director of Nativ, the Israeli government office that facilitates immigration to Israel from the former Soviet Union, later told JTA that taking in a minor from another country is “tantamount to kidnapping.” Brushing off Dovev’s objections, Chaya Wolff said, “Just as Germany turned a blind eye, Israel could have also taken them in temporarily as refugees.”
The children and staff of Mishpacha Orphanage in Odessa pose outside the Hotel Mugglesee in Berlin, their home for nearly a year since fleeing war in Ukraine. (Courtesy Chabad Odessa)
Since German law bans homeschooling, the children were required to enroll in a local school as well as to learn German. German authorities allowed the student body to largely adhere to the Ukrainian curriculum, however, and they were taught by a handful of the women refugees who happened to be teachers. The hotel, which functioned as a dormitory, doubled as a branch of the local Chabad school — replete with classrooms and a schoolyard.
But keeping the refugees in Berlin came at a steep price, footed by various donors such as the International Fellowship for Christians and Jews as well as private donations. An online fundraiser netted $685,500 in small gifts from more than 5,000 donors — a significant tally, but far short of its $1 million goal. So it was mostly out of economic considerations, then, that the Wolffs decided to close up shop in Berlin and bring the refugees home later this month.
While some Ukrainians who fled the country say they have no intention of returning while the war rages, the Wolffs and their charges are hardly the first Ukrainians to make their way back home. Many of them have cited the high cost of life abroad, along with separation from family and guilt about abandoning their country, for coming back to a warzone. So many Ukrainians were returning last fall that the country’s leaders urged them to wait until this spring to return, lest they tax fragile infrastructure.
Ukrainians queue at the railway station in Przemysl, Poland, to depart for Ukraine, amid a reversal in migration patterns as the Ukraine war ground on, Dec. 20, 2022. (Dominika Zarzycka/NurPhoto via Getty Images)
According to Mendy Wolff, his group would be staying in Berlin were it not for budgetary concerns. Still, he said, there were many positive aspects about the decision to return home.
“Psychologically, it’s not easy being here. You’re not living like a human. It’s like living on borrowed time and in a refugee camp, albeit a luxury refugee camp,” he said. “I’m very excited to be in my own bed and my own blankets.”
For both mother and son, the responsibility of bringing the refugees back to a country that is still very much at war weighs heavily. Odessa is faring better than many other southern Ukrainian cities like Mykolaiv and Kherson to the east, which have suffered daily shelling. Still, air raid sirens sound multiple times a day and there is no electricity for 20+ hours. But as long as residents have access to bomb shelters and generators — including the kind made from car batteries that Avraham Wolff recently held a fundraiser to buy — Chaya Wolff describes it as “livable.”
“It’s not an easy decision and we hope it’s the right one,” Chaya Wolff said. “At the end of it all, we’re ‘believers, the children of believers,’” she added, quoting the Talmud.
Toby Axelrod contributed reporting from Berlin.
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Mamdani isn’t the real resistance against Netanyahu — Israelis are
If you, like so many American Jews this week, are focused on New York Mayor Zohran Mamdani’s video message urging protests against Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu when he visits the city in September, you’re missing the real story.
Pay attention, instead, to what is happening thousands of miles away — not in Manhattan, but in Israel, where the latest polls show Netanyahu and his ruling coalition trailing badly.
In New York, it’s the same old story: Israel guilty, Palestinians blameless, nothing in between. In Tel Aviv and Jerisalem, in Nazareth and Eilat, something else is brewing: change, maybe even hope.
Gadi Eisenkot — the former IDF chief of staff who broke with Netanyahu’s government over the Gaza War — now leads a new party, Yashar. Projections suggest his bloc would win 59 seats if the election were held today, compared to 51 for Netanyahu’s ruling coalition, according to the latest poll,
Eisenkot also beats Netanyahu head-to-head as the preferred prime minister, 43% to 37%.
If Eisenkot joins with Arab parties his coalition would receive 69 seats, substantially more than the 61 seats needed to govern. Though Eisenkot has not said yet whether he would link up with Arab parties, a plurality of Eisenkot’s potential voters (44%) said they would support such a move, in a country where Arab parties have only once been part of a governing coalition.
Eisenkot is no dove. He is someone who has concluded, rightly, that the threats Israel faces include the ones it’s inflicting on itself.
He has vowed to strengthen Israeli democracy and pursue diplomacy with Israel’s neighbors. His party’s platform calls for non-military national service for Arabs, something 75.8% of them favor. His likely coalition partners will include the Democrats, a smaller party expected to win 10 to 11 seats, for whom resolving the Israeli-Palestinian issue is a defining issue. “I see the conflict and the continued occupation as the greatest tragedy of our lives,” Emilie Moatti of the Democrats said at a party rally last month. “The most moral and patriotic act is to end it.”
These are the most hopeful winds to blow through Israeli politics in memory, ahead of the Oct. 27 election — the closest Israelis have come to real, structural change in years. Meanwhile, in the United States, it’s Mamdani’s admission that he lacks the power to arrest Netanyahu — and call for the federal government to do so instead — that has captured the media’s attention and consumed American Jews all week. But one of these stories is theater, the other is real.
We’ve let ourselves become consumed by an empty threat from a politician with no power to carry it out, instead of doing everything we can to support those Israelis who actually have the power to change their country.
In this farce, Netanyahu and the anti-Israel movement each need a cartoon version of the other to keep telling their one-sided story.
Imagine if Mamdani used his platform to draw attention to Makom Lekulanu, “A Place for Us All,” the only Arab-Jewish party standing for election. Instead the mayor of the American anti-Israel movement keeps the focus relentlessly on Netanyahu — because a country full of Netanyahus is a much darker story to tell, and a much more useful foil, than the complicated, pluralistic reality the polls actually show.
Netanyahu and his American supporters need Mamdani for the same reason — to paint Israel as besieged and alone, and all of Israel’s critics as clownish and illegitimate. But Netanyahu’s real critics aren’t clowns. They’re serious, Israel-loving Israelis — a former army chief among them — and they are beating him at the polls.
With Netanyahu offering voters more of the same — attacks on the judiciary, fear-mongering over Arab citizens voting and deeper dependence on his religious and far-right partners — a growing number of centrist Israelis have concluded that a Netanyahu win would put Israel’s very future at risk.
“If Netanyahu wins, it’s going to be a significant crisis, maybe a final crisis for many segments of Israeli society,” journalist Nadav Eyal said on the Jonah Platt podcast.
In this context, Mamdani’s theatrics are one more sign of how untethered the American conversation about Israel has become from what’s actually at stake on the ground. American Jews should stop reacting to him and start paying attention to the people with the power to actually change Israel’s future.
They can’t donate to Israeli political parties, but they can support Israeli NGOs that fund get-out-the-vote and voter education campaigns. They can back U.S. nonprofits that help promote better Israeli policies. And they can do the simplest thing of all: talk about this election — online, in shul, at the Shabbat table, anywhere the conversation has gotten stuck on Mamdani, which is everywhere. Doing that will add real dimension to a very stale debate.
New York voters will, in time, vote on whether their mayor’s selective obsession with Israel is making their city a better, more affordable place to live. That’s their business. But anyone who cares about Israelis and Palestinians should put their energy and focus where it really matters: on the people and movements who haven’t been this close to real, positive change in years.
The post Mamdani isn’t the real resistance against Netanyahu — Israelis are appeared first on The Forward.
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Why do I work for the “Foe-ward”? I traced my accent’s journey to find out
I began my internship at The Forward in May, just a few weeks after I finished my sophomore year at Duke, where I’m majoring in religion and history. My initial days back in my home city were a whirlwind: dinners at Top Thai; long walks up to the Met; reconnecting with friends. The period also included a still ongoing linguistic journey that has fostered a connection with my great-grandmother.
When my friends asked me how I was spending my summer, I was struck by how few of them had heard of the Forward. Initially, I assumed this was because my friends were younger or not Jewish (which was likely the main reason), but I later realized that their confusion was also connected to how I say the paper’s name.
I pronounce “forward” non-rhotically, meaning that I drop the first r so that the word sounds more like Foe-ward. My mom — though born in San Francisco — pronounces the word the same way, and has encountered the same confusion whenever she does. She decided to ask around to find other kindred spirits. My maternal grandmother’s family, we discovered, all pronounced the word the same way: “foe-ward.”
We attribute this to my great-grandmother, whom we call “Bubby Classic.”
My great-grandmother Sadie — my namesake, along with my other maternal great-grandmother — grew up on the Lower East Side. Originally, her family was from Vilna, Lithuania. Her father came to the country at the age of 9 and spoke excellent English, but her mother didn’t speak a word.
My family says that Sadie described her childhood as the happiest period in her life. No one around her was wealthy, but it didn’t matter. Her father was a tailor, which brought in a steady income. As he always said, even if people were poor, they still needed clothes — but he would also donate clothes to those who couldn’t afford them. Sadie had three older brothers, and she told stories about them running after the ice truck together and jumping onto it.
At the time, Jews frequently changed their names to assimilate. Sadie, who wasn’t in love with her name, adopted Syde after the dancer Cyd Charisse. In the last decade of her life, though, she returned to her given name. At one point, she told my family that she didn’t know why she had changed it in the first place.
Sadie was the last member of my maternal family to speak Yiddish, and she spoke with a heavy New York accent; she grew up on “Hestuh” (Hester) Street, as my mom likes to say. When she started a family, Sadie moved out to Long Island, but she brought her children to the Lower East Side every Sunday; my great-uncle and Bubby recall sitting in family members’ apartments, playing with their cousins, eating and talking for hours.
This culture, though, began to fade. My great-uncle Michael tells me that his New York accent was still strong during childhood, but after the family moved to Florida, it softened. Though he still says many words with the accent, he’s been told that he also gained a slight southern twang. Bubby and my grandfather were San Francisco hippies, and she grew up there without a heavy accent, leaving none to pass on to me.
When my family realized how all we pronounced forward, we decided it had to have come from Sadie. We knew “foe-word” wasn’t her exact New York accent, but we thought dropping the “r” must run in the family.
The truth, as I discovered while speaking with linguist David Braun, was that our theory probably wasn’t the most accurate. The New York accent, like Sadie had, is non-rhotic and modifies the pronunciation of “er.” This is typically considered a type of vowel sound, which is stressed in words like her, bird, or person. When it’s unstressed, it is called a schwa and sounds like “uh”: “watuh,” “doctuh,” “fuh-wuhd.” Given that New York was an original colony, these pronunciations were heavily influenced by British speaking patterns, which are similarly non-rhotic.
As time went on, New Yorkers began to pronounce more and more words rhotically, with the accent being rare among newer generations. This was an evolutionary process, which could have resulted in some New Yorkers pronouncing forward as “foe-ward,” but there would also have been those who pronounced the word as “for-wuhd.” In any case, this wouldn’t have been the only word these New Yorkers pronounced non-rhotically: they’d still say caw-nuh instead of corner or regu-luh instead of regular.
My pronunciation of forward — dropping the first r, but not the second — is often interpreted as a phenomenon called dissimilation, which is the process when two similar sounds in a word become less alike. In this case, “r” is used in two back-to-back syllables, and one is dropped to ease pronunciation: “sup-rise” instead of “sur-prise,” “gov-enor” instead of “gov-er-nor,” and of course “foe-ward” instead of “for-ward.” Dissimilation occurs across many regions: unlike the accent, it’s not necessarily tied to New York.
This habit, though I’m not sure where it originated, is more than likely where my family’s pronunciation came from. Still, when I say “foe-ward,” I can’t help but think of my great-grandmother who lived on “Hestuh” Street, and feel connected to the place where she grew up.
How do you pronounce “Forward”? Let us know in this google form.
The post Why do I work for the “Foe-ward”? I traced my accent’s journey to find out appeared first on The Forward.
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Trump administration drops demand that Penn turn over list of Jewish employees
(JTA) — The Trump administration has withdrawn a controversial demand for the University of Pennsylvania to produce a list of Jewish employees as part of a larger investigation into alleged employment discrimination at the Ivy League university.
The withdrawal ends a round of lawsuits over the legality of such a demand, which alarmed Jewish groups on campus and beyond.
The federal Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, which is overseeing the probe, did not explain its decision to drop the subpoena in its Thursday court filing. A representative for the agency declined further comment to the Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
In its own statement, Penn, which had been engaged in a legal back-and-forth over the school’s refusal to compile such a list, said it had “protected its employees’ rights.” The school had shared the names of Jewish staff who had consented to the probe, but resisted sharing the names of all Jewish staff.
“Penn remains committed to fighting antisemitism and all other forms of discrimination, to ensure everyone it serves can learn, work, and thrive,” a university spokesperson said.
The unusual demand, first made in November, came as the Trump administration has aggressively targeted a handful of elite schools accused of failing to curb antisemitism on campus. Most of the time, its intervention has come through the education and health and human services departments, which have cited civil rights violations in seeking to yank billions of dollars in federal funding.
But the EEOC has gotten involved, too, arguing that Penn, in particular, had failed to protect its Jewish and Israeli employees from discrimination. Its case against Penn originated in 2023, and its subpoena had included demands to reveal members of “all clubs, groups, organizations and recreation groups” that were “related to the Jewish religion, faith, ancestry/national origin.” The subpoena also targeted the school’s Jewish studies personnel.
Jewish groups, including Penn Hillel, had argued against the demand, as did free-speech organizations. In an email, Penn Hillel’s director, Rabbi Gabe Greenberg, told JTA the organization welcomed the news.
“Over the past year, I have spoken with hundreds of students, faculty, and staff across the University of Pennsylvania regarding this issue. Every single person expressed objections to the EEOC’s attempt to compel the University to surrender data on Jewish identity and affiliation,” Greenberg said.
He continued, “While many in our community share Penn Hillel’s conviction that campus antisemitism requires urgent, sustained action, demanding ‘lists of Jews’ was a fundamentally incorrect and inappropriate way to address it.”
Earlier this year the agency chair, Andrea Lucas, defended the list-of-Jews demand during an antisemitism conference at Harvard. Lucas told the roomful of Jewish professionals that her office needed the list to identify “potential victims,” including as a means of distributing potential payouts.

(L-r) Andrea Lucas, chair of the federal Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, speaks with Brandeis Center founder Kenneth Marcus at an antisemitism conference held at Harvard University in Cambridge, Massachusetts, April 16, 2026. (Dillon Meyer Media)
“At some point, either the government will know information about individuals related to their religion or we will not be able to enforce the laws on their behalf,” Lucas said at the time.
A federal judge had ruled in March that the request was reasonable, dismissing efforts by Penn and Jewish groups to declare the ruling unconstitutional. However, the judge delayed the deadline by which Penn would have been forced to comply, giving the university more time to appeal.
The EEOC’s larger antisemitism inquiry into Penn continues.
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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