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Judaism doesn’t want you to wander and live just anywhere — or does it?
(JTA) — I was a remote worker long before the pandemic made it a thing, but it was only last month that I really took advantage of it. Early on the morning of New Year’s Day, I boarded a plane from Connecticut bound for Mexico, where I spent a full month sleeping in thatch-roofed palapas, eating more tacos than was probably wise and bathing every day in the Pacific. I’ll spare you the glorious details, but suffice it to say, it wasn’t a bad way to spend a January.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, I found myself again and again coming into contact with expats who had traded in their urban lives in northern climes for a more laid-back life in the tropics. There was the recently divorced motorcycle enthusiast slowly wending his way southward by bike as he continued to work a design job for a major American bank. There was the yoga instructor born not far from where I live in Massachusetts who owned an open-air rooftop studio just steps from the waves. There were the countless couples who had chosen to spend their days running beachfront bars or small hotels on the sand. And then there were the seemingly endless number and variety of middle-aged northerners rebooting their lives in perpetual sunshine.
Such people have long mystified me. It’s not hard to understand the lure of beachside living, and part of me envies the freedom to design your own life from the ground up. But there’s also something scary about it. Arriving in middle age in a country where you know nobody, whose language is not your own, whose laws and cultural mores, seasons and flora, are all unfamiliar — it feels like the essence of shallow-rootedness, like a life devoid of all the things that give one (or at least me) a sense of comfort and security and place. The thought of exercising the right to live literally anywhere and any way I choose opens up a space so vast and limitless it provokes an almost vertiginous fear of disconnection and a life adrift.
Clearly, this feeling isn’t universally shared. And the fact that I have it probably owes a lot to my upbringing. I grew up in an Orthodox family, which by necessity meant life was lived in a fairly small bubble. Our house was within walking distance of our synagogue, as it had to be since walking was the only way to get there on Shabbat and holidays. I attended a small Jewish day school, where virtually all of my friends came from families with similar religious commitments. Keeping kosher and the other constraints of a religious life had a similarly narrowing effect on the horizons of my world and thus my sense of life’s possibilities. Or at least that’s how it often felt.
What must it be like — pardon the non-kosher expression — to feel as if the world is your oyster? That you could live anywhere, love anyone, eat anything and make your life whatever you want it to be? Thrilling, yes — but also frightening. The sense of boundless possibility I could feel emanating from those sun-baked Mexicans-by-choice was seductive, but tempered by aversion to a life so unmoored.
The tension between freedom and obligation is baked into Jewish life. The twin poles of our national narrative are the Exodus from Egypt and the revelation at Sinai, each commemorated by festivals separated by exactly seven weeks in the calendar, starting with Passover. The conventional understanding is that this juxtaposition isn’t accidental. God didn’t liberate the Israelites from slavery so they could live free of encumbrances on the Mayan Riviera. Freedom had a purpose, expressed in the giving of the Torah at Sinai, with all its attendant rules and restrictions and obligations. Freedom is a central value of Jewish life — Jews are commanded to remember the Exodus every day. But Jewish freedom doesn’t mean the right to live however you want.
Except it might mean the right to live any place you want. In the 25th chapter of Leviticus, God gives the Israelites the commandment of the Jubilee year, known as yovel in Hebrew. Observed every 50 years in biblical times, the Jubilee has many similarities to the shmita (sabbatical) year, but with some additional rituals. The text instructs: “And you shall hallow the 50th year. You shall proclaim liberty throughout the land for all its inhabitants. It shall be a jubilee for you: each of you shall return to your holding and each of you shall return to your family.”
Among the requirements of the Jubilee was that ancestral lands be returned to their original owners. Yet the word for liberty is a curious one: “d’ror.” The Talmud explains its etymology this way: “It is like a man who dwells [medayer] in any dwelling and moves merchandise around the entire country” (Rosh Hashanah 9b).
The liberty of the Jubilee year could thus be said to have two contrary meanings — individuals had the right to return to their ancestral lands, but they were also free not to. They could live in any dwelling they chose. The sense of liberty connoted by the biblical text is a specifically residential one: the freedom to live where one chooses. Which pretty well describes the world we live in today. Jewish ancestral lands are freely available to any Jew who wants to live there. And roughly half the Jews of the world choose not to.
Clearly, I’m among them. And while I technically could live anywhere, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to. I like where I live — not because of any particular qualities of this place, though I do love its seasons and its smells and its proximity to the people I care about and the few weeks every fall when the trees become a riotous kaleidoscope. But mostly because it’s mine.
A version of this essay appeared in My Jewish Learning’s Recharge Shabbat newsletter. Subscribe here.
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In Brigitte Bardot, a complicated legacy of movie stardom, activism, xenophobia and antisemitism
The French actress Brigitte Bardot, who died Sunday at the age of 91, leaves behind a legacy as an actress who starred in a few notable and many less than notable films. Perhaps more importantly, Bardot also starred as BB (pronounced, bien sûr, as “baby”), a cultural icon who embodied the glories and miseries of a rapidly modernizing postwar France.
Life is short, art is long, and politics is, at times, even longer. At least, this is true for the life of Bardot. Bardot burst upon the world stage in 1956 with élan (and an ellipsis) upon the release of “Et Dieu…créa la femme” and made her last film “L’Histoire très bonne et très joyeuses de Colinot” in 1973. This makes for a movie career that spanned 17 years. If we were than to subtract 1973 from 2025, we get 52 years.
But during the 52 years Bardot lived following her retirement from cinema, the world witnessed a different kind of spectacle, one which shifted from the aesthetics of Bardot as a pop phenomenon during the 1950s — she was described by Simone de Beauvoir, in an Esquire essay, as “the most perfect specimen of the ambiguous nymph” — to Bardot’s downwardly spiraling politics in the late 1990s and early 2000s.
A starting point to think about Bardot and politics — or, better yet, ideology — is 1969. While France was still reeling from the student rebellion of 1968, an event that nearly brought down the government of Charles de Gaulle, Bardot was named as the model for “Marianne,” a mythic figure who was, and remains, the personification of the French republic built on the revolutionary values of 1789.
Bardot remained the model for several years, with postage stamps of her likeness on countless envelopes and busts in city halls across the country. In 1985, however, Catherine Deneuve became the face of Marianne. The two stars tended to play very different kinds of roles in their films: Bardot’s barely tamed sexuality contrasted sharply with the mesmerizing iciness of many of Deneuve’s characters.
As time passed, the two Mariannes revealed very different political values. In 1971, Deneuve signed the history-changing “Manifesto of 343 Women,” which supported the legalization of abortion, and has spent her life in the republican camp — an opponent of the death penalty and a part of the “republican wall” formed against Jean-Marie Le Pen during the 2002 presidential elections.
Meanwhile, Bardot’s politics veered ever more rightward until they could veer no further. In 1992, Bardot attended a dinner in Saint-Tropez — the sleepy Provençal port she turned into, well, Saint-Tropez — hosted by Jean-Marie Le Pen’s second wife, Jany Le Pen. Another guest was Jean d’Ormale, a shadowy businessman and a close advisor of Le Pen, who soon became Bardot’s fourth and final husband. Bowled over by Bardot, Le Pen recalled, “Compared to Bardot, Marilyn Monroe looked like a bar waitress.” He added that he and Bardot had much in common: “She loves animals and misses the France that was clean and proper.”
In her own memoir B.B., Bardot returned Le Pen’s compliment. He was, she wrote, “a charming and intelligent man who was revolted by many of the same things I was.” For the next two decades, Bardot’s righteous campaign against animal cruelty was entwined with her noxious campaign against Muslim immigrants. Her hatred of the Muslim preparation of halal meat transmogrified into a hatred of Muslims, period. From the late 1990s and late 2000s, Bardot, who persistently railed against the Muslim “invasion” of France, was convicted several times by French courts of inciting racial hatred.
Inevitably, her visceral loathing of ritual slaughter bled into antisemitism. In 2014, Bardot was widely criticized for her description of kosher and halal traditions as “ritual sacrifice.” Moshe Kantor, the president of the European Jewish Congress, ripped into this phrase, declaring it was “deeply offensive and a slur against the Jewish people.” Kantor noted that while Bardot “may well be concerned for the welfare of animals, her long-standing support for the far right and for discrimination against minorities in France shows a constant disdain for human rights instead.”
In a eulogy posted on X, President Emmanuel Macron observed that “with her films, her voice, her dazzling glory, her initials (BB), her sorrows, her generous passion for animals, and her face that became Marianne, Brigitte Bardot embodied a life of freedom…We mourn a legend of the century.” All of this is true, but it is equally true that BB embodied yet other sorrows and passions that cast a lengthening and darkening shadow over this century.
The post In Brigitte Bardot, a complicated legacy of movie stardom, activism, xenophobia and antisemitism appeared first on The Forward.
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Putin and Trump Do Not Support European-Ukrainian Temporary Ceasefire Idea, the Kremlin Says
Russian President Vladimir Putin delivers a speech during a session of the St. Petersburg International Economic Forum. Photo: Reuters/Maxim Shemetov
The Kremlin said on Sunday that Russian President Vladimir Putin and US President Donald Trump do not support a European-Ukrainian push for a temporary ceasefire ahead of a settlement, and that Moscow thinks Kyiv needs to make a decision on Donbas.
Kremlin foreign policy aide Yuri Ushakov said that a call between Putin and Trump lasted 1 hour and 15 minutes and took place at the request of Trump ahead of Trump’s meeting in Miami with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskiy.
“The main thing is that the presidents of Russia and the United States hold similar views that the option of a temporary ceasefire proposed by the Ukrainians and the Europeans under the pretext of preparing for a referendum or under other pretexts only leads to a prolongation of the conflict and is fraught with renewed hostilities,” Ushakov said.
Ushakov said that for hostilities to end, Kyiv needed to make a “bold decision” in line with Russian-US discussions on Donbas.
“Given the current situation on the fronts, it would make sense for the Ukrainian regime to make this decision regarding Donbas.”
Russia, which controls 90 percent of Donbas, wants Ukraine to withdraw its forces from the 10 percent of the area that Kyiv’s forces still control. Overall, Russia controls about a fifth of Ukraine.
Trump has repeatedly promised to end the deadliest conflict in Europe since World War Two and his envoy Steve Witkoff and son-in-law Jared Kushner have been negotiating with Russia, Ukraine and European powers.
Ukraine and its European allies are worried that Trump could sell out Ukraine and leave European powers to foot the bill for supporting a devastated Ukraine after Russian forces took 12-17 square km (4.6-6.6 square miles) of Ukraine per day in 2025.
“Donald Trump listened attentively to Russian assessments of the real prospects for reaching an agreement,” Ushakov said.
“Trump persistently pursued the idea that it was really necessary to end the war as soon as possible, and spoke about the impressive prospects for economic cooperation between the United States and Russia and Ukraine that were opening up,” Ushakov said.
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Zelensky to Meet Trump in Florida for Talks on Ukraine Peace Plan
FILE PHOTO: U.S. President Donald Trump welcomes Ukraine’s President Volodymyr Zelenskiy at the White House in Washington, D.C., U.S., October 17, 2025. REUTERS/Jonathan Ernst/File Photo
Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky and US President Donald Trump will meet in Florida on Sunday to forge a plan to end the war in Ukraine, but face differences over major issues, including territory, as Russian air raids pile pressure on Kyiv.
Russia hit the capital and other parts of Ukraine with hundreds of missiles and drones on Saturday, knocking out power and heat in parts of the capital. On Saturday, during a meeting with Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney in Nova Scotia, Zelensky called it Russia’s response to the US-brokered peace efforts.
Zelensky has told journalists that he plans to discuss the fate of eastern Ukraine’s contested Donbas region during the meeting at Trump’s Florida residence, as well as the future of the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant and other topics.
The Ukrainian president and his delegation arrived in Florida late on Saturday, Ukraine’s Deputy Foreign Minister Serhiy Kyslytsya said on X.
RUSSIA CLAIMS MORE BATTLEFIELD ADVANCES
Moscow has repeatedly insisted that Ukraine yield all of the Donbas, even areas still under Kyiv’s control, and Russian officials have objected to other parts of the latest proposal, sparking doubts about whether Russian President Vladimir Putin would accept whatever Sunday’s talks might produce.
Putin said on Saturday Moscow would continue waging its war if Kyiv did not seek a quick peace. Russia has steadily advanced on the battlefield in recent months, claiming control over several more settlements on Sunday.
The Ukrainian president told Axios on Friday he hopes to soften a US proposal for Ukrainian forces to withdraw completely from the Donbas. Failing that, Zelensky said the entire 20-point plan, the result of weeks of negotiations, should be put to a referendum.
A recent poll suggests that Ukrainian voters may reject the plan.
Zelensky’s in-person meeting with Trump, scheduled for 1 p.m. (1800 GMT), follows weeks of diplomatic efforts. European allies, while at times cut out of the loop, have stepped up efforts to sketch out the contours of a post-war security guarantee for Kyiv that the United States would support.
On Sunday, ahead of his meeting with Trump, Zelensky said he held a detailed phone call with British Prime Minister Keir Starmer.
Trump and Zelensky were also expected to hold a phone call with European leaders during their Florida meeting, a spokesperson for the Ukrainian president said on Sunday.
STICKING POINTS OVER TERRITORY
Kyiv and Washington have agreed on many issues, and Zelensky said on Friday that the 20-point plan was 90% finished. But the issue of what territory, if any, will be ceded to Russia remains unresolved.
While Moscow insists on getting all of the Donbas, Kyiv wants the map frozen at current battle lines.
The United States, seeking a compromise, has proposed a free economic zone if Ukraine leaves the area, although it remains unclear how that zone would function in practical terms.
It has also proposed shared control over the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant, where power line repairs have begun after another local ceasefire brokered by the International Atomic Energy Agency, the agency said on Sunday.
Zelensky, whose past meetings with Trump have not always gone smoothly, worries along with his European allies that Trump could sell out Ukraine and leave European powers to foot the bill for supporting a devastated nation, after Russian forces took 12 to 17 square km (4.6-6.6 square miles) of its territory per day in 2025.
Russia controls all of Crimea, which it annexed in 2014, and since its invasion of Ukraine nearly four years ago has taken control of about 12 percent of its territory, including about 90 percent of Donbas, 75 percent of the Zaporizhzhia and Kherson regions, and slivers of the Kharkiv, Sumy, Mykolaiv and Dnipropetrovsk regions, according to Russian estimates.
Putin said on December 19 that a peace deal should be based on conditions he set out in 2024: Ukraine withdrawing from all of the Donbas, Zaporizhzhia and Kherson regions, and Kyiv officially renouncing its aim to join NATO.
Ukrainian officials and European leaders view the war as an imperial-style land grab by Moscow and have warned that if Russia gets its way with Ukraine, it will one day attack NATO members.
The 20-point plan was spun off from a Russian-led 28-point plan, which emerged from talks between U.S. special envoy Steve Witkoff, Trump’s son-in-law Jared Kushner and Russian special envoy Kirill Dmitriev, and which became public in November.
Subsequent talks between Ukrainian officials and U.S. negotiators have produced the more Kyiv-friendly 20-point plan.