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‘My Friend Anne Frank’ tells the incredible story of how Anne’s best friend survived the Holocaust

(JTA) — One spring morning in 1934, two little girls followed their mothers to a corner grocery store in Amsterdam. The mothers, hearing each other speak German to their daughters, discovered they were both Jewish refugees who had recently fled Nazi Germany. The two girls peeked shyly at each other from behind their mothers’ skirts, one of them slight with dark, glossy hair, the other taller and fairer.

Those two girls were Anne Frank and Hannah Pick-Goslar. One was to become the most famous victim of the Holocaust, whose diary documented two years in hiding before the Nazis found her family and she perished at the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp at age 15. The other narrowly survived and made her way to pre-state Israel, eventually enjoying a new life that grew to include three children, 11 grandchildren and 33 great-grandchildren.

The day after their grocery store encounter, the girls recognized each other at the Sixth Montessori School in Amsterdam and became instant best friends. They could not predict that their final encounter would come 11 years later, against all odds, at Bergen-Belsen.

Pick-Goslar spent decades telling her story through interviews and lectures, but her recollections have only just been published for the first time in a memoir, “My Friend Anne Frank,” written with the help of journalist Dina Kraft. She did not live to see its publication on June 6: Pick-Goslar died in October, six months into writing the book and two weeks short of her 94th birthday, leaving Kraft to finish her account. 

Kraft spoke with the Jewish Telegraphic Agency about the life of Pick-Goslar, who lived out the future stolen from her dear friend.

The conversation with Kraft, a onetime JTA reporter, has been lightly edited for length and clarity.

JTA: What was it like to tell Pick-Goslar’s story together with her?

Kraft: It was a remarkable experience being able to work with her. We had these very intense interviews where I was asking her to really dig back into her memory. A lot of Holocaust survivors, a lot of survivors of trauma, tend to tell their story — not on autopilot, exactly — but they have a script. It’s perfectly understandable, it’s a tool of self-preservation. 

So I was asking her to dive deeper and look more intensely within, and that was not always easy. There were times we would finish the interview after a couple of hours and she would say, “I’m just exhausted, I need to lie down.” And I would say, “Me too,” because it was just exhausting — we were recounting very hard moments.

It got to the point where she would come in the morning and say, “I’m having bad dreams again,” and I would say, “Yeah, me too, I’m having bad dreams also.” Because it was so much of trying to step into her shoes and step into her mindset, and also reading very intensely — it was very much a research project too.

How did Pick-Goslar remember her childhood and friendship with Frank before the war?

She remembers life before the war as incredibly warm and loving. They were wrapped up in a supportive familial environment. Although both she and Anne were refugees from Germany, they came over very young — Anne was 4 and Hannah was 5.

Their parents had a hard time adapting, especially the mothers. Hannah’s mother was born and bred in Berlin, very much a creature of German culture. Her father was a high-ranking official in the Weimar government, so they lived very close to the Reichstag. On top of being horrified that they had just been kicked out of this country they viewed as home, Hannah’s family went back 1,000 years in Germany. So they were heartbroken about their country taking this terrible turn into darkness. 

But for Hannah and Anne, it was a very nice life.

What kind of person was Frank, according to her friend?

She was very spunky. She had lots to say and she exhausted the adults around her. She was always challenging them, asking difficult questions, prodding, restless and impatient. The girls loved to play Monopoly, but Anne would get restless and walk off, which is frustrating for a friend! They would push back furniture in the house and do gymnastics together. Later on, when the Germans invaded and they only had other Jewish girlfriends to play with, they formed a club to play ping pong and go for ice cream. 

Anne was such a know-it-all that Hannah’s mother had a phrase about her. She said, “God knows all, but Anne Frank knows better!” 

But Hannah really saw her as a regular kid — she was just her friend, Anne Frank. She was not an icon of any kind, and she seemed more ordinary than she seemed extraordinary. 

In July 1942, Pick-Goslar found her friend’s apartment empty. Like everyone else, she was told that the Franks escaped to Switzerland — not knowing they had actually gone into hiding nearby. What happened to Pick-Goslar while Frank went into hiding?

Hannah was deported a year after Anne went into hiding. In that year, she went back to school. The anti-Jewish laws meant that you couldn’t sit on benches, go to swimming pools, be on a tram, ride your bicycle — and you couldn’t go to school with non-Jewish children. 

So Hannah and Anne were both fortunate to be accepted to the Jewish Lyceum, considered one of the more prestigious Jewish schools in Amsterdam under German occupation. But in the fall of 1942, the deportations had already begun. So every day there was a different student and friend missing from class, and different teachers and administrators missing. They never knew whether it was because somebody went into hiding or because they had been deported. 

Another thing happened at this time. In October, when Hannah was 14 years old, her mother Ruth was pregnant. She was determined not to go to a hospital because there were rumors of people being deported directly from hospitals, so she gave birth at home with a Jewish doctor and Jewish midwife. The baby ended up being stillborn and Hannah’s mother died the next day.

As more and more Jews were deported, Hannah was protected for a while. Her family secured a pair of South American passports, and they were also on the so-called “Palestine list.” The idea was that eventually they would be part of a prisoner swap between the British and the Germans — German soldiers for “exchange Jews” who would be sent to Palestine, which was under the British mandate.

Pick-Goslar survived to have three children, 11 grandchildren and 33 great-grandchildren. (Eric Sultan/The Lonka Project)

So for a while, Pick-Goslar’s family believed they might be spared. How did she end up at the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp in northern Germany?

By the end, the Germans rounded up all the remaining Jews from Amsterdam, including those who had special stamps in their passports. By June 1943, Hannah’s family was in one of the final roundups of Jews in Amsterdam.

First they went to Westerbork, a transit camp in Holland on the border with Germany. It was basically a holding purgatory, and from there people were deported either to Auschwitz or Sobibor — in which they were almost certainly killed — or if they were luckier, to Theresienstadt or Bergen-Belsen, which were concentration camps but not death camps. Eventually, after several months in Westerbork, Hannah’s family was deported to Bergen-Belsen.

It was bearable in the first few months and they were still fed, though not much. But by February of 1945, the Russians were approaching in the east and the Germans were trying to move people from outer concentration camps into Germany. So Bergen-Belsen swelled to many times its size and became incredibly overcrowded. There was less and less food and water, and typhus started raging through the camp.

How did Pick-Goslar and Frank find each other again at Bergen-Belsen?

Around this time, a tent camp was erected across from Hannah’s part of the camp. People saw other women speaking different languages — Hungarian, Polish, Greek, and eventually Dutch as well. They were emaciated and skeletal. 

The Germans forbade going out to talk at the fence and filled it with straw, so that people wouldn’t see each other anymore. But the women found a way to communicate, and word got to Hannah that Anne Frank was on the other side of the fence. Of course, she didn’t believe it, because the Frank family had left the impression that they were in Switzerland. But she decided to go find out for herself, even though it was extremely dangerous — you’d be shot if you went to the fence.

She crept up quietly and said, “Hallo, anybody there?” Then she heard a voice from across the fence, and by chance it was Auguste van Pels, one of the people who was in hiding with Anne’s family. She said almost casually, “Oh, you must be here for Anne,” and she brought Anne from the tent.

What were their last memories together?

Anne was coming from Auschwitz, so she was a broken shadow of her former self. She was freezing, starving and wailing that she was all alone in the world. She assumed that both of her parents were dead at this point. She didn’t know that just a week or two before, her father had been liberated from Auschwitz. 

Imagine two girls on opposite sides of this fence — two very loved, coddled girls, who did not know deprivation, but now were completely in the throes of the worst days of the war, completely dehumanized and mistreated. There they were on opposite sides of this fence, best friends, sobbing. 

Anne begged Hannah to bring her some food and Hannah said yes immediately, without knowing how she would get it. She said that she would come back in a couple of nights. And there was this amazing moment of female solidarity: The women in her barrack were so moved by the story of this reunion, they wanted to help — so from under a pillow here, hidden in a suitcase there, they gathered the little they had to give and put everything into a sock.

Out went Hannah again, a night or two later, to the fence. When she threw the sock over, she suddenly heard footsteps and then a scream — Anne had just lost the package to a fellow prisoner who took it out of her hands. She was distraught and couldn’t stop crying, but Hannah said, “Just stop crying, I’ll come back again with food.” 

So she went back a few days later again with more food collected from her barrack. This time they triangulated better and Anne caught the package. That turned out to be the last time they ever met.

How did Hannah remember the end of the war?

At the very end of the war, the Germans forced everybody who could still walk at Bergen-Belsen onto a couple of different trains. These trains were meant to go to Theresienstadt, where they would be killed.

Hannah was put on a train with her little sister Gabi, whom she was trying to keep alive. It was a harrowing 13-day ride throughout the eastern German countryside. The people were very sick and starving, with no food or water for the journey. There was one especially awful moment when the man next to Hannah tried to spill his bowl of diarrhea outside the door of the train, but instead it splashed all over her. 

She was so ill with typhus that she eventually passed out around day 13. When she woke up, people were already off the train. She asked what was going on, and someone said, “Don’t you know? We were liberated by the Russians.”

What did Pick-Goslar make of the tremendous legacy left by Frank’s diary? Did she feel that her friend was correctly understood?

For her, reading the diary was a revelation. She felt like she was sort of reunited with this old friend, which was a very powerful feeling, but also very sad. She saw a girl developing into a young woman whom she would still like to know. She was very grateful that Anne’s diary had been recovered, that so many people got to know her story, and that her diary became a gateway to learning more about the Holocaust. 

I think she was a little upset by the sanitized version of Anne Frank. She spoke often about the famous passage in her diary, which is repeated and painted on walls and put on postcards: “In spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart.” Hannah said that if Anne had survived the hell of Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen, she did not think she would stand by that statement anymore. I think she was concerned about some level of oversimplification. 

She was very gratified that Anne’s voice never died and still lives on through her words, but she also wanted people to have a richer and more contextual understanding of the slaughter of millions of people that was the Holocaust.

—
The post ‘My Friend Anne Frank’ tells the incredible story of how Anne’s best friend survived the Holocaust appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.

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After my dad died, I discovered a lost history of Iranian Jews in the US

 

I was a freshman in college when my dad died. An Iranian Jew who came to the United States four years before the Islamic Revolution to study at the University of Missouri, he went both by Farzad and by his Hebrew name, David. Eventually, he became a traveling jeweler — or, as he put it, a “merchant,” a word evoking an image of independence, shrewdness and valor on the Silk Road. After each business trip, he’d return home with stories of how nice people were in Raleigh, how cold it was in Minneapolis, and how beautiful the Florida Keys were.

Growing up in an Iranian Jewish community in Great Neck, a suburb on the North Shore of Long Island, I had spent my life mostly surrounded by people just like me, and rarely ever boarded a plane. The contrast between my dad’s cosmopolitanism and my provincialism mirrored another contrast, between his capability and my incapability. These differences made me distrust and worship him.

I knew my dad was getting older. The pace of his hair growth had slowed down, making his insistence on monthly haircuts a regular source of ridicule. But he was only 62; he wasn’t supposed to die. In 2019, he had a fatal heart attack on a flight to Key West — while he was in the air.

It seemed fitting that he — a cosmopolitan who had always seemed separate from the rest of my more provincial family — would die several hundred miles away from where we all lived. In the wake of his death, my desire to better understand his life led me to discover a forgotten chapter of Iranian Jewish history.

My community’s identity, like all identities, reflects a series of choices we’ve made about which parts of our experiences we wish to keep, and which we wish to throw away in the name of self-preservation. But despite our better efforts, the things we try to discard tend to remain with us, sometimes without us even knowing it.

Roots in Mashhad

My Iranian Jewish community traces its roots back to Mashhad, a city in northeastern Iran. In 1839, a mob of Muslim Mashadis raided the Jewish ghetto and killed more than 30 people. They seized and married Jewish women, selling others into slavery. Some Jews converted to Islam to escape death; others fled the country.

My ancestors appeared to convert to Islam. But community lore goes that when no one was watching, they wore tiny tefillin, prayed in basements and kept kosher as best they could. On Saturdays, Jewish shopkeepers kept their stores open so as not to be seen keeping Shabbat — but jacked up prices so high no one would buy anything. Jewish parents arranged their children’s engagements at young ages, so that if a non-Jew came requesting their daughter’s hand in marriage, they could honestly say she was taken.

The courtyard and golden dome of the Shrine of Imam Riza in Mashhad, Iran. Photo by Roger Wood/Corbis/VCG via Getty Images

Decades later, under a new government, my ancestors slowly began practicing Judaism openly again. In the mid-20th century, my grandparents and other Mashadi Jews left the city and moved to Iran’s capital, Tehran. But they remained insular. In Tehran’s much larger Jewish community, Mashadis separated themselves, praying in Mashadi synagogues and marrying fellow Mashadis.

They did the same in the U.S., where they first settled in Queens, then later helped form the ethnic enclave where I grew up.

As a child, I learned that being Mashadi made me different from all the other Iranian Jews in Great Neck, whom we called Tehrani even though many of their families came from other cities. So, when I learned that my parents were actually born in Tehran, I was scandalized. If my parents came from Tehran, didn’t that make us Tehrani?

“Why are we Mashadi?” I asked my dad one night, a year before he died: Why was I defined by this city, and not the other Iranian cities where my ancestors lived? Why weren’t we just Iranian?

Unable to explain, my dad laughed off the question. But I know now why Mashadis are Mashadi. It’s because pretending to be Muslim while secretly continuing to practice Judaism was a defining experience, one that taught my ancestors ugly ways to survive.

“To omr-e mani,” my dad would tell me in Farsi, in lieu of a simple “I love you.” Translation: “You are my life.” He always had a flair for hyperbole. And though he didn’t intend it this way, my teenage brain twisted his words to mean: “It will kill me if you aren’t a good Mashadi girl.”

Going to Missouri

When I was little, my mom told me a version of the Mashadi immigration story that matched her own experience: It began in Tehran and ended in Forest Hills, Queens. But when my dad died, I became more invested in piecing together the parts of his life that my mom’s story didn’t capture.

The author’s father’s yearbook photo. Courtesy of Lauren Hakimi

I got his yearbook and attendance records from the University of Missouri; obtained his immigration records from the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services; pored over more than 100 old newspapers, magazines and other archival documents; read academic articles and history books; and spoke to about a dozen people who I thought might have relevant intel, including extended family members, scholars and people who attended or worked at my dad’s college.

Arriving in 1974, my dad was one of tens of thousands of Iranians who came to the U.S. in the 1960s and 1970s for college. In Iran, as in other major oil-exporting countries, economic development had led to increasing demand for skilled workers — but there weren’t enough colleges to meet this demand. So the Iranian government gave scholarships to students studying abroad.

Determined to develop allies during the Cold War, the U.S. government doled out scholarships, too. The idea was that students in Iran’s expanding middle class could study engineering in the U.S., then bring that expertise back to their home country, which needed it.

Many of these college students, seeking a lower cost of living, wound up in the Midwest. Plus, in the logic of a tight-knit ethnic community, where one person goes, others follow.

My dad followed a small group of Mashadi men to the University of Missouri in Columbia. His older brother, Behzad, had gone there for graduate school and still lived nearby. In Tehran, both he and my dad had attended an elite boys’ prep school called Alborz, named for the mountain range that stretches along the coast of the Caspian Sea. Historically run by American Christian missionaries, Alborz was considered the best high school in Iran, and American colleges knew it. Plus, if my dad’s kitchen-table bragging is to be believed, he was among Alborz’s top students in math.

Protest and persecution

By the time my dad arrived in Missouri, the tensions that would give way to the Islamic Revolution in 1979 had already emerged. Many Iranians protested the country’s then-leader, Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, over restrictions he placed on democratic institutions, torture against political opponents under his leadership, and his significant expansion of the military.

The Iranian community in the U.S. — then disproportionately composed of college students — leaned into the opportunity this country gave them to express themselves politically. Articles from the Columbia Missourian, once my dad’s local paper, show that at one point in the mid-’70s, anti-Shah protests took place at least once a month at local colleges.

Mohammad Reza Pahlavi (1919 – 1980), the last Shah of Iran. Photo by Universal History Archive/Universal Images Group via Getty Images

The protesters were embracing an American freedom: The Iranian secret police couldn’t get them, at least not while they were in the U.S. But American authorities had issues of their own.

In October 1975, police maced then arrested protesters at an anti-Shah rally at Lincoln University in Missouri. The protesters were denied food and prevented from calling lawyers because, a spokesperson for the Iranian Students Association said, “they were foreigners and had no rights.” The mayor sent the student-protesters’ names and photos to the Shah, even though students said that could get them executed or imprisoned for life.

At the University of Missouri, letters to the editor in the student newspaper, as well as classified ads, called for Iranian students to go back to where they came from. Graffiti on bathroom walls spread a similar message. Some people simply told their Iranian classmates face-to-face to return to the very place whose government they were protesting.

Many Iranian Jewish students liked the Shah, because he believed in secular government and undertook westernizing reforms. But 2,500 years of living as a minority had taught them to keep quiet. “Normally, Jews would stay out of politics,” mom’s brother Bahram, who studied in the Midwest beginning in 1969, told me. “If you were pro-Shah, you had a lot of students against you. If you were against, you had the embassy that would come after you.”

Two people I interviewed — Bahram and one of my dad’s cousins — both said something I can envision my dad also saying: that being Jewish protected them from anti-Iranian hostility on campus.

My dad’s cousin Sohrab, who went to New York’s Queens College, said that when encountering potentially hostile people, he made sure to emphasize being Jewish. “We feel like somebody’s uncomfortable, we made sure we told them first, ‘I am Jewish. I ran away from Iran,’” Sohrab said.

“We are first Jewish, then Iranian.”

What my dad and I never talked about

When my dad was 22, and a senior at the University of Missouri, his native country erupted into violence.

More than 40 years after the revolution, I sat in my college dorm, reading back issues of the Columbia Missourian, imagining my dad as a young, longish-haired man following the news from afar.

December 1978: “2 million protesters hit Tehran.” February 1979: “10,000 dead in Iran’s crisis.” March: “Firing squads execute 13 in Iran.” As the revolution took place, so did frequent earthquakes, which also claimed thousands of lives.

The college students who’d risked it all in order to advocate against the Shah seemingly got their way when he fled Iran in January 1979. But they were blindsided by the zealotry of the man who took his place: Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, a Shi’ite Muslim cleric who established an Islamic theocracy. He offered a foil to Pahlavi’s friendliness with the West by preaching against the U.S., Israel and imperialism.

After the revolution, the new government tried to assure Iranian Jews that they’d be safe, yet some were executed on trumped-up charges of spying for Israel. My dad’s parents were quick enough to leave by air, landing in Queens. Those who waited too long to emigrate had to pay smugglers to help them over mountainous borders.

When the Mashadi community followed in the footsteps of its sons and immigrated en masse to the U.S., American-educated Mashadi men — now in their 20s and 30s — became informal secretaries, translators, immigration consultants, financial advisors, business consultants, and advocates for higher education, for their own families and for the wider community.

Despite what Sohrab said, de-emphasizing their Iranian origins didn’t always protect the new immigrants from bigotry. Mohsen Mobasher, an anthropologist at the University of Houston-Downtown, told me that because of anti-Iranian hostility that later grew rampant, “some Iranians developed deep feelings of anxiety, suspicion, insecurity and inferiority.”

Once, I asked my dad whether he ever experienced antisemitism or anti-Iranian hostility. He let out a hearty laugh, as though it was ridiculous for me to imagine that he had.

If the question was ridiculous, it was only because I asked it so casually; just as I might ask him to do my laundry or cut me a pineapple. It was as if I’d asked him to synthesize his whole experience of identity into some set of words that might satisfy me. My dad did not see fit to tell me, a girl he was charged with protecting, about times in his life when he may have felt small.

Singled out by the federal government

In November 1979, months after my dad graduated, a group of Iranian militant college students took over the U.S. embassy in Tehran and held 66 Americans hostage. The hostage crisis gave way to unprecedented levels of anti-Iranian sentiment in the U.S., and the animus fell hardest on college students. Members of Congress introduced resolutions calling for all Iranian students to be deported. At Mizzou, one professor announced that he would no longer advise Iranian students.

Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini greets the crowd at Tehran University after his return to Iran from exile in France during the Iranian Revolution. (Photo by Alain Dejean/Sygma via Getty Images) Photo by Alain Dejean/Sygma via Getty Images

On Nov. 10, President Jimmy Carter ordered immigration checks on all Iranian college students in the U.S., saying that anyone found to be violating the terms of their student visa would be deported. More than 200 Mizzou students were told to report to an immigration office in Kansas City. To some of these students, the visa checks felt wrong, and they refused to participate.

“I would feel like a criminal,” an Iranian student who did not report told the Missourian.

“This is discrimination — singling out one nationality and investigating them,” said another, who also refused to participate in the check.

By this time, my dad had moved to St. Louis, where he was working for the chemical manufacturer Olin Corporation. But he still had to report for the visa checks. He had a visa for students and recent graduates who were gaining practical training in their field of study. In December, he received a frantic letter from Carl Leistner, the international student program coordinator at Mizzou, telling him to report to Kansas City the following week.

“I regret this delayed notice,” Leistner wrote in the letter. “However, we simply overlooked our practical training students in the rush associated with the registration of our 258 currently enrolled students from Iran.”

My dad traveled more than 200 miles for his interview, but when he arrived, he was sent home. A federal judge had ruled the visa checks were unconstitutional. If that ruling was overturned, my father was told, he might have to come back for an interview later.

Back on the Mizzou campus, some 600 students held a protest where some students advocated “deporting all Iranians from the United States.” “Deport, deport,” the crowd chanted at one point.

By being away from campus, my dad managed to evade these sorts of protests, plus other horrors that befell his collegiate counterparts. Abe Manzour, an Iranian American Jew who was my dad’s classmate at the University of Missouri, was still earning his degree.

“Sometimes, we were scared to go outside,” Abe told me over Zoom in 2021. “I almost got beat up by some guys on the street because they knew I was Iranian.”

Scared to go outside? Almost got beat up? Despite everything I had already read about anti-Iranian hostility, I was still surprised. What Abe was describing seemed a world apart from tales my dad used to tell — stories of beer, women and football games, which would’ve taken place just months beforehand.

“My dad always talked about his time in college,” I said. “He made it sound like the best thing ever.”

“For me it was, too,” Abe said.

A conservative enclave

Growing up in Great Neck, I lived a life very different from my dad’s. Our suburb was full of Iranian Jews, and until I was 18, I rarely ever left it. He was worldly; I was provincial, and in my senior year of high school, as I applied for college, I could no longer contain my jealousy.

“Can I apply to UC Berkeley?” I asked him one Sunday afternoon during my senior year, while he was making “early-bird breakfast.” I knew he’d say no, but wanted to see him squirm.

“I don’t see! I don’t see!”

“Dad!”

“Bache nazaideem ke befresteemesh Ca-lee-forn-yaw!” — “We didn’t have a child so that we could ship her off to California!”

The author and her father. Courtesy of Lauren Hakimi

“I know two people who sent their son to college on a different continent!”

“That was over 10 years ago!” At 61, my dad enjoyed describing events of his youth as having taken place “over 10 years ago.”

I never applied to Berkeley; instead, I stayed close to home and went to CUNY Hunter College in Manhattan. For better or worse, my life would be different from my dad’s, in ways that were tied up with the increasingly conservative nature of our community.

In Tehran, Mashadi Jews lived scattered around the city. In Great Neck, Mashadis are neighbors and attend a set of synagogues all within a mile of each other. And many Mashadi Jews in Great Neck have become more religious than their ancestors in Tehran were.

When most people think of assimilation, they envision people becoming more secular and better educated. But most Jewish people in Great Neck — Mashadi and otherwise — have assimilated into a different yet equally compelling idea of America, one that emphasizes religious freedom over other aspects of American culture.

Farzad David Hakimi celebrating his 62nd birthday. Courtesy of Lauren Hakimi

In the Midwest, Mashadi men learned the valuable lesson that Abe Manzour expressed: that it’s possible to experience happiness and personal growth in the midst of a hostile environment. Years later, when they moved to Great Neck, their environment rendered that wisdom useless, like a vestigial organ at risk of evolutionary disappearance.

To the men who’d left Iran to study abroad, we, their children, must have at times seemed narrow-minded and irredeemably young. Especially when I think about my dad’s life, I sometimes resent that I wasn’t allowed to go to California and feel embarrassed to have attended a commuter school.

What made me want to study his life was a binary I imagined between him — worldly — and me — ignorant. But actually, I don’t really believe that a binary between cosmopolitanism and provincialism captures the nuances entailed in our father-daughter relationship. And I don’t believe that being poorly traveled is the same as being ignorant.

Regardless of where one lives or visits, there are many different ways to be ignorant, and many different ways to learn something new.

The post After my dad died, I discovered a lost history of Iranian Jews in the US appeared first on The Forward.

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The stepchildren in the upcoming Israeli elections

דעם 27סטן אָקטאָבער וועלן פֿאָרקומען די וואַלן אין ישׂראל. 38 פּאָליטישע פּאַרטייען האָבן זיך פֿאַרשריבן צו פּרובירן געווינען וואָס מער פֿון די 120 מעגלעכע ערטער אין דער כּנסת. אין די פֿריערדיקע וואַלן, האָבן קאַנדידירט 40 פּאַרטייען. לויט דעם געזעץ, מוז מען געווינען גענוג וואַלן אויף כאָטש פֿיר (4) דעפּוטאַטן — דאָס הייסט 3.25% פֿון דעם סך־הכּל פֿון אַלע מענטשן וואָס האָבן אָנגעגעבן „כּשרע“ שטימעס.

אין די פֿריערדיקע וואַלן האָבן 70.83% פֿון אַלע בירגער אין לאַנד מיט שטימרעכט (4,764,742 פֿון 6,788,804) דערמעגלעכט 10 פֿון 40 פּאַרטייען אַרײַנצוטרעטן אין דער כּנסת. דעמאָלט האָט מען געדאַרפֿט האָבן בערך 153,000 שטימען כּדי אַ פּאַרטיי זאָל קענען אַרײַנפֿירן זייערע ערשטע פֿיר דעפּוטאַטן אין דער כּנסת. הײַנט, מיט 4 יאָר שפּעטער, וועט מען מסתּמא דאַרפֿן באַקומען נעענטער צו 200,000 שטימען.

ווי עס זאָל ניט זײַן, קעמפֿן די גרויסע פּאַרטייען פֿאַר יעדער שטימע, און באַמיען זיך פּטור צו ווערן און דערשטיקן די מעגלעכקייטן פֿון יענע קלענערע פּאַרטייען וואָס וועלן אפֿשר ניט דערגיין צו דעם מינימום פֿון 3.75% — און דערבײַ ׳אַוועקפּטרן׳ שטימען פֿון זייערע טראַדיציאָנעלע, סעקטאָריאַלע שטיצערס (למשל פֿרומע-פֿרײַע, רעכטע-לינקע, ייִדן-ניט-ייִדן).

הײַ-יאָר איז בכלל אַ גרויסער מיש-מאַש פֿון פּאַרטייען. פֿאַראַן נײַע שפּילערס וואָס ענדערן דאָס דעמאָגראַפֿישע און סעקטאָריאַלע פּנים פֿון געוויסע טראַדיציאָנאַלע פּאַרטייען, אָדער פֿון נײַע פּאַרטייען וואָס זײַנען ערשט אויפֿגעקומען. למשל, צו דער אַראַבישער/איסלאַמישער פּאַרטיי „רע׳ם“ האָט זיך צוגעשטעלט אַ ייִד — יואבֿ סגלוביץ (סעגאַלאָוויטש) — וואָס איז אַ געוועזענער הויפּט פֿון דער ישׂראל־פּאָליציי, אַ פֿיגור מיט וויכטיקע דערגרייכונגען.

„עמך ישראל“ – שטיפֿקינד פֿון די רעכטע

אויף דער רעכטער זײַט פֿון דער פּאָליטישער מאַפּע איז אַנטשטאַנען אַ נײַע פּאַרטיי, „עמך ישראל“, פֿון עופֿר ווינטער, אַ געוועזענער גענעראַל־בריגאַדיר. זײַן שותּף, דער צווייטער אין זײַן רשימה, איז יוסוף חדד (כאַדאַד), אַ קריסטלעכער אַראַבער וואָס איז אין דער צײַט פֿון דער צווייטער לבֿנון־מלחמה פֿון 2006, געווען אַן אָפֿיציר אין דער גולני דיוויזיע פֿון צה״ל. קעמפֿנדיק פֿאַר ישׂראל, איז ער שטאַרק פֿאַרוווּנדיקט געוואָרן. ער איז אויך באַקאַנט אויף דער סאָציאַלער מעדיאַ בײַם העלדיש פֿאַרטיידיקן מדינת־ישׂראל קעגן אַנטי-ציוניסטן און אַנטיסעמיטן. ווינטערס ציל איז, אַרײַנברענגען פֿרישע בלוט אין די רייען פֿון די רעכט-געשטימטע פּאַרטייען.

די פּאַרטיי ווערט פּראָיעקטירט צוצונעמען שטימען פֿון דער גרעסערער „ליכּוד“־פּאַרטיי, געפֿירט פֿון בנימין נתּניהו. לויט די מערסטע שטים־אַנטקעטעס ביז הײַנט, וועט „עמך ישראל“  ניט דערגרייכן די געהעריקע 3.75% און אַלע שטימען וועלן דערפֿאַר פֿאַרלוירן גיין. עס ווערט דעריבער איצט געפֿירט אַ גאָר שטאַרקע אַקציע פֿון דער ליכּוד פּאַרטיי אַז „עמך ישראל“ (און אויך נאָך עטלעכע קליינע רעכט-געשטימטע פּאַרטייען) זאָל זיך אָפּזאָגן פֿון אָנטיילנעמען אין די וואַלן. עופר ווינטערס קעגנערס האָבן שוין מצליח געווען אָפּצושרעקן איינעם פֿון די 4 וויכטיקסטע קאַנדידאַטן פֿון „עמך ישראל“, וואָס האָט זיך די טעג אָפּגעזאָגט פֿון קאַנדידירן.

„מילואימניקים„ (רעזערוויסטן) מיט „כּלכּלית„ (עקאָנאָמיע) – „וואָס“, ניט „ווער“

ווען מע קוקט אויף אַ גראַפֿיש בילד פֿון ווי די 120 כּנסת־ערטער ווערן אײַנגעטיילט צווישן די פֿאַרשיידענע פּאַרטייען — לויט די טעגלעכע שטים־אַנטקעטעס — זעט מען דאָס אײַנגעטיילט אויף דרײַ חלקים. פֿון איין זײַט, זעט מען די מעגלעכע צאָל קאַנדידאַטן פֿון דער איצטיקער קאָאַליציע (וואָס נעמט אַרײַן „ליכּוד„ צוזאַמען מיט די חרדישע און אַנדערע רעכט־געשטימטע פּאַרטייען). פֿון דער אַנדערער זײַט, זעט מען די צאָל מעגלעכע קעגנער (סײַ צענטריסטישע, סײַ לינקע, סײַ רעכטע פּאַרטייען) וואָס ווילן פֿאַרבײַטן די איצטיקע רעגירונג פֿון נתּניהון. דער דריטער בלאָק באַשטייט פֿון די אַראַבישע פּאַרטייען. פֿאַראַן אָבער — אין געוויסע פֿון די דיאַגראַמעס — אַ פֿערטע גרופּע, וואָס געהערט צו אַ ספּעציפֿישער פּאַרטיי וואָס פֿירט גאָר אַן אַנדערע פּאָליטיק פֿון די אַנדערע.

צוויי נײַע פּאַרטייען לייגן אָבער פֿאָר עפּעס גאָר אַנדערש פֿון די טראַדיציאָנאַלע רעכטע און לינקע פּאַרטייען: יועז הנדל (יאָאַז הענדל) פֿון דער „המילואימניקים“ (רעזערוויסטן) פּאַרטיי בשותפֿות מיט ירון זליכה (זאַליכאַ) פֿון דער „הכּלכּלית„ (עקאָנאָמיע) פּאַרטיי. זיי וואַרפֿן אָפּ די פּאָלאַריזירטע געדאַנקען און האָבן אֶ פּלאַטפֿאָרמע וועלכע שטעלט דעם טראָפּ אויף „וואָס“ מע דאַרף טאָן. דעם „ווער“ עס דאַרף דאָס אַדורכפֿירן איז ווייניקער וויכטיק – ספּעציעל וואָס אין דער הײַנטיקער פּאָליטיק איז שוין ניט קלאָר ווער עס איז אויף וועלכער זײַט פֿונעם פּאָליטישן ספּעקטרום.

די פּאַרטיי האָט זיך פֿון אָנהייב געוואַקלט בײַ 3.75%, אָבער אין די לעצטע וואַל-אַנקעטעס זעט אויס אַז זיי וועלן ניט נאָר דערגרייכן די געוווּנטשענע פֿיר דעפּוטאַטן, נאָר זיי שטרעבן אויף אַפֿילו נאָך מער. דאָס קען גוט זײַן דערפֿאַר, וואָס צו דער רעזערוויסטן־פּאַרטיי איז צוגעשטאַנען עינת ווילף — אַ באַגאַבטע פֿיגור וואָס איז זייער אָפֿן־האַרציק מיט אירע געדאַנקען. (מע קען זי אָפֿט טרעפֿן אויף דער סאָציאַלער מעדיאַ פאַרטיידיקנדיק מדינת־ישׂראל קעגן אונדזערע שׂונאים).

ווילף האָט אַליין געשאַפֿן אַ פּאָליטישע פּאַרטיי „עוֹז“ וואָס איז זייער ציוניסטיש געשטימט, און וועמענס אידעאָלאָגיע פּאַסט זיך גוט צו צו די פֿון אירע שותּפים הענדל און זליכה. יעדער ישׂראלדיקער בירגער דאַרף דורכמאַכן אַ מדינה־דינסט (ניט דווקא אַ מיליטערישע): מענער און פֿרויען, ייִדן, און ניט-ייִדן. זי דריקט אויך אויס אַנדערע געדאַנקען ווי אַזוי צו פֿאַרבעסערן דעם מצב סײַ וואָס שײַך דער זיכערקייט, סײַ דערציִונג, סײַ דער ישׂראלדיקער עקאָנאָמיע. איר פּאַרטייס נאָמען, „עוֹז“, איז אינספּירירט פֿון די ווערטער „יהוה עוז לעמו יתן יהוה יברך את עמו בשלום“ (ספֿר תּהילים) …

און נאָך אַ זאַך: יועז הענדלס פּאַרטיי, „די פֿאַראייניקטע ליסטע“, איז די איינציקע, אויף וויפֿל מיר ווייסן, וואָס האָט אַ לאָזונג אויף ייִדיש. אין אַ געוויסן זינען קלינגט עס ווי עפּעס, וואָס דער אַמעריקאַנער פּרעזידענט דזשאָן עף. קענעדי וואָלט געזאָגט: „פֿרעגט ניט ׳ווער׳, נאָר ׳וואָס׳ מע מוז טאָן פאַר דער מדינה.“

The post The stepchildren in the upcoming Israeli elections appeared first on The Forward.

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In Oct. 7 blame game, former Shin Bet chief sues Netanyahu ahead of elections

(JTA) — The bitter battle that has raged between Israel’s security and political establishments over who bears responsibility for the failures ahead of the Oct. 7 attacks is kicking into high gear as Israel prepares to hold its first election since the Hamas invasion in 2023.

This week, former Shin Bet chief Ronen Bar upped the stakes by filing a defamation lawsuit against Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. The premier has blamed the intelligence head for the failures leading up to the attack even as many in the security establishment have pointed the finger at Netanyahu. Bar in his lawsuit lists a litany of occasions Netanyahu allegedly ignored or rejected advice that might have prevented the attacks.

In the run-up to the national vote on Oct. 27, Israeli media have been preoccupied with reports of intelligence that was purportedly shared with top government officials ahead of the attacks. What Netanyahu knew about the Hamas threat before the invasion — and when he knew it — has become a central issue in the campaign and a line of attack for his political rivals.

Gadi Eisenkot, leader of the Yashar party and Netanyahu’s leading challenger, said in response to the lawsuit that “Netanyahu was warned and did not act,” and that he would not allow Netanyahu to “evade the truth.” Opposition leader Yair Lapid said that “Netanyahu can no longer claim that he didn’t know,” while Yair Golan, leader of the left-wing “The Democrats” party, said Netanyahu’s responsibility for “the worst massacre in Israel’s history is direct and clear.”

A range of political and security leaders who were in charge at the time have assumed responsibility and left their posts: Among them are Bar, IDF Chief of Staff Herzi Halevi, Defense Minister Yoav Gallant and military intelligence chief Aharon Haliva.

Not Netanyahu. He has rejected accusations that he is responsible for the failures even as he has prevented the establishment of a state commission of inquiry to investigate those responsible. He has argued that such a commission, whose members would be appointed by the president of the Supreme Court, as is traditionally the case in Israel, would be biased and would not enjoy public trust.

Beyond blaming the security establishment, Netanyahu has also sought to shift responsibility onto political rivals and previous governments. He has pointed to the actions, or failure to act, of political opponents, including Eisenkot, Naftali Bennett and Benny Gantz, when they held senior positions, as well as Israel’s 2005 withdrawal from the Gaza Strip, as factors that contributed to the Oct. 7 massacre.

In the lawsuit itself, Bar accuses Netanyahu of “trying to rewrite history and completely evade his responsibility for the events of Oct. 7.” The filing sets out a series of alleged warnings Bar gave Netanyahu before the attack, as well as Netanyahu’s alleged refusal to adopt Bar’s recommendations for offensive action in the months leading up to the massacre.

The lawsuit details more than a dozen instances in which Bar allegedly warned of Hamas’ growing strength and its intentions to attack Israel, alongside repeated recommendations that Netanyahu take more aggressive action against the group.

Among the warnings cited in the lawsuit, Bar said he presented Netanyahu in January of 2023 with his assessment that Hamas leader Yahya Sinwar wanted a multifront campaign against Israel.

In February, Bar allegedly sent Netanyahu a personal letter warning that terrorist organizations saw an opportunity to act and that the combination of Israel’s internal divisions and instability in the Palestinian arena could bring the country closer to a “perfect storm.”

In July, Bar said he told Netanyahu directly that he was conveying a strategic warning of war.

In September, he allegedly warned that Hamas wanted to escalate the conflict during October.

Netanyahu responded to the lawsuit in a post on X, addressing one specific claim in the filing: that he had never given Bar his personal phone number.

“Ronen, are you serious? You had my red phone number and could have called me immediately, as all heads of the security establishment do,” Netanyahu wrote. “How many lives could we have saved if only you had called in time.” Netanyahu has claimed recently that had security officials awoken him earlier on Oct. 7, he would have somehow stemmed the attack.

Bar’s suit also alleges that he consistently recommended initiating offensive operations against Hamas, including a “preemptive strike” and targeted killings. According to the lawsuit, Netanyahu strongly opposed those recommendations because he wanted to keep Hamas as a secondary concern. Bar also said Netanyahu reprimanded him for dealing with “strategy.”

“The defendant had been in a state of slumber for many long months beforehand and refused to wake up despite the alarm bells the plaintiff sounded in his ears incessantly,” the lawsuit alleges, alluding to Netanyahu’s plaints that he was not awoken early on Oct. 7. “The gap between the professional warnings and recommendations the plaintiff presented to the defendant and the response the defendant gave them is beyond comprehension.”

The defamation claim focuses in particular on a post Netanyahu published on X late last month, in which he claimed that Bar “knew about the real danger” in the early hours of Oct. 7 but chose not to wake him or take other preventive measures. Netanyahu accused Bar of trying to shift responsibility for “all of Ronen Bar’s failures and crimes” onto him.

In a press statement after filing the suit Wednesday, Bar called Netanyahu’s post a “blood libel” and announced that he was suing for 3 million shekels ($968,500) in damages and seeking a correction of Netanyahu’s statements.

Bar repeatedly emphasized in the lawsuit that he was not seeking to absolve himself or the Shin Bet of responsibility for the failures that led to the Oct. 7 massacre. Rather, he said, the suit was a response to Netanyahu’s attempt to “shift the responsibility exclusively onto Bar.”

“I waited quietly for three years for the establishment of a commission of inquiry that would finally expose the Shin Bet’s work, alongside its failures, in the face of an ongoing blood libel,” Bar said.

This article originally appeared on JTA.org.

The post In Oct. 7 blame game, former Shin Bet chief sues Netanyahu ahead of elections appeared first on The Forward.

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