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Rabbis, teachers, survivors: 18 Jews whose deaths diminished our communities in 2022
(JTA) — All year long, the Jewish Telegraphic Agency reports about the deaths of Jewish newsmakers in our community. To close out the year, we wanted to turn our attention to people who may not have been such household names but whose stories deserve to be remembered.
Here, with the help of readers who shared the names of people they are remembering, we recall 18 Jews who shaped their local communities and made a difference in the lives of those close to them. They include rabbis whose impact extended for decades, teachers who inspired generations of students and activists who were working to build a better world. May their memories be a blessing.
Harriet Bograd
A champion of emerging Jewish communities in far-flung places.
Harriet Bograd, center, her husband Ken Klein, left, and daughter Margie on a visit to the Sefwi Wiawso Jewish community in Ghana in an undated photo. (Courtesy Kulanu, Inc)
Harriet Bograd, who as president of the nonprofit Kulanu supported emerging Jewish communities in Africa, Asia and other places far beyond the usual centers of Jewish life, died on Sept. 17 in a Manhattan hospital. She was 79. A Yale-educated lawyer and a stalwart at the West End Synagogue, she was inspired by a visit in 2004 to a remote village in Ghana, where about two dozen families considered themselves Jewish. In the years to come, she and Kulanu would provide support to emerging Jewish communities in Uganda, Tanzania, Nigeria, Cameroon, Madagascar, Indonesia, Pakistan, Guatemala, the Philippines and more. She once said of her work at Kulanu, “after the Holocaust and the decimation of Jewish communities in Arab lands, the idea [is] that we’re establishing Jewish communities that have their own richness and variety.”
Henry Berg-Brousseau
Transgender activist from Kentucky
Henry Berg-Brousseau (Courtesy Human Rights Campaign)
Henry Berg-Brousseau grew up in Louisville, Kentucky, and studied history, political science and Jewish studies at George Washington University, where he was a founding member of an LGBTQ+ fraternity. He had recently gotten a major promotion at the Human Rights Campaign when he died by suicide in his Arlington, Virginia, home, on Dec. 16 at age 24. “Henry spent his life working to extend grace, compassion and understanding to everyone but especially to the vulnerable and marginalized. This grace, compassion and understanding was not always returned to him,” his mother, the Kentucky state legislator Karen Berg, wrote in a statement that criticized lawmakers who advance anti-LGBTQ views. She added, “He was doing work that was important to him to make the world a more accepting place. At 24 years old. he had finally found a community but that could not undo the brokenness that he already felt.”
Rabbi Simcha Krauss
Orthodox advocate for women’s rights
Rabbi Simcha Krauss speaks at a dinner hosted by Yeshivat Eretz HaTzvi in his honor on Feb. 5, 2014. (Courtesy Yeshivat Eretz HaTzvi)
Rabbi Simcha Krauss, a leading figure of Modern Orthodox Judaism who was a forceful advocate for women’s rights within Orthodoxy, died Jan. 20 at 85. Krauss’s efforts, which included creating a rabbinical court to support “agunot” — women whose husbands refused to divorce them — frequently earned him scorn from traditionalists within Orthodoxy. But many others saw him as a “gentle giant” who wielded his years of study and experience to fight for women’s rights in Jewish law. Krauss was born in Romania and came to the United States in 1948. Coming from a long line of rabbis, Krauss studied at Yeshiva Rabbi Chaim Berlin in Brooklyn, and later studied with the Modern Orthodox luminary Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik. Krauss led the Young Israel of Hillcrest for 25 years. During his years in Queens, Krauss taught Talmud at Yeshiva University and began to get more involved in issues related to the role of women in Orthodoxy. He moved to Israel in 2005, and in 2014 came back to New York to found the International Beit Din, or religious court, to work on agunot cases. “Some say it is a modern revolution,” he told the Jerusalem Post. “I say that’s the way you should do it.”
Rabbi David Weiss Halivni
A survivor and scholar who teased out the many voices of the Talmud
Survivor and Talmud scholar Rabbi David Weiss Halivni was associated with Columbia University for 35 years. (Chaim Meyersdorf/Wikimedia Commons)
Rabbi David Weiss Halivni, the Talmud scholar and Columbia University professor, died June 29 at age 94. A Holocaust survivor and refugee raised in Sighet, Romania, he earned his doctorate and taught for many years at the Conservative movement’s Jewish Theological Seminary in New York, until leaving the institution in 1983 over its decision to ordain women rabbis. He later became dean of the rabbinical school of the Union for Traditional Judaism, a movement created by rabbis and scholars who similarly broke with the Conservative movement. In works like his multi-volume opus “Mekorot u’Mesorot,” or “Sources and Traditions,” he galvanized the world of Talmud study by treating Jewish text as a living, mutable conversation across generations, as opposed to a static document. Halivni’s approach to learning was the “corollary to loving the text so much that you just had to understand it to its fullest, whatever tools would enable you to do so,” wrote Rabbi Ethan Tucker in an appreciation.
Moris Albahari
A remnant of a Ladino-speaking past
Moris Albahari, shown in a documentary about his story called “Saved by Language,” was a pillar of Sarajevo’s Jewish community. (Courtesy of Brian Kirschen)
Moris Albahari was 11 when the Ustaša, Bosnia’s Nazi collaborator force, came to deport him and his large family to Jasenovac, the country’s equivalent of Auschwitz. A former teacher working as an Ustaša guard in the town of Drvar, where the train stopped, warned Albahari’s father, David, about their destination, and David was able to help his son escape from the train. Because Moris knew Ladino, the Jewish language that is mixture of medieval Spanish, Hebrew, Aramaic, Turkish and other languages, he was able to speak with the Italian soldier who saved him. Ladino would save him several more times before the end of the war, but afterwards, with most of Sarajevo’s Jews dead or forever dispersed, he spoke the language largely at home. At one point the director of Sarajevo’s airport, Albahari was a leader within Bosnia’s Jewish community. “It is a terrible loss, especially for Sarajevok,” said Eliezer Papo, a Sarajevo-born Jew and scholar of Ladino in Israel. “We’re not speaking just in terms of prominent members of the community, we’re speaking in terms of family members.”
Rachel Brodie
A “master Jewish educator” whose influence was vast
Rachel Brodie (Courtesy of J. The Jewish News of Northern California)
Rachel Brodie was unassuming and humble yet through her work as an educator had a vast influence on the Jewish community in the Bay Area of California, where she lived, and beyond. Brodie was the co-founder Jewish Milestones, an educational resource for Jewish lifecycle ceremonies that launched in 2004 as The Ritualist. She also served as “chief Jewish officer” at the Jewish community Center of San Francisco, a position created just for her, from 2011 to 2016. “To be in Rachel’s presence was to be illuminated by her wit, her laughter, and her fierce and tender heart,” wrote the founders of the Jewish Studio Project in Berkeley, where she had been a senior educator. “To learn with her was to be stimulated, delighted, and transformed.” Brodie, 55, died on April 11 after falling at her home in Berkeley.
Rabbi Steven Sager
“Leader, mentor, poet” in North Carolina and beyond
Rabbi Steven Sager at Beth El Synagogue in Durham, North Carolina, in 2017. (Courtesy Anna Carson DeWitt)
When Rabbi Steven Sager died May 15 at 71 after an extended battle with pancreatic cancer, he was mourned not only by his family and his congregants at Beth El Synagogue in Durham, North Carolina, from which he retired in 2011 after 32 years, but by a rabbinic and Hebrew poetry community spanning the globe. “Steve was a beautiful and deep human being,” the Israeli poet Rivka Miriam wrote. “I generally do not believe in translation, especially translation of poetry. It seems to me that every language has an inner secret that cannot be transposed into another vessel. Yet, when Steve translated my poems I had a different feeling — I felt he entered an inner layer, one that lies beneath any language, a layer carrying a hidden code.”
Nate Geller
Devoted to building stronger Jewish communities
Nate Geller, at his home in Teaneck, New Jersey. A colleague’s daughter made the “Nate” sign, which he took home and hung on his mantel. (Courtesy)
Nate Geller died on Jan. 24 at age 63, after a struggle with leukemia that he faced with characteristic humility, faith and optimism. His death was a blow to his colleagues at 70 Faces Media (JTA’s parent company); to his synagogue community in Teaneck, New Jersey; and to the Jewish communal world to which he had dedicated his life since graduating from the Hornstein Program in Jewish Communal Service at Brandeis University in 1983. In the hours after his death, chat rooms and email boxes filled up with loving tributes to Nate, remarkable for their consistency: Friends and colleagues remarked on his gentleness, his passion for Jewish learning, his commitment to Israel, his willingness not just to hear but to listen when a colleague kvelled or kvetched. Most of all, they remembered his devotion to his family: his wife Lyn Light Geller, herself a gentle and passionate force among “Jewish professionals,” his grown children Aliza, Ariana and Koby, Koby’s wife Talia, and their kids, Annaelle and Judah. Said one colleague and fellow congregant, “There is an enormous Nate-shaped void in the world now.”
Hedi Fried
A voice for Holocaust remembrance in Sweden
Holocaust survivor Hedi Fried stands between Sweden’s culture minister and handball player Linnea Claeson during a counterprotest against a neo-Nazi demonstration in Stockholm, Aug. 25, 2018. (Pontus Lundahl/AFP via Getty Images)
Born in 1924 in Sighet, in what was then Hungary and is now Romania, Hedi Fried survived Auschwitz and settled in Sweden, where she became a psychologist and advocate for Holocaust survivors. She created Cafe 84, a salon for survivors in Stockholm, and spoke widely about her experiences during the Holocaust, gathering some of the most common exchanges in “Questions I Am Asked About the Holocaust,” published in English in 2019. “Your solidarity was boundless and no question too difficult to answer. You were brave, generous, dedicated and extremely wise,” Christina Gamstorp, the director of Stockholm’s Jewish museum, wrote in a remembrance. “Now your voice has fallen silent but not your message. It lives on in everyone who met you, in your texts, books, films and your belief that man is still good — and that it is possible to build a society free from antisemitism and racism, which threaten our entire existence.” Fried, who had three children, died in November at 98.
Rabbi Sy Dresner
The “most arrested rabbi in America”
Rabbi Martin Freedman, right, and Rabbi Israel Dresner,center, are taken to the Tallahassee city building where they were charged with unlawful assembly after they and 10 other “Freedom Riders” were arrested attempting to eat at the Tallahassee airport in June 1961. (Getty Photos)
Rabbi Israel “Sy” Dresner, who demonstrated with Martin Luther King Jr. and was sometimes called the “most arrested rabbi in America,” died Jan. 13. He was 92. A Freedom Rider in the 1960s, Dresner built a career as a social justice-oriented Reform rabbi who was active in the fight against the Vietnam War and was a vocal opponent of Israel’s occupation of the West Bank. Dresner was born on the Lower East Side in 1929 to an Orthodox family and grew up in Brooklyn, where his father ran a delicatessen. He attended yeshivas as a child but went on to become a Reform rabbi after serving in the Korean War and working on a kibbutz in Israel. “We came as Jews who remember the millions of faceless people who stood quietly, watching the smoke rise from Hitler’s crematoria,” he said after an arrest in 1964 outside a segregated motel in St. Augustine, Florida. “We came because we know that, second only to silence, the greatest danger to man is loss of faith in man’s capacity to act.”
Eli Evans
‘Poet laureate of Southern Jews’
Eli Evans, seen here in a picture from a trip to Israel in the 1970s, was “equally at home in New York.” (Courtesy Josh Evans)
Born in 1936 in Durham, North Carolina, where his father would become the first Jewish mayor and his mother the founder of Hadassah’s first chapter in the South, Eli Evans remained tied to his native home despite spending his adult life in New York City, where he was a prominent grant-maker whose giving fueled the creation of “Sesame Street” in both the United States and Israel. He wrote several memoirs about Southern Jews and also included the South in his philanthropy, which he pursued at multiple foundations according to an activist philosophy that helped launch the Children’s Defense Fund, seeded the South with Black lawyers who became local civil rights leaders and built ties between Israeli and Egyptian scientists after their countries made peace in 1979. “Eli was a Southern gentleman who interacted with the Jewish establishment and strengthened American Jewish life, without losing his Southern Jewish soul,” said Brandeis University professor of American Jewish history Jonathan Sarna. “It was a privilege to have known him.” Evans died July 26 in Manhattan of complications of COVID-19, after a period of declining health.
Sheryl Grossman
A lifelong advocate for people with disabilities
Sheryl Grossman was a Jewish disability activist. (Screenshot from 2021 JDAIM Interview Series at Towson University)
Sheryl Grossman stood small, at just 4’3″ and 48 pounds, but in the world of Jewish disability advocacy she loomed large, as both the founder of a Facebook group for people living with Bloom’s Syndrome and as a board member of Yad Hachazakah, the Jewish Disability Empowerment Center. She died March 28 at age 46, the result of a Bloom’s Syndrome-linked cancer. “I don’t think anyone will ever know just how much work Sheryl did during the pandemic to help Jewish communities support their most vulnerable neighbors who were in the hospital or isolated at home with COVID,” said Shoshana Finkel, a law student who met Grossman when she was an intern at the American Association of People with Disabilities. “She didn’t feel the need to share her accomplishments; that was never what the work was about for her.”
Dara Goldman
A professor of Spanish and Jewish studies in her prime
Dara Goldman was a professor of Spanish and Jewish studies at the University of Illinois. (Courtesy U of I)
Dara Goldman was preparing for graduation at the University of Illinois, where she was a professor of Spanish and chair of the Program in Jewish Culture and Society, and for the American Jewish Historical Society conference, when she died May 13 of a heart attack. She was 51. A graduate of Columbia and Emory universities, Goldman produced scholarship so diverse that she was affiliated with eight units within the University of Illinois; most recently, she was researching Jewish cultural production in Cuba, where she brought resources for the Jewish community during her research trips, and co-edited a volume on 21st-century Jewish writing. “With her characteristic wit, she would often joke that she was a Jewish woman who took a wrong turn at diaspora,” said a remembrance published by the university. “But jokes aside, she could be at the same time a Jewish woman from New Jersey and an adopted daughter of Puerto Rico and Cuba, two cultures that she knew intimately and loved very deeply. … The echoes of her inimitable, hearty laughter will resonate within our halls for a long time.”
Yaakov Shalev
A beloved family man whose story was Israel’s
Yaakov Shalev, seated third from right, helped organize Iraqi Jews’ exodus to Israel. (Courtesy Asaf Shalev)
“When I arrived for a visit with family in Israel in my early twenties, my septum piercing outraged nearly everyone at our Shabbat morning gathering. Even my younger cousins badgered me to remove it. It took my elderly grandfather, Yaakov Shalev, to quiet everyone down and declare that I am his same beloved grandson, with or without the piercing.
“Calm, open-minded, steadfast, Saba Yaakov, as we called him, passed away peacefully in February at age 92 in Holon, with his five children at his side. He spent his last few hours listening to the melodies of his youth in Baghdad, the music of giants such as Umm Kulthum, Mohammed Abdel Wahab, and Fairuz.
“Saba Yaakov helped organize the exodus of Iraqi Jewry to Israel in 1950 and then enlisted in the Israeli military as an airplane mechanic. He taught himself how to build houses and became a successful contractor in the 1960s. But he soon decided the stress was too much and opened a shop in south Tel Aviv where he fabricated canvases for Israeli artists and framed their paintings. He kept the shop running for more than 40 years, going to work every day until he was in his eighties.” — Asaf Elia-Shalev, JTA reporter
Trude Feldman
A journalist who specialized in Yom Kippur interviews
Trude Feldman interviews Jimmy Carter in the White House in 1978. (Jimmy Carter Presidential Library)
The daughter of a rabbinical family, Trude Feldman launched her career covering the 1961 trial of Nazi mass murderer Adolf Eichmann in Jerusalem, where she put her training as a Hebrew teacher to use by teaching the language to the Nazi’s lawyer. (She also taught Hebrew to famed converts Sammy Davis Jr. and Elizabeth Taylor, and to Paul Newman on the set of “Exodus.”) But it was in her coverage of American presidents that Feldman truly made her mark, becoming famous for scoring presidential exit interviews and Yom Kippur interviews, which she would pitch as an opportunity for redemption. That’s what got her the first interview with Bill Clinton after he copped in 1998 to yes, having sex with that woman. The mainstream media mocked her for her softballs — “Saturday Night Live” once did so in a sketch — but those close to her understood their value. “The joke, however, was on everyone else,” her nephew, Rabbi Daniel Feldman, wrote in a remembrance. “Paired with her signature persistence, her style more often elicited not puff but profundity, more sincerity than sugar. The unique access she earned — baffling to some, understood to the astute, acknowledged by all — yielded memorable results.”
Harlene Winnick Appelman
A revolutionary leader in Jewish education
Harlene Winnick Appelman in an undated photo provided by the Covenant Foundation.
Born in upstate New York, Harlene Appelman’s career in Jewish education took off in 1982 when she became the director of family life education at Congregation Shaarey Zedek in Southfield, Michigan, a Detroit suburb. There, she pioneered interactive Jewish learning, bringing children out of dry frontal settings into a more tactile experience of Judaism. After joining the board of the Covenant Foundation, which funds and promotes Jewish education, in 1994, she became its director in 2005 and held that role until 2021, allowing her to influence a generation of Jewish educators. Many of them mourned her death at 75 on Aug. 18; the cause was cancer. “I am one of an entire congregation of Jewish educational leaders who Harlene mentored, supported, prodded and constructively critiqued, promoted, and made feel special,” wrote Rabbi Shira Koch Epstein, in an online remembrance. “I hope that in her memory, I will find ever new ways to help more Jewish rabbis and educators feel seen, heard, capable, and motivated.” This month, the Covenant Foundation initiated a new prize, in Jewish family education, in Appelman’s honor.
Tom Tugend
An indefatigable journalist
Tom Tugend in his Los Angeles home, Aug. 3, 2021. (Jacob Gurvis)
Tom Tugend was 13 when he and his family left their home in Berlin in 1939. He was 97 when he died Dec. 7 in Los Angeles, where he had lived for most of his life. In the intervening decades, he fought in the U.S. Army and the Israel Defense Forces; covered Jewish news for a wide array of publications, including JTA; and enjoyed 66 years of marriage during which he and his wife raised three daughters. “His authenticity came through to anyone who knew him,” said one of them, the journalist Alina Tugend. “He was a hero to many people.”
Judah Samet
A two-time survivor of antisemitic terror
Judah Samet stands next to his portrait, part of Luigi Toscano’s “Lest We Forget” project at the University of Pittsburgh in 2019. (Photo by Hector Corante, courtesy of Holocaust Center of Pittsburgh)
Judah Samet became a national face of Pittsburgh’s 2018 Tree of Life synagogue shooting because he survived: He had been running late that day, so was not inside the building when 11 of his fellow congregants were murdered. Months later, he was President Donald Trump’s guest to the State of the Union address. The experience was both very different Samet’s childhood in Hungary, where he was born in February 1938, and in some ways similar. As a young child, Samet was forced by the Nazis from his home and shipped with his family first to a labor camp in Austria and then to the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. After a stop in Israel, he moved to Pittsburgh in the 1950s, ultimately joining his father-in-law’s jewelry business there and remaining a committed community member until his death at 84 on Sept. 27.
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Tidbits: A huge Jewish dating event through AI and Chabad
Tidbits is a Forverts feature of easy news briefs in Yiddish that you can listen to or read, or both! If you read the article and don’t know a word, just click on it and the translation appears. Listen to the report here:
דעם 9טן אויגוסט וועלן טויזנטער אומבאַפּאָרטע ייִדן איבער דער וועלט אָנשטעלן זייערע עקראַנען און רעדן נײַן מינוט לאַנג מיט אַ פֿרעמדן. בײַ אַ טייל פֿון זיי וועט דאָס אפֿשר, אָן זייער וויסן, זײַן דער ערשטער שמועס מיט זייער זיווג.
אַזוי האָפֿן טאַקע די אָרגאַניזירער פֿונעם ריזיקן ראַנדקע-געשעעניש, Met@Chabad, וואָס זיי זאָגן וועט זײַן די גרעסטע סינכראָניזירטע ייִדישע ראַנדקע־אונטערנעמונג אויף דער וועלט. אין איין נאַכט וועלן אומבאַפּאָרטע ייִדן פֿון מער ווי 30 לענדער און טויזנט קהילות — אַרײַנגערעכנט מעלבורן, בוענאָס־אײַרעס און ניו־יאָרק — צונויפֿגעפּאָרט ווערן מיט פֿינעף מענטשן, אַ דאַנק דער הילף פֿון „איי־אײַ“ און אויך דורך רבנים און רביצינס, וואָס קענען די באַטייליקטע פּערזענלעך. מיט יעדן פֿון די פֿינעף מענטשן וועט דער באַטייליקטער שמועסן נײַן מינוט לאַנג דורך ווידעאָ.
זינט 2021, ווען מע האָט אײַנגעפֿירט די יערלעכע ראַנדקע־אונטערנעמונג, זענען מער ווי 30 פּאָרלעך פֿאַרקנסט געוואָרן דורך דער סיסטעם, און כּמעט בײַ אַלע זענען די פּאָרלעך געווען פֿון אַנדערע שטעט און לענדער. מיט אַנדערע ווערטער, אָן דער אונטערנעמונג וואָלטן זיי זיך קיין מאָל נישט באַקענט.
די יערלעכע אונטערנעמונג איז אָרגאַניזירט געוואָרן צוליב אַ וואַקסנדיקן פֿענאָמען בײַ די חב״ד־שלוחים איבער דער וועלט. יונגע ייִדן וואָס קומען צו זיי אויף שבת־מאָלצײַטן אָדער כּדי זיך צו באַראַטן מיט זיי וועגן אַ קאַריערע אָדער צוליב אַ פּערזענלעכן ענין, האָבן אָפֿט אויך געבעטן הילף בײַם געפֿינען אַ שידוך. אָבער בײַ חב״ד איז פּשוט נישט געווען קיין „שדכנות־ביוראָ“.
נעמענדיק אין באַטראַכט וויפֿל אַמעריקאַנער ייִדן האָבן הײַנט חתונה מיט נישט־ייִדן האָבן די שלוחים שטאַרק געוואָלט העלפֿן די אומבאַפּאָרטע ייִדן וואָס זוכן אַ זיווג. לויטן „פּיו“־פֿאָרשצענטער, האָבן 72% נישט־אָרטאָדאָקסישע ייִדן זינט 2010 חתונה געהאַט מיט עמעצן וואָס איז נישט קיין ייִד. אָבער זינט דעם 7טן אָקטאָבער 2023 האָבן די שלוחים באַמערקט אַ נײַע טענדענץ: מער יונגע ייִדן זאָגן זיי, אַז זיי ווילן חתונה האָבן מיט ייִדן און זוכן הילף ווי צו דערציִען ייִדישע משפּחות.
כּדי זיך צו פֿאַרשרײַבן אויף דעם ראַנדקע־געשעעניש דעם 9טן אויגוסט גיט אַ קוועטש דאָ:
צו לייענען וועגן דעם אויף ענגליש גיט אַ קוועטש דאָ:
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‘Do not boycott people who dislike us’: Netanyahu challenger Yair Lapid urges AIPAC and J Street to make support for Israel bipartisan again
Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s meeting in Washington, D.C. on Tuesday made headlines, but he is not the only Israeli official trying to make inroads in the nation’s capital this week.
Former Israeli Prime Minister Yair Lapid is also in town to get a head start on repairing the U.S.-Israel relationship. On Wednesday, Lapid, who is running on a joint slate with former Prime Minister Naftali Bennett to unseat Netanyahu in Israel’s October elections, met with a group of Democratic senators, including a handful who have voted in favor of restricting arms sales to Israel.
“I took advantage of the visit to convince them they were wrong, presenting them with facts on the ground,” Lapid wrote in a post on X translated from Hebrew. “Boycotting those who speak out against you is not the way. In the face of opposition in the Senate, you need to work hard, meticulously, to repair relations with both parties.”
Lapid and Bennett’s priorities are shared by many liberal Israelis who see the bipartisan foundation of the U.S.-Israel alliance falling apart and believe that replacing Netanyahu and winning back Democrats are both key to the survival of the Jewish state.
A recent poll found that nearly half of Americans believe the U.S. should enforce an International Criminal Court (ICC) arrest warrant for Netanyahu over his actions during Israel’s war in Gaza. Meanwhile, in April, more than three dozen Democratic senators voted in favor of a resolution introduced by Sen. Bernie Sanders of Vermont to block certain arms sales to Israel.
On Wednesday, Lapid met with some of those Democratic senators: Sen. Tim Kaine (D-Va.), Adam Schiff (D-Calif.), Alex Padilla (D-Calif.) Maggie Hassan (D-NH), John Hickenlooper (D-Colo.) Catherine Cortez Masto (D-Nev.), and Cory Booker (D-NJ), all of whom voted to restrict some U.S. arms sales to Israel. Also at the meeting were Sens. Jacky Rosen (D-Nev.) and Richard Blumenthal (D-Conn.), both of whom have staunchly backed U.S. military support for Israel.
Ahead of those meetings, Lapid outlined the opposition’s plan to bring Israel out of international isolation in a speech Monday evening at the Atlantic Council, an influential DC-based think tank.
First on the “to-do list,” as he called it, was to “restore Israel’s bipartisan standing in the United States” and “firmly encourage AIPAC and J Street to move away from partisanship, remind our friends that to be pro-Israeli is to be bipartisan, and build a broad coalition of support.”
“Do not boycott people who dislike us,” he added. “Insist on meeting them and presenting our case.”
AIPAC has long marketed itself as a bipartisan lobbying organization, though critics argue it has become increasingly aligned with Republicans in recent years. In late 2021, it launched a political action committee that has spent heavily in Democratic primaries against candidates whom it deemed unsupportive of Israel.
Meanwhile, J Street, founded in 2008, has long been closely aligned with Democratic lawmakers, often maintaining a critical position on Israeli policies and advocating for a two-state solution to the conflict.
At present, Lapid and Bennett’s joint party, called Together, is the second-strongest party running against Netanyahu in the polls. Gadi Eisenkot’s Yashar party is polling ahead of it — and, in some surveys, ahead of Netanyahu’s Likud party
Any coalition capable of ousting Netanyahu would likely require Together and Yashar to join forces, meaning Bennett, Lapid and Eisenkot would likely all hold very senior positions in a future government if they manage to build a coalition.
Lapid also pledged that a new government would “stay out of American politics” and “respect the American people and the leaders they have chosen on both sides of the aisle.”
“Elizabeth Warren, John Ossoff and Tim Kaine are not the enemy,” he said. “The Democratic Party is not the enemy. J.D. Vance is not the enemy.”
Vance has rattled the U.S. Israel relationship in recent weeks by belligerently defending a ceasefire agreement with Iran and lambasting the Netanyahu government. In addition to Kaine, Warren of Massachusetts and Ossoff of Georgia were among the senators in April who voted in favor of restricting arms sales.
The post ‘Do not boycott people who dislike us’: Netanyahu challenger Yair Lapid urges AIPAC and J Street to make support for Israel bipartisan again appeared first on The Forward.
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The most Jewish room in Fremont, Ohio, is in a county history museum
Beneath a mahogany staircase inside the Sandusky County Historical Society hangs a memorial plaque in a place both fitting and strange.
The sanctuary is gone. The Torah scrolls have long since been moved elsewhere. Military exhibits and county memorabilia fill the rooms. But the plaque remains, listing the dead of Temple Beth Israel, a congregation that closed more than four decades ago.
Across Ohio, when small-town synagogues closed, their history did not vanish all at once. Instead, it was scattered to neighboring congregations, local museums, regional archives and descendants who saved whatever they could. A siddur. A stained-glass window. A Star of David rescued before a building was demolished.
The story of Beth Israel’s plaque almost ended when someone proposed melting it down.
“That couldn’t be discarded,” said Dennis Newman, who grew up at the synagogue.
So he and his nephew drove to Sandusky, Ohio, to retrieve it from another closing congregation.
“It was really heavy,” he said.
Now it is back in Fremont, in the same building where Jewish families once gathered for Shabbat, Hebrew lessons, and holiday services, though most visitors do not know that when they walk in.
The building on Birchard Avenue still stands, a red-brick house set slightly back from the street. Inside, rooms that once held a wedding, Sunday school classes, and other scenes from synagogue life now house exhibits on Sandusky County’s past, including industrial history and local life. A Civil War battle flag serves as one centerpiece. The Jewish past is there too, a small exhibit Newman helped to create.
“Most people are surprised,” said Roy Wilhelm, a local volunteer with the historical society.
A congregation’s afterlife
Fremont is not unique. Throughout Ohio and the Midwest, other small-town congregations have closed, raising the same question: what becomes of the objects, records and stories they leave behind?
Toby Brief, executive director of the Columbus Jewish Historical Society, said her organization has increasingly become a repository for that afterlife. “The definition of Central Ohio has grown,” she said. In practice, she added, the society often functions as “much more of a regional archive between Cleveland and Cincinnati.”
That work, she said, is active rather than passive. “We find materials, we identify them.” Sometimes that means typed oral histories or photographs. Sometimes it means relationships with local historical societies. Sometimes it means preserving just one object from a vanished Jewish community. “We are always telling others not to forget to collect the artifacts,” Brief said.
One of those objects came from New Philadelphia, Ohio.
Like Beth Israel, the Tuscarawas County Jewish Center emerged in the 1930s, part of the same era when many small-town Jewish communities across Ohio were growing. The center was dedicated in 1937, two years after Beth Israel first gathered above a clothing store in Fremont. From its earliest days, the center also reached beyond its own members. At the dedication, the Rev. Frank Cody of First Presbyterian Church spoke. In 1938, when Joseph Wagner was installed as the center’s first rabbi, banquet guests included New Philadelphia’s mayor, Arthur Williams, along with the town’s chief of police and two Christian ministers.
But the ending in New Philadelphia was different. By 1967, the Jewish center had become inactive. The following year, the building was sold and razed to create a parking lot for employees of the local newspaper.
Almost nothing physical survived — just a Star of David rescued by a congregant before the building came down. Today it is preserved by the Columbus Jewish Historical Society.
“It is so simple,” Brief said. But “that star represents a synagogue, a Jewish center, it represents families.”
A home of their own
In Fremont, more remained. One artifact is the memorial plaque. But the building itself is an artifact, too.
For decades, Beth Israel sustained Jewish life in a town where Jews were always a small minority. At its peak in the late 1940s and 1950s, Fremont’s Jewish community numbered about 50 families. It was never large, but it had the elements of a full communal life: weekly services, a Sunday school, a Sisterhood, student rabbis traveling in from Cincinnati and New York, and ties to nearby towns like Tiffin, Fostoria, and Norwalk.
Before the congregation had a permanent home, it gathered in the mid-1930s in a rented room above a store on Front Street. On the day of its 1935 dedication, about 300 people crowded into the upstairs space. They sang “The Star-Spangled Banner” and “Hatikvah,” and the women of the newly formed auxiliary served a buffet luncheon.
A few years later, in 1942, the congregation purchased a former residence on Birchard Avenue and dedicated it as Temple Beth Israel. More than 200 people attended, including Amer Wrigley, the mayor of Fremont. Beth Israel now had a home of its own.
For the next two decades, Jewish life in Fremont settled into a modest but steady rhythm. The sanctuary seated about 65 people comfortably and filled for major holidays. Children attended Sunday school. The Sisterhood organized holiday events, charitable drives, and community programs. Church youth groups visited to learn about Judaism, and in 1948 Beth Israel hosted an interfaith Shabbat service that drew about 100 people. Local newspapers praised the congregation’s willingness to “cooperate with the other churches of the city and help make Fremont a leader in the pathways of better understanding.”
Jewish life extended beyond the synagogue, too. Families were tied to local businesses, including Joseph’s Department Store, and worked in medicine, jewelry, and scrap metal. The community was not large, but it was woven into the town.
Newman, who grew up in Fremont, remembers both the closeness and the isolation of that world. “I never knew another Jewish kid in Fremont,” he said. “Judaism was a lonely thing.”
“We were not deeply religious,” he said, “but deeply Jewish.”
By the 1960s, the patterns that had sustained small-town Jewish life in Fremont were thinning. Younger people moved away. Services, once weekly, became less frequent. Around 1967, Beth Israel discontinued its Sunday school, and the remaining children were sent to Sandusky or Toledo for Jewish education.
Still, the congregation persisted longer than some might have expected. In 1966, Beth Israel marked its diamond anniversary with a dinner at the Fremont Country Club attended by the mayor, a Catholic monsignor, and a Protestant minister — one more sign that even in decline, the synagogue understood itself as part of Fremont’s wider civic and religious life.
By the late 1970s, though, only about 15 families remained. Services continued once a month and on the High Holidays. In 1980, the trustees decided to close the congregation.
What remains
But closure did not mean immediate disappearance.
Some members joined Oheb Shalom in Sandusky. Torah scrolls and other ritual items were transferred to other synagogues, where they could still be used. A portion of the proceeds from Beth Israel’s sale established a scholarship at Fremont Ross High School for “average students” planning to attend college — an expression of communal values that continued for decades before fading from local records in the 2010s. Small gatherings and holiday observances in Fremont continued in private homes into the 1990s.
Looking back on Oheb Shalom’s closing in 2023, Newman described it less as an end than a transition: “This is not goodbye, just goodbye to the building.”
What remains is often harder to see and more fragile: names on a yahrzeit plaque, ritual items forgotten in a closet, a story carried from one generation to the next.
Brief knows stories from across Ohio. Many people, she said, are surprised by how widespread Jewish life once was in the state’s smaller towns and by how little visible evidence of it remains. Sometimes there was a formal congregation. Sometimes only “one or two families.” But there was still “a presence.” In some places, that presence stretches back earlier than most people assume, into the 1840s, 1850s, and 1860s.
“They wanted to be with other Jews,” Brief said. “They wanted a sense of Jewish life.”
In Fremont, memory survives in other ways too. David Detwiler, who grew up in town decades after Beth Israel’s peak, is not Jewish, but he remembers where the synagogue stood. He remembers the Jewish section of Oakwood Cemetery near his elementary school, and the peculiarity, in retrospect, of childhood games unfolding beside graves.
“Looking back, it was odd to have kids playing next to the dead,” he said.
He knew only one Jew growing up, an educator and school administrator who handed him his high school diploma. But a Jewish presence still lingered in the town’s memory and institutions, even after the congregation was gone. His own church, First Presbyterian, stood a block north of the synagogue and closed in 2025.
“You don’t really remember what happened,” he said. “You remember how it made you feel.”
Fremont’s Jewish memory also survives in stories about businesses and local relationships. Christine Burns, whose family owns Burns Iron and Metal, said her grandfather bought a scrapyard from Marcus Michles, a Jewish entrepreneur whose brother, Joseph, was among the leading figures in Temple Beth Israel, including serving as its president. He did so by borrowing money from Jewish community members and later became friends with many of them.
Joe Cheek, who worked for Michles in the 1970s, remembered him as demanding but fair. “He did not expect you to do anything he would not do himself,” Cheek said.
These memories are not always precise. Names fade. Timelines blur. Details collapse into one another.
But they have not vanished.
Back on Birchard Avenue, the former synagogue is open only seasonally, from May through October, for limited hours. Visitors can walk through the building, pausing at exhibits and reading placards about Sandusky County’s past. Few realize what the house once held.
There is no longer a sanctuary in any recognizable sense. No weekly services. No children’s classes. No steady ritual rhythm drawing people through the doors.
And yet the names remain.
The plaque is back in Fremont now, in the lobby of the old synagogue, beneath the staircase. It does not restore the congregation, or make the building a synagogue again. But it keeps the dead from becoming anonymous and the community from disappearing without a trace.
That is how continuity is carried: by a historical society, by a regional archive, or by a man who sees the names from his childhood and decides they cannot be let go.
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