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Sicily’s Jews have their first rabbi in 500 years. Italy’s Jewish establishment won’t accept them.
CATANIA, Italy (JTA) — Rabbi Gilberto Ventura believes his synagogue has the most beautiful view in the world. Located in the tower of a century-old castle on the slopes of Mt. Etna in the eastern Sicilian city of Catania, the synagogue is wedged between a snow-capped volcano and the sun-kissed Mediterranean sea.
The 49-year-old Brazil-born rabbi also thinks his congregation is one of the most unique in the world. It’s made up mainly of Bnei Anusim — descendants of Jews forced to hide their religious practice and convert to Catholicism after the Spanish Inquisition of 1492. Before that infamous decree, Sicily was home to tens of thousands of Jews.
The synagogue, which was first inaugurated last fall, is the result of decades of grassroots efforts by those descendants in Catania to find each other and forge a sense of community that had been lacking for centuries.
Hiring a full-time rabbi was the last piece of the puzzle, and Ventura, who has a long history of working with communities of Bnei Anusim in Brazil, was a natural candidate. He arrived in Catania in January.
“I really believe that the future Judaism in the world, especially in some places like Italy and, of course, Brazil, is connected to the Bnei Anusim, and the need to embrace the Bnei Anusim,” Ventura said.
But in an ongoing point of frustration, the formal organization representing Italian Jewry, the Union of Italian Jewish Communities (UCEI), does not recognize them as Jews.
“In the case of Catania, this strange Jewish community hasn’t passed all the steps the law requires,” said Giulio Di Segni, the vice president of UCEI.
He was referring to the fact that the community did not seek UCEI’s permission before establishing themselves under the name “Jewish community of Catania.” Per Italian law, UCEI has a monopoly on acknowledging and establishing Jewish communal life in Italy — including authority over who can use the term “Jewish community of” in formal ways.
“UCEI can’t accept this because it is too easy,” he added. “We are not against their synagogue or their way of prayer, but they cannot use the name ‘Jewish community of Catania.’”
The rooftop of the Castello Leucatia, where the community meets, has a large menorah and a view of the Mediterranean. (David I. Klein)
Catania’s Jewish community members told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency a variety of stories about their Jewish backgrounds. Some came from families that always outwardly identified as Jewish. Others identified the source of family traditions practiced by parents and grandparents who — as descendants of Jews who faced persecution for practicing Judaism — still felt the need to hide aspects of their Jewishness from the public eye.
In the midst of questions about their ancestry, the majority of the Jewish community members have undergone Orthodox conversions. But that hasn’t led to their acceptance.
Benito Triolo, president of the Catania Jewish community, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency that he first came to Judaism at the age of 40, thanks to the insight of a Jewish friend in Palermo, Sicily’s capital and most populous city. Working together, they established a Charter of Sicilian Jewry, which aimed to identify and highlight the Jewish heritage of neighborhoods across the island.
While working on that project, Triolo came closer to his own Jewish heritage, and after years of study, he completed an Orthodox conversion through a rabbi in Miami 25 years ago.
Another community member, who was born Alessandro Scuderi but today goes by the name of Yoram Nathan, first felt drawn to Judaism as a child watching news of the Six-Day War in 1967. At first, he was laughed at by other members of his family — except his grandmother, who happened to have a tradition of lighting eight candles in early winter and baking flat unleavened bread around Easter time.
Decades of study later, Scuderi also completed a formal conversion to Judaism before an Orthodox rabbinic court, or beit din.
Others had more straightforward backgrounds.
“I was born in a Jewish family,” said David Scibilia, the community’s secretary. “Frankly speaking, we were not hiding or deep in the shadows in this part of the country.”
Scibilia said that his father explained to him that he was a Jew as early as the age of four. Within their own home, they observed holidays and kept Shabbat — no easy task since Italian schools at the time of his childhood in the 1970s had class on Saturdays. He did not eat meat until he was an adult and was able to acquire kosher meat.
He said that his family had maintained their Jewish identity since the days of the Inquisition and married amongst a small group of other similar families.
“I was a Jew, but not part of any community,” Scibilia said. “Just my family was my community.”
An aerial view of the city of Catania shows the Mt. Etna volcano in the background, Jan. 28, 28, 2022. (Fabrizio Villa/Getty Images)
Scibilia explained that once he had a child of his own, he realized he did not want her to have the same lonely Jewish experience. But when he reached out to UCEI, he said he found the proverbial door to organized Jewish life shut. Earning membership in Jewish community organizations across Western Europe involves a strict vetting process, and many groups require applicants to prove their mothers’ Jewishness according to varying standards.
Scibilia’s experience was echoed by Jews outside of the community in Catania and across Italy’s south who talked to JTA — a feeling of neglect or rejection by UCEI for those who fall outside of the norms of Italian Judaism.
UCEI currently recognizes 19 Jewish communities across northern Italy and just one in the south, in Naples, which has jurisdiction over the rest of the southern half of the peninsula and the island of Sicily. The organization recognizes around 28,000 Jews in total across the country.
Scibilia noted that despite his Jewish upbringing, he has multiple certificates of conversion from Orthodox rabbis. The first came from a beit din of American rabbis from who traveled to Syracuse, Sicily, to assess Scibilia and others like him in Sicily. His second comes from the conversion court of the Israeli Chief Rabbinate, which is known for its exacting Orthodox standards.
Both were rejected by Italy’s own Orthodox rabbinate, and he was forced to stand before another rabbinic court in Italy.
“I have at this moment — don’t start to laugh — three documents that prove that I am a Jew, two Ketubah [marriage contracts] for my wedding, and so on, again and again and again,” Scibilia said.
Others’ experiences in the region have been even more fraught, he said.
“The problem in Italy, that if you try to study with any rabbi here, you can study for 20 years, maybe you can die even before you reach the end of the tunnel,” he said. “From my point of view, they are playing with the spirituality of these people.”
In a statement last year, UCEI called the the Catanians “a phantom ‘Jewish community’” and accused them of “misleading the local institutions and deluding believers and sympathizers into adhering to traditional religious rites, never actually recognized or authorized by the Italian rabbinical authority.”
“Between UCEI and the Italian republic is an agreement signed in ‘87,” Di Segni said. “This law means everything about Jewish communities in Italy is through the Union Jewish community in Italy (UCEI).”
Noemi Di Segni, shown in Rome in 2017, is president of the Union of Jewish Communities in Italy. (Stefano Montesi/Corbis via Getty Images)
Triolo said he isn’t too concerned about UCEI’s recognition.
“Ours is a process of refounding old communities that existed as early as 200 and up to 1492,” Triolo said. “Our recognition is already in our history. At that time the UCEI did not exist. We were there and we simply returned!”
No one knows when Jews first arrived in Sicily, but the Talmud tells a story that claims Rabbi Akiva, a well-known early rabbinic sage, visited the island in the early second century and told of a small Jewish community in Syracuse. Some historians believe the Roman writer Caecilius Calactinus — who was born in a town near Messina in the first century B.C.E — to have been of Jewish origin.
All agree that over the course of history, Sicily’s Jews watched as the island was traded between Greeks, Carthaginians, Romans, Arabs, Normans and half a dozen other empires. The narrative has also long been that Jewish life there ended five centuries ago, under Spanish rule.
The Spanish empire’s Jews suffered the same fate as Jews from the Iberian peninsula, who would become known to the world as Sephardim when they were expelled in 1492.
The descendents of Spain — and Sicily — spread throughout the world, establishing communities in North Africa, throughout the Ottoman empire, in the Netherlands and ultimately the British Isles and North America, as it was believed that Judaism faded away in their homelands.
Catania’s Jews disagree, arguing that many Jews practiced their religion over the centuries, in secret.
Triolo and others in the community formally inaugurated their synagogue in October. It was furnished with Torah scrolls donated by the Ohev Sholom synagogue in Washington, D.C.
The synagogue is situated in the tower of the Castello Luecatia, an early 20th-century structure built by a merchant believed to be of Jewish origin. The building was granted to the community by the city’s municipality.
“So they had the people, they had a synagogue, but they needed somebody to teach,” Ventura said.
The community meets in the Castello Luecatia, an early 20th-century structure built by a merchant believed to be of Jewish origin. (David I. Klein)
Ventura, who is Orthodox, may be the island’s first permanent working rabbi in over 500 years, but it’s not his first time working with Bnei Anusim.
Back in his native Brazil, Ventura was the leader of the Synagogue Without Borders, an organization through which he served 15 communities in Brazil’s north that were made up of descendants of Jews who came with the first Portuguese colonists to South America and who ultimately had to hide their identity as the Inquisition spread to the New World.
His work there put him in conflict with Brazil’s Jewish establishment, too. But Ventura is unfazed.
In Brazil, he founded synagogues and summer camps and built mikvahs and yeshivas across the country’s north. Since 2015, he has facilitated the conversion of hundreds of Bnei Anusim, bringing them back into the fold of mainstream Orthodox Judaism.
“I am a teacher since I was 21 years old,” he said. “Now I am 49, along with my wife. It’s one of the things we love to do, and know how to do. To teach Jewish philosophy, to teach Torah, to teach Tanakh, to teach the story of the Jews in Brazil, and now we are starting to teach the story of the Jews in Italy, the story of the Inquisition etcetera.”
In Castello Leucatia, he leads Shabbat services with the energy of a gospel preacher, pausing between prayers to explain a verse, teach a new tune, welcome latecomers, or simply to allow the congregation to talk.
Catania community members are shown at a recent gathering. (David I. Klein)
“This is what’s most important,” he remarked during one such lull on a recent Friday night. “That they get to talk and be a community.”
Ventura had organized a Shabbat event for other Jews across Italy — from Naples to Turin — who shared his belief that the future of Judaism was in communities like the one in Catania.
“Our point of view of Judaism is that we have to be a part of society, we don’t have to insulate ourselves, we believe that Judaism has a lot to contribute to society,” Ventura said. “In Brazil, we have a lot of connections with people from the periphery, in the favela and other communities, immigrants, Indians, etcetera. So that is something we want to establish here, to teach the people a Judaism that brings good things to the wider society.”
Ventura isn’t the only one working with such communities in southern Italy. Across the Strait of Messina, Jewish life has also been on the rise in Calabria — the toe of Italy’s boot — thanks to an American-born rabbi named Barbara Aiello.
Aiello, though raised in Pittsburgh, is of Calabrian descent. She returned to the land of her ancestors in the early 2000s and began working with the Bnei Anusim there, ultimately establishing a synagogue called Ner Tamid del Sud, meaning “eternal light of the south.”
“Until now, nobody took care of Judaism in the south of Italy,” Scibilia said while looking out at the Mediterranean from the terrace of Castello Leucatia.
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In the Social Media Age, What the Torah Teaches About Gossip Is More Relevant Than Ever
Social media apps on a smart phone. Photo: Jonathan Raa/Sipa USA via Reuters Connect
“Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people.” This often-quoted line is usually attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt, although ironically, there’s no proof she actually said it. This makes it a fitting introduction to a discussion on gossip, truth, and our tendency to repeat irresistible stories — real or not.
Modern psychology has devoted a surprising amount of attention to the study of gossip, and its conclusions are rather more nuanced than one might expect. Far from being merely idle chatter or malicious whispering, gossip turns out to serve a meaningful social function. It helps people bond and creates the kind of informal networks that allow individuals to navigate the complexities of social life.
In other words, when people engage in what we dismissively call tittle-tattle, they are often doing something constructive — strengthening connections and quietly laying the foundations of lasting social relationships.
And yet, research underscores a vital caveat: While gossip can build social bonds, its malicious form erodes trust and achieves the opposite effect. When gossip sours, it distorts reality, encourages harsh, often unjustified judgments, and breeds suspicion.
What starts as a seemingly harmless exchange — “Did you hear what happened with so-and-so?” — can swiftly become a narrative with far-reaching consequences, echoing widely and lingering long after the original words.
That has always been the case. But recently, the scale, speed, and stakes have increased. Social media has supercharged gossip, making it far more potent and dangerous. What once occurred in private circles now unfolds publicly, amplified by algorithms favoring outrage and sensationalism. Gossip isn’t just local — it fuels widespread conspiracy and can fracture societies.
The wave of conspiracy theories proliferating online in recent years — claims about hidden forces manipulating events, and viral rumors about public figures spreading faster than corrections — has seeped into mainstream conversation. News of public shootings or assassination attempts quickly sparks theories of “false flag” operations or that those arrested are merely patsies.
Such narratives start on the fringes but spread quickly because they tap into a deeply human urge: to feel privy to hidden knowledge, to believe we see what others do not. By the time facts emerge, the damage is done — and facts are dismissed as cover-ups. Reputations inevitably suffer, and the harmful consequences outlast the true facts.
What all of these examples have in common is not merely their inaccuracy, but their emotional appeal. Gossip, whether ancient or modern, thrives on a particular kind of pleasure — the satisfaction of being “in the know,” coupled with the subtle reinforcement of one’s own worldview.
In a polarized environment, that pleasure is intensified. We are far more inclined to believe, and to repeat, information that confirms what we already think, especially when it casts the “other side” in a negative light.
All this signals a broader societal shift. Modern, digitized gossip now powerfully drives polarization. It is no longer just people speaking ill of each other; it has become a process where entire communities build parallel realities, each sustained by its own ecosystem of rumors, half-truths, and falsehoods.
Given these developments, the Torah’s treatment of gossip in Parshat Tazria–Metzora feels less like an ancient curiosity and more like a strikingly relevant corrective. The metzora — one afflicted with tzara’at, a discoloration that appears on skin, clothing, or walls — is traditionally seen by Chazal as suffering the consequences of lashon hara, harmful speech.
Remarkably, it is not just about the harmful speech producing a physical manifestation, but also the response to the condition: The metzora is isolated (Lev. 13:46): בָּדָד יֵשֵׁב מִחוּץ לַמַּחֲנֶה מוֹשָׁבוֹ – “he must sit alone, outside the camp.” The social fabric once woven by innocuous gossip is now withdrawn; the result of malicious speech is, quite literally, social isolation.
Lashon hara does more than harm its immediate target; it undermines the integrity of the entire community. It distorts reality, erodes trust, and creates divisions where cohesion should prevail. In a society built on shared values and mutual responsibility, that kind of corrosion cannot simply be ignored.
But the Torah does not merely punish — it educates. The isolation of the metzora is not an act of rejection, but an opportunity for reflection. Removed from the constant chatter and the endless exchange of words, the metzora is forced to confront the true power of speech — what it can build, and what it can so easily destroy.
In our world, we rarely experience that kind of enforced pause, especially in an age of addictive smartphone use. We scroll endlessly through emails, messages, videos, and social media, caught in a relentless information stream.
The pressure to respond is immediate, and the urge to share something that is particularly evocative or provocative is ever-present. There’s always another headline, a salacious rumor, or some kind of “inside information” demanding attention and ready to be passed along.
The medium may have changed, but the core dynamic remains. Words still shape reality; they influence how we see others, interpret events, and position ourselves in society. The only real difference is that the ripple effects are now far greater.
Our goal shouldn’t be to eliminate social chatter — which is neither possible nor desirable — but to act with more responsibility. The fleeting satisfaction of spreading sensational news is often outweighed by the long-term cost to truth and trust.
One should certainly resist being the first to repeat a story; instead, be the person who ensures accuracy and fairness. This discipline, difficult in a culture favoring speed over nuance, is what the Torah seeks to instill.
Millennia before social media and modern polarization, the Torah revealed a simple truth: Speech is not neutral. It leaves a mark and, when misused, can fracture people and communities.
Every time we want to share that intriguing, unverified detail, we aren’t just making harmless conversation. We are shaping the world we and others live in. That’s a responsibility to take seriously.
The author is a rabbi in Beverly Hills, California.
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Europe’s Counterterrorism Strategy: How Laws and Intelligence Cooperation Strengthened Security
French police and members of French special police forces of Research and Intervention Brigade (BRI) secure the area near Iran’s consulate where a man was threatening to blow himself up, in Paris, France, April 19, 2024. Photo: REUTERS/Benoit Tessier
Over the past two decades, Europe has faced evolving terrorist threats that required a comprehensive and coordinated response. From lone-wolf attacks to transnational extremist networks, European states have been compelled to rethink their security frameworks. In response, the European Union and its member states have developed a multi-layered counterterrorism strategy centered on legislation, intelligence cooperation, and institutional coordination. This approach has significantly enhanced Europe’s ability to prevent and respond to terrorism, although challenges remain.
At the core of Europe’s counterterrorism efforts lies a robust legal framework. European countries have introduced extensive legislation aimed at criminalizing terrorism-related activities, including recruitment, financing, incitement, and travel for extremist purposes. These laws are designed not only to punish acts of terrorism but also to prevent them before they occur. By harmonizing legal standards across member states, the European Union has reduced legal loopholes that previously allowed suspects to exploit differences between national systems.
One of the most important aspects of this legal evolution is the emphasis on preventive measures. Authorities now have greater powers to monitor suspects, disrupt networks, and intervene at earlier stages of radicalization. This proactive approach reflects a shift from reactive policing to anticipatory security, where the focus is on identifying threats before they materialize.
However, legislation alone is not sufficient. Intelligence cooperation has become a cornerstone of Europe’s counterterrorism strategy. Given the transnational nature of modern terrorist networks, no single country can effectively combat terrorism in isolation. European intelligence agencies have therefore intensified their collaboration through formal and informal mechanisms that facilitate the exchange of information.
A key platform in this regard is the Counter Terrorism Group (CTG), which brings together intelligence services from EU member states to share assessments and coordinate responses. In parallel, agencies such as Europol and Eurojust play a crucial role in operational coordination and judicial cooperation. Europol supports law enforcement by providing intelligence analysis, while Eurojust facilitates cross-border prosecutions and legal coordination.
The importance of information sharing cannot be overstated. Timely and accurate intelligence allows authorities to track suspects across borders, identify emerging threats, and prevent attacks. Systems such as the Schengen Information System (SIS) enable member states to share alerts on individuals suspected of involvement in terrorism, enhancing border security and law enforcement effectiveness.
In addition to intra-European cooperation, transatlantic collaboration has also been a key component of counterterrorism efforts. The United States and European countries have worked closely to exchange intelligence, track foreign fighters, and dismantle terrorist networks. For example, data sharing initiatives have enabled European authorities to identify individuals returning from conflict zones and assess the risks they pose.
Another critical dimension of Europe’s counterterrorism strategy is the effort to cut off funding for extremist groups. Terrorist organizations rely on financial resources to operate, recruit, and carry out attacks. European governments have implemented strict measures to combat money laundering and terrorist financing, including enhanced financial surveillance, regulatory oversight, and international cooperation. These efforts aim to disrupt the financial lifelines of extremist networks and reduce their operational capabilities.
Despite these advancements, Europe continues to face significant challenges. One of the most pressing issues is the phenomenon of radicalization, particularly among individuals who are born and raised in Europe. Online platforms have become a major tool for extremist propaganda, making it easier for groups to recruit and indoctrinate individuals. Addressing this challenge requires not only security measures but also social and ideological interventions that tackle the root causes of extremism.
Another challenge is balancing security with civil liberties. Expanding surveillance powers and preventive measures has raised concerns about privacy and human rights. European governments must navigate this delicate balance to ensure that counterterrorism efforts do not undermine the democratic values they seek to protect.
Moreover, the return of foreign fighters from conflict zones such as Syria and Iraq poses an ongoing security risk. European countries must decide how to handle these individuals, whether through prosecution, rehabilitation, or monitoring. This issue highlights the complexity of modern counterterrorism, where legal, ethical, and security considerations intersect.
In conclusion, Europe’s counterterrorism strategy has evolved into a comprehensive system that combines legislation, intelligence cooperation, and financial controls. By strengthening legal frameworks, enhancing information sharing, and fostering international collaboration, European countries have significantly improved their ability to combat terrorism. However, the dynamic nature of the threat means that these efforts must continue to adapt. Future success will depend on maintaining this balance between security, cooperation, and the protection of fundamental freedoms.
The author is a political analyst specializing in Middle East affairs, with a focus on political Islam, regional security, and minority rights.
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Gen Z Canceled Critical Thinking
Illustrative: Thousands of anti-Israel demonstrators from the Midwest gather in support of Palestinians and hold a rally and march through the Loop in Chicago on Oct. 21, 2023. Photo: Alexandra Buxbaum/Sipa USA via Reuters Connect
As a society, we haven’t reckoned with the impact that cancel culture has had on Gen Z, and we need to.
Starting in 2020, cancel culture was implemented through social ostracization, major media campaigns, online bullying, and toxic one-sided debates used to demean individuals for their perspectives. For developing brains, cancel culture created a very real fear in their life: the fear of social death.
Because cancel culture doesn’t care about your morals or values, it is used as a form of social control that latches on to anything different from the dominant political ideologies. Social death will be performed through ostracization.
For Gen Z, cancel culture taught us not to share our own perspectives, not to post our own ideas on social media, and, saddest of all, to stop talking with one another about conflicting ideas. Cancel culture has led to a form of self-suppression, effectively silencing ourselves. This in turn has led to the decline of critical thinking and allowed for a mental void to take the spot of a once-busy analytical brain.
Critical thinking has become dangerous in a society that platforms specific ideologies above democratic debate.
As a society, we have not truly realized what cancel culture has done to our generation, starting in 2020. Professors and teachers continue to ask students, “What do you think about this?” and expect an authentic answer, not realizing the student can only give them a safe answer from within the accepted ideological bubble. Because if a student steps outside of what has been deemed “moral” by the virtue-signaling police, they will be shunned and a social death will ensue.
I’ve experienced this firsthand at the University of British Columbia (UBC), a university with over 60,000 students but no room for different views.
The dominant social justice warrior ideology on campus has become anti-Israel, and wearing my IDF hoodie draws vicious UBC Reddit and social media attacks. When I discussed a translation assignment with an English professor and said I’d like to translate a Hebrew prayer, I was pulled aside and asked if I “work for Zionist entities?” Through social isolation, my peers and professors alike have shunned me for my support of Israel, simply because it doesn’t align with the dominant woke ideologies of our generation.
Unless we reckon with cancel culture, which has been branded as a purity test for moral clarity, we can’t begin to discuss how to get children to think critically again.
As a society, we allowed this disease to affect the brains of my generation. Unless we do something about it, we will become Generation Zombie, and the mental apocalypse will be upon us.
I used to feel afraid to share my own opinions when I started university, because for a while, cancel culture won, and I muzzled myself. But this is anti-democratic; intimidation of thought has become a tool to control our young, impressionable generation. We must reckon with this before moving forward and taking accountability for a solution.
My solution to this disease is to ask questions. We have to revert back to our pre-school cognitive development stages, when we asked, “why, what, when, where, and how.” We have to revert back to searching for answers and hearing a difference of opinion.
This sounds simple at its core. However, to Generation Zombie, we have to reteach these fundamental cognitive capacities. I say this as a Gen Zer who has lived experience inside our Canadian university system since 2020 and can attest that academic rigor and the ability to grapple with complex ideas are going the way of the dodo bird.
Be curious. Ask questions.