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Simchat Torah in Hostages Square lays bare divide over just how much to celebrate yet
(JTA) — Rabba Anat Sharbat, the unofficial “rabbi of Hostages Square,” wept as she recited the Shehechiyanu blessing after lighting the candles to mark the beginning of Simchat Torah holiday on Monday evening, hours after all 20 living hostages returned to Israel.
Two years before, the same holiday had been marked by silence and fear after the Hamas-led massacre in southern Israel ended celebrations across the country.
Before the plaza even became known as Hostages Square, Sharbat had established what became a ritual — Kabbalat Shabbat services and Havdalah every week, in her words, “out of a deep belief that there needed to be a space here for prayer,” not only for protest.
Faith, she said, had played a role in the hostages’ return.
“The prayers in the square were an integral part of the effort to return them,” Sharbat said. “We heard from hostages who came back that they heard and felt the prayers, and that it gave them strength.”
Last Simchat Torah, she faced uncertainty about whether to hold prayers at all. There was barely a minyan — the quorum of 10 needed for Jewish prayer — and dancing felt impossible. Still, she insisted on continuing “out of a deep belief in the need to maintain hope, together with the families, that their loved ones will return home.” That conviction was validated when Dvora Leshem, the nonagenarian grandmother of the hostage Romi Gonen, approached the small group that night and said she was glad the prayers were taking place. Romi Gonen would be released about three months later.
On this year’s Hebrew anniversary, a very different scene unfolded in the square. As evening fell, a few dozen men and women gathered for prayers followed by hakafot, the traditional Simchat Torah dances encircling the Torah scrolls. The crowd of dancers quickly swelled to more than 200, while onlookers filmed and applauded from the sidelines. Among them was a woman in a Bring Them Home T-shirt who recalled that less than two weeks before Oct. 7, the sight of public, gender-separated prayer during Yom Kippur services had filled her with “extreme anguish.”
“But today, let them dance,” she said. “We are all dancing, finally.”
But the joy was marred by the knowledge that not all the deceased hostages had returned. For some, that reality was impossible to reconcile with the scenes of jubilation. One man, wearing a T-shirt that read in Hebrew, English, and Arabic “We are all created equal,” shouted at the dancers while filming on his phone. “These religious zealots can’t just stand respectfully, they have to dance like animals,” he said.
By Wednesday morning, eight bodies had been brought to Israel for burial. Seven were identified as hostages, while the eighth did not match any of the 28 confirmed dead. Two more, both Israelis, were returned on Wednesday.
The tension carried into Tuesday night, when tens of thousands filled Hostages Square again for a second round of Torah dancing traditionally held after the holiday. The seven dances alternated between grief and gratitude, each dedicated to a different group, including the fallen hostages still in Gaza, those who had returned, reservists, and their families.
Tel Aviv Deputy Mayor Chaim Goren said the event, organized annually by the municipality with Ma’ale Eliyahu Yeshiva and other national-religious groups, was originally meant to take place at a nearby plaza. “It felt detached to hold it there,” he said. The Hostages and Missing Families Forum agreed to move it to the square, though the decision wasn’t final until the last minute.
“There was back-and-forth until the holiday started about whether and how to do it,” Goren said. “With all the joy, there’s still a kvetch in the heart” — using the Yiddish word for ache — “but there’s also a deep need to give thanks to God for what we’ve witnessed.”
For Tel Aviv resident Sapir Barak, the night offered a release she hadn’t allowed herself since Oct. 7, 2023.
“When they announced the release yesterday, I basically had a nervous breakdown,” she said. “I was crying so much. There are so many emotions. It’s like a dream come true, but you don’t know what to do with it.”
Nearby, Henri Rosenberg cut an unusual figure in Hasidic garb with a fur shtreimel and a “Bring Them Home” dog tag around his neck, standing beside his grandson who wore a red MAGA baseball cap. But despite appearances, Rosenberg said he no longer identified as haredi Orthodox, having grown disillusioned by what he called indifference within some haredi circles to the pain felt by other Israelis during the war. Health problems had led him to attend a nearby national-religious synagogue over the High Holidays, where, he recalled, “the cantor wept for the hostages and the soldiers.”
“They are our flesh and blood, and that’s why I’m here tonight,” he said.
From the stage, Genia Erlich Zohar, aunt of American-Israeli hostage Omer Neutra — whose body remains in Gaza and who would have turned 24 on Tuesday — called on the crowd to respect the duality of the moment.
“We hold both joy for those who came home and hope and pain for those who haven’t,” she said. “We are one people, one heart.”
Miri Polachek, a friend of the Neutra family who has volunteered with relatives of the hostages, said she came to the event to support the Neutras and the other families. Recalling her own son’s playdates with Omer when they were children, she said, “It’s a never-ending reminder that it could have been any of our children.”
Among those on stage was Elkana Levy, a Golani Brigade officer who lost both legs in an explosion in Khan Younis. One of three brothers wounded in the Gaza war, he led a silent hakafa from his wheelchair and vowed that those “fighting day and night for the return of our brothers … would never break.”
At the edge of the square, a few dozen demonstrators held posters of those still in Gaza, chanting “Everyone, now!” — the familiar rallying cry for the hostages’ return.
Hagit Chen, holding “Gucci,” the small white dog that had belonged to her son, slain hostage and dual American-Israeli citizen Itay Chen, whose body has not yet been returned, called Monday’s release “a huge miracle,” even as she admitted her faith had been shaken.
“I was convinced Itay would be returning home yesterday with the others,” she said. Still, she added, the elation around her was not an affront. “I don’t look at joy that way. I embrace what’s happening here. We all need the strength it gives us.”
“But we cannot take our foot off the gas,” she said. “The deal is not a good one for the fallen hostages.” She pointed to what she described as the vague language of the Trump.-brokered agreement, which requires Hamas to make “all necessary efforts” to secure their release. “If we don’t see their return, it will be an open wound for all of us.”
Dani Miran, whose son Omri was among those freed on Monday, said Israel should halt the next stage of the deal until every hostage is accounted for.
“We should have resumed fighting at 1 p.m. yesterday, the moment we understood the 28 bodies weren’t coming home,” he said at Tel Aviv Sourasky Medical Center, where his son is receiving treatment. “[Hamas] will not understand anything else.”
Miran said he would remain in Tel Aviv, where he has lived since his son’s abduction, until the last hostage returns. He declined to say whether he would shave his long white beard, a vow he made to keep until Omri came home.
Activist and artist Hila Galilee, posed with Miran’s longtime partner, Galia Korel, while holding a mock yellow Torah scroll with images of the hostages. “The entire Torah is the hostages,” she said.
The question of what to do with the hostages’ symbols no longer has a single answer. Romi Gonen was filmed with friends tearing off the tape marking the number of days the hostages have been held, cheering as they did. Rachel Goldberg-Polin, who began the tape tradition for her son, slain hostage Hersh, said on Wednesday that she would continue to wear hers.
Hagit and her husband, Ruby Chen, criticized Knesset Speaker Amir Ohana for removing his hostage pin during President Trump’s visit to the Knesset. “It isn’t over,” Chen addressed Ohana in a video posted to social media. “Put the pin back on until the last hostage is back.”
After Trump announced that the living hostages would be returning home, Miran urged Tel Aviv mayor Ron Huldai to rename the site Returnees’ Square. But Hagit Chen said in an interview on Tuesday night that the name Hostages Square should remain until all are home.
In the square, posters of freed hostages have been taken down, some replaced by new banners, including one with Trump’s words, “Now is the time for peace.” Other features remain unchanged, including the mock tunnel evoking the underground passages where many hostages were held in Gaza and the digital clock counting the days and seconds since the attacks.
Miran, who had walked the one block from the hospital to the square, led the crowd in a psalm of thanksgiving. “Secular, religious — I hate these distinctions. All I see from up here is Jews,” he said from the stage. “Let’s stay like this. The nation of Israel lives.”
The post Simchat Torah in Hostages Square lays bare divide over just how much to celebrate yet appeared first on The Forward.
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Tu B’Shvat, Conscious Eating, and the Jewish Call to Return
Orange trees in Israel’s northern Galilee region. Photo: פואד מועדי / Wikimedia Commons
Tu B’Shvat, the Jewish New Year for the Trees, is often celebrated simply: fruit on the table, blessings over figs and dates, and a nod to nature in the middle of winter. For those who do things a bit more lavishly, a ceremony or seder is conducted.
But at its core, the holiday of Tu B’Shvat is far more than a seasonal celebration. It is a day that offers a profound Jewish teaching about food, responsibility, and the possibility of return.
To understand that teaching, we have to go back to the very first act of eating in the Torah.
In the Garden of Eden, God gives Adam and Eve permission to eat freely from nearly everything around them. Only one boundary is set: there is one tree that is off limits. When Adam and Eve cross that boundary, the result is a rupture of faith between humans and God, which results in a series of other ruptures between humans and the earth — and humans and themselves.
One of the great Chassidic masters, Rabbi Tzadok HaKohen (1823-1900), suggested that the problem was not simply what they ate, but how they ate: without awareness, without restraint, and without consciousness. They consumed, rather than received.
Five hundred years ago, the kabbalists of Tzfat transformed Tu B’Shvat from a technical agricultural date into a spiritual opportunity. They taught that the world is filled with sparks of holiness, and that our everyday actions, especially eating, can either elevate those sparks or bury them further. This lesson has recently been discussed by the Jerusalem-based educator Sarah Yehuit Schneider.
Eating, in Jewish thought, is never neutral.
When we eat with intention and gratitude, we participate in tikkun olam, repairing the world. When we eat mindlessly, we reenact the mistake of Eve and Adam from the Garden of Eden.
The holiday of Tu B’Shvat invites us to try again.
There is another detail worth noting. The Torah’s first description of the human diet is explicitly plant-based: “I have given you every seed-bearing plant and every fruit-bearing tree; it shall be yours for food.” That diet, which was given in Eden, does not end with humanity’s exile from paradise. For generations to come, until after the great flood in the time of Noah, that diet continued in a world already marked by moral compromise.
On Tu B’Shvat, when Jews sit down to a table of fruit, we are quietly returning to that original vision of eating plant-based food that sustains life without taking it, nourishment that reflects restraint rather than domination.
That idea feels especially urgent today.
Our food choices now affect far more than our own bodies. They shape the treatment of animals, the health of the planet, and the sustainability of our food systems. Eating “without knowing” is something that carries grave consequences, which are all too visible in our society.
To observe conscious eating today means asking hard questions: Who is harmed by this choice? What systems does it support? What kind of world does it help create?
In my work as a rabbi and educator with Jewish Vegan Life, I encounter many Jews grappling with these questions, most of whom possess a desire to align their daily choices with enduring Jewish values of compassion, responsibility, and reverence for life.
Tu B’Shvat reminds us that Judaism does not demand perfection, but it does demand awareness. It teaches that repair is possible, not only through grand gestures, but through daily choices repeated with intention.
Redemption begins when a person makes a choice to eat their meal consciously. This is what the seder on Passover is for and what it reminds us of, and the same holds true for the seder on Tu B’Shvat.
The custom to eat fruits on Tu B’Shvat, the choice to have a seder or ceremony, reminds us of the consciousness that we must approach all of our meals with. On Tu B’Shvat, we are being asked to reconsider how we eat, how we live, and how we might take one small step closer to the world as it was meant to be. It is, after all, according to the Mishna in tractate Rosh Hashanah, one of the four New Years of the Jewish calendar.
Rabbi Akiva Gersh, originally from New York, has been working in the field of Jewish and Israel education for more than 20 years. He lives with his wife, Tamar, and their four kids in Pardes Hanna. He is the Senior Rabbinic Educator at Jewish Vegan Life. https://jewishveganlife.
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Jewish Survival Depends on the Existence of a Jewish State
People with Israeli flags attend the International March of the Living at the former Auschwitz Nazi German death camp, in Brzezinka near Oswiecim, Poland, May 6, 2024. Photo: REUTERS/Kuba Stezycki
“The past is never dead, it is not even past,” a quotation from William Faulkner’s novel, Requiem for a Nun, is frighteningly apt today in relation to antisemitism.
Many of us are wondering if the antisemitism we are witnessing now is comparable to the antisemitism our parents or grandparents experienced during the 1930s, almost 100 years ago.
The parallels are obvious — the hatred and demonization of Jews/Israelis (especially on social media), boycotts of Jewish and Israeli businesses and products, and the aggressive public protests that include genocidal language and target Jewish neighborhoods and houses of worship.
There are also the increasingly common violent physical attacks on Jews, including murder, often carried out to coincide with Jewish festivals and religious observances.
There are also differences, of course.
Nothing like the 1935 Nuremberg Laws stripping German Jews of their rights, and designed to separate Jews from German society, have been enacted anywhere. But this point may not be as comforting as it sounds, because today, the most antisemitic countries in the world are not in Europe. They are in North Africa and the Middle East and, with the exception of a few thousand Jews remaining in Iran, these countries have virtually no Jews left to threaten. A majority of those Jews who once resided in that part of the world, and their descendants, are safe in Israel.
The existence of a Jewish State is the primary difference between the Jewish predicament today, and the situation that existed in the 1930s.
An episode such as that of the S.S. St. Louis, when 937 Jews fleeing Europe before the outbreak of World War II were denied sanctuary and sent back to almost certain death, would never happen today.
The Évian Conference is another example of Jewish powerlessness during the 1930s. Held from July 6 to July 15, 1938, representatives of 32 countries met in the French spa town of Évian-les-Bains to search for a solution to the Jewish refugee crisis precipitated by the intense antisemitism unleashed by the Nazis.
The conference achieved very little, and today the Évian conference is widely believed to have been a cynical ploy to deflect attention away from the refusal to raise US immigration quotas, or even fill existing quotas, to save Jews.
With the exception of the Dominican Republic (in the end, only a little more than 700 Jewish refugees found sanctuary there), no country agreed to accept Jewish refugees.
In a shocking example of indifference to Jewish concerns, representatives of a number of non-governmental organizations, including several Jewish ones, could observe but not participate in the proceedings. Golda Meir, an observer representing the Jewish Agency in Palestine at the Évian Conference is quoted as saying, “I don’t think anyone who didn’t live through it, can understand what I felt at Evian — a mixture of sorrow, rage, frustration and horror.”
In April 1943, American and British representatives met in Bermuda to discuss what to do with the Jewish refugees, both those liberated by the Allies as the war progressed, and those who might still be alive in Nazi-occupied Europe. The venue, Bermuda, a remote location in the midst of World War II, was chosen to minimize press coverage.
As in the case of Évian, no Jewish organization was allowed to participate. At the time the conference was held, there was no doubt about the full extent of the Nazi effort to exterminate the Jews of Europe. Yet, once again, nothing was achieved. As in the case of the Évian Conference, the Bermuda Conference was a public relations event, and not an actual effort to protect Jewish lives.
All of these events — and hundreds more throughout history — emphasize the importance of a sovereign Jewish state for Jewish safety and survival. But what really makes this point stand out is a history that is often overlooked; the role that Mandatory Palestine played in saving Jews from the Holocaust.
Aliyah numbers show that despite restrictions limiting Jewish immigration imposed by British officials, and widespread opposition to Jewish immigration by Palestinian Arabs, approximately 200,000 to 250,000 Jews, mainly from Germany and Eastern Europe, were able to find sanctuary in the Mandate during the 1930s. How many more would have been saved had there been an independent Jewish state?
Jacob Sivak, a Fellow of the Royal Society of Canada, is a retired professor, University of Waterloo.
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Did the Bondi Attack Actually Change Australia?
Grandparents of 10-year-old Matilda, who was killed during a mass shooting targeting a Hanukkah celebration on Sunday, grieve at the floral memorial to honor the victims of the mass shooting at Bondi Beach, in Sydney, Australia, Dec. 16, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Jeremy Piper
The Bondi terrorist attack on December 14, 2025, changed Australia.
But in many ways, it also didn’t.
The shock of watching a murderous rampage unfold at one of our most iconic sites, in what Australians long believed was a safe, peaceful country, shook the nation to its core.
Fifteen innocent people being murdered at a peaceful Hanukkah event is something so foreign to the experience of Australians, that it shattered the country’s sense of security overnight. Most Australians believed this kind of hatred was something that occurred elsewhere, not here.
Such trauma can prompt genuine reflection — which in turn may lead to genuine change.
In the aftermath of the attack, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese struck a markedly different tone than he had previously, showing an empathy with Australia’s Jewish community that many of us felt was often sorely missing in the months following October 7, 2023.
On January 22, 2026, Albanese initiated a National Day of Mourning, observed across the country. Fifteen sites were illuminated to commemorate the 15 victims, Australians were encouraged to light candles in their windows, and — strikingly — the government even urged citizens to perform a mitzvah — yes, it used that word — in the victims’ memory, publishing a list of 15 suggested acts of kindness.
In a nationally televised address at the Sydney Opera House — the very site where, on October 9, 2023, crowds had gathered to celebrate the Hamas massacre in Israel — the Prime Minister offered a direct apology to the Jewish community, acknowledging that “we could not protect your loved ones from this evil.”
Five days later, on International Holocaust Remembrance Day, Albanese released a statement commemorating the six million Jews murdered in the Holocaust, describing “the immense multitudes of Jewish lives and futures stolen with a pitiless cruelty that remains scarcely fathomable in its evil.” To be fair, he issued a similar statement on the same day last year.
This moral clarity contrasted starkly with the BBC and US Vice President JD Vance, who both failed to even mention the word “Jew” in their statements marking Holocaust Remembrance Day.
Albanese’s apology for the Bondi massacre was a sharp departure from what had often been a strained and acrimonious relationship between his government and the Jewish community, driven by persistent and often disproportionate criticism of Israel during its war against Hamas and other terrorist groups, alongside a series of concrete policy decisions widely perceived as hostile toward a longstanding democratic ally.
In the weeks following Bondi, the government moved swiftly to legislate, recalling parliament early in order to pass a package of new federal hate and extremism laws, including the Combatting Antisemitism, Hate and Extremism Bill. These measures criminalize participation in designated hate groups, impose penalties of up to 15 years in prison for directing such organizations, expand visa-cancellation powers for individuals promoting hate, and tighten controls on extremist symbols and propaganda. A provision to criminalize extreme racial vilification was dropped in the face of the Opposition’s objections to it.
New South Wales, where the attack occurred, also introduced state-level laws granting police broader powers around protests linked to declared terrorist events.
A Royal Commission has also been commissioned to investigate antisemitism in Australia in the lead-up to the Bondi attack, following pressure from broad sections of the community after Albanese was initially opposed to holding one.
These steps were welcomed by the Jewish community, yet it remains far too early to declare them transformative. After all, hate-speech laws already existed across Australian jurisdictions, but were only rarely used.
History therefore suggests that legislation alone is rarely enough; the true test is whether authorities are willing to enforce the laws consistently, especially when doing so becomes politically uncomfortable.
And that discomfort may arrive very soon.
The upcoming visit of Israeli President Isaac Herzog in early February, at Prime Minister Albanese’s invitation, will serve as a critical test of whether the empathy shown after Bondi represents a lasting shift or a fleeting political moment.
Already, Labor Friends of Palestine have called for President Herzog to be blocked from coming and investigated for alleged incitement and complicity in war crimes. Multiculturalism Minister Dr. Anne Aly initially declined to confirm whether she would welcome the Israeli President on his state visit, before later offering a notably lukewarm endorsement. There are also mass protests planned against his visit by anti-Israel groups. How the government deals with this will be telling.
These are the same kind of groups that supported Hamas after Oct. 7, and appeared on Australia Day, the national celebration of identity and unity, with calls for “intifada.”
Australia is currently at a crossroads in its relationship with Israel and also the Jewish community here. How it navigates that relationship could well determine the future of Jewish life in Australia. Hopefully the solidarity now being shown will be maintained and enhanced. But if it proves to be temporary, and the hostility being drummed up by the local anti-Zionist movement resurges, then the long-term feelings of belonging and security that underpin Australia’s long thriving Jewish community will likely erode further.
That, tragically, could echo the same sad and tragic path of many past Jewish communities throughout history.
Justin Amler is a policy analyst at the Australia/Israel & Jewish Affairs Council (AIJAC).