Some people are describing the impact of the latest confrontation between Israel and Iran as one blow too many for the traders and craftspeople who used to make their living in the Old City of Jerusalem’s market. “The situation today is worse than it has ever been before,” says Hijazi Rashq, a member of the Jerusalem Chamber of Commerce and Industry — which is one of the only organizations that keeps track of the conditions facing Palestinian traders in East Jerusalem. “It’s another nail in the coffin of a market that has actually been dead for the past three years.”

According to Rashq, “when the war with Iran began, the market effectively shut down and took on the atmosphere of a military zone. This is during the holy month of Ramadan, the most important time of year for most of the traders, who were hoping to make up for some of the losses they suffered over the past few years. What happened was the exact opposite.” Without any customers, some of the traders decided only to open their stores on Fridays and Saturdays. Even so, they could only do so if the police allowed them (as explained below). Others were forced to find work in the western part of the city — often taking menial jobs in cleaning and maintenance — just to provide an alternative source of income for their families.

“This is the worst period we’ve ever been through,” says 35-year-old Siraj Abu Asab, who runs a store selling souvenirs to tourists. “Even if they were to allow us to open the shop, we wouldn’t earn any money because the Old City is completely empty of visitors. Eighty percent of my business comes from tourism; local sales make up just 20%. Needless to say, tourism has been nonexistent since Oct. 7 and now, because of the war and the curfews, even our local customers have vanished. Before the start of Ramadan, I bought goods valued at 105,000 shekels ($35,000), but as soon as the war broke out, I was ordered to close my store because it doesn’t have a protected space. I only managed to sell 10 items on the internet — but I still haven’t received payment for those sales.”

Anyone who visits Jerusalem’s Mahane Yehuda market or walks along Jaffa Street will see a city that is very much alive — despite everything. But if they were to continue walking toward the walls of the Old City and were to pass through one of its gates, they would discover a very different situation: row after row of shuttered stores — dozens, perhaps hundreds. Wrought-iron doors, rusty padlocks and signs hanging in doorways that haven’t seen a paying customer in months. There’s no one around, so owners aren’t even trying to sell anything. The narrow and empty alleyways have turned it into a ghost market.

“We have been running a business in this store for almost 100 years,” says Ahmed Dandis, 60, who owns a toy shop at the entrance to Damascus Gate. His shop was closed for almost the entire war. “The shop has been passed down from generation to generation. We used to sell clothes, but a few years ago, I decided to start selling toys instead. There has been a downturn in commercial activity in the market for the past five years which eventually ground to an almost complete halt. During the recent war, everything was closed.”

If Dandis and the other traders had hopes that an influx of Ramadan visitors would turn their fortunes around, the outbreak of the war with Iran put an end to them. “I bought $25,000 worth of goods and I didn’t sell a single item. Everything is still sitting in the store,” he said. According to Dandis, the relatives he used to employ in the shop have been forced to quit and look for work in the western part of the city.

The financial lifeline for thousands of families

The market in the Old City of Jerusalem is one of the oldest in the world and provides an economic lifeline for thousands of families. While there is no official figure on the number of shops and stalls in the market, estimates vary from 1,000 to 2,000, depending on the definition used. A field survey conducted in 2019 and 2020 found 2,075 stores operating in the market. Previous estimates by the Palestinian Chamber of Commerce in the city spoke of around 1,400 shops, while figures published by Israeli authorities in the 1990s indicated that there were 1,896 businesses there. Whatever the correct number, thousands of people work in the market; unofficial estimates put the number anywhere between 2,600 and 3,700. The vast majority of them are Palestinian residents of East Jerusalem, the Old City or the adjacent neighborhoods.

The question now is what will happen to these people. According to figures from the Association for Civil Rights in Israel, around 75% of the Palestinian families and around 84% of the children in East Jerusalem in 2022 were living below the poverty line. Against the backdrop of the economic collapse described by the market traders and the accompanying statistics, the crisis in the Old City is not just about financial losses; it is also affecting the daily lives of residents. In 2020, the closure rate of stores in the market was around 30%; according to Rashq, “since October 7 and all the security events that followed, that rate has increased significantly.”

Noor al-Daya is 19 years old and lives in Aqabat al-Khalidiya in the Old City’s Muslim Quarter. She says that, during the first few days of the most recent war with Iran, the Old City was under almost complete closure; only residents officially registered as living in the Old City were allowed to enter. This completely disrupted their daily routine. According to al-Daya, in addition to these restrictions, there was also an escalation of tension and violence within the Old City. She also lost her job working at a hotel near Dung Gate after the tourism industry collapsed. “Since losing that job,” she says, “I have nothing to do now.”

She is not alone. Over the years, the Old City has relied on three main types of visitor: tourists from overseas, Palestinians from the West Bank and Palestinian citizens of Israel. Now, the numbers from each of these groups have declined massively. West Bank residents are no longer able to get to Jerusalem, after Israel closed the checkpoints in response to the October 7 massacre. Recent years have also seen an almost total collapse in international tourism. In 2019, for example, some 4.4 million people visited Israel’s capital city; in 2024, that number had plummeted to just 330,000.

Meanwhile, the most recent war with Iran dashed any hope that recovery would come from domestic tourism, in the form of Arab citizens of Israel. “Under normal circumstances,” says one employee of the Waqf — the religious trust responsible for managing Islamic sites in Jerusalem — who asked to remain anonymous, “around 250,000 worshipers visit the al-Aqsa Mosque for Friday prayers during Ramadan. A large proportion of them are Palestinian citizens of Israel. During the last Ramadan, however, restrictions on worshipers entering the compound, because of the war and security concerns, meant that there were almost no visitors.”

According to Raed Sa’ada, chairman of the Palestinian Tourism Association and owner of the Jerusalem Hotel, “there used to be more than 40 hotels and hostels operating in East Jerusalem, owned or run by residents of East Jerusalem or church institutions. Because of the situation in recent years, there are now only 24 left.”

Sa’ada compares the current situation to the days of the second intifada at the turn of the century: “There’s no foreign tourism because of the security situation and there’s no domestic tourism because the al-Aqsa Mosque and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher were both closed during March due to the war. Even activists and foreign journalists have stopped coming.”

No official explanation or cause

Already facing severe practical challenges, Rami Saleh, the director of the Jerusalem Legal Aid and Human Rights Center, claims that Israeli authorities are making life even harder for the Old City traders. He says that several traders have contacted his organization, saying that they were prevented from opening their businesses without being given any explanation or legal cause. “In one of the cases,” he tells Shomrim, “a trader in the Old City market tried to partially open his store, just to sort through his goods — but the police ordered him to close it, arguing that it didn’t have a protected space. The officers even switched the sign on the door to ‘Closed’.”

According to Saleh, the trader claims that he was subsequently banned from reopening his store at all, after which he gave up entirely on such efforts. At the same time, the trader claimed, stores in the Jewish Quarter — only some of which had protected spaces — were allowed to remain open. In other cases, Saleh says, traders were prevented from opening their stores despite no official closure notice being issued. The only stores that were allowed to open were mainly grocery stores and pharmacies.

Shomrim has written extensively about the disparity between public bomb shelter accessibility in the western part of Jerusalem compared to the east of the city: although around 40 percent of Jerusalemites live in the east of the city, they have access to just 10 percent of the city’s public bomb shelters.

Saleh says that his organization has approached the relevant officials in the Israel Police and Jerusalem Municipality to ask for legal explanations for the incidents reported to them. So far, there has been no response. He argues that the situation reflects a widespread use of discretionary authority under the guise of security concerns, lacking clear or consistent criteria. This raises questions about the nature of the policy, particularly as it resurfaces during every round of escalation.

 

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(JTA) — As Californian voters checked their mailboxes this week, they found a voter guide containing conspiratorial claims about Israel and antisemitic rhetoric.

The mailer, which was sent by California Secretary of State Shirley Weber to the households of all registered California voters, featured biographical information about candidates slated to appear in the state’s June primaries. In all, there are 32 candidates listed, of whom 10 are considered serious contenders.

Among those who are not: the far-right activist Don J. Grundmann, who is not affiliated with any party and has previously described a group he was affiliated with as a “totally peaceful racist group.” Grundman used his entry in the guide to promote a series of anti-Israel conspiracy theories and antisemitic rhetoric.

His entry claimed that Israel had been behind the murder of conservative activist Charlie Kirk; purposefully killed U.S. soldiers during an attack on the U.S.S. Liberty in 1967; orchestrated the 9/11 attacks and planned to “suitcase nuke” the United States.

“Israel, the REAL terrorists, created and funds Hamas via Qatar,” Grundmann wrote. “Countless war crimes by lsrael/ Netanyahu. No further funding for Israel. They call Palestinians AND Christians AND America ‘Amalek;—their sworn forever enemy.”

The paragraph, which included a series of links to websites promoting antisemitic materials, also included a series of antisemitic claims about Jewish supremacy.

“We are ‘goyim’ (less than human animals/cattle) that they will enslave. We are stupid chumps,” Grundmann wrote, using the Hebrew word for non-Jews that has been increasingly used by the far-right. “Israel rules our conquered Republic. Talmud—their Bible—says Christ boiling in in Israel allowed/planned/promoted Hamas attack (they murdered their own people) to justify genocide and steal billion$ in Gaza oil/gas rights. Christian Zionism = soul poison. Talmudic Judeo-Christian values’ don’t exist . . .”

In both the print version delivered to voters and the online version of the voter guide, a disclaimer was added for Grundmann’s entry that did not appear for any other candidates: “The views and opinions expressed by the candidates are their own and do not represent the views and opinions of the Secretary of State’s office.” The line also appears on the bottom of each page.

Local Jewish groups, including the Jewish Federation of Orange County, decried the inclusion of the entry, saying in a letter to Weber, “When something appears in an official voter guide, it carries a level of legitimacy and reaches millions.”

Added the groups, including the federation, the Anti-Defamation League of Orange County/Long Beach, the Jewish Community Action Network and Israeli American Council, “By including a statement containing antisemitic tropes and conspiracy theories in an official voter guide, the State has effectively provided a government platform for rhetoric that fuels division and undermines the safety and dignity of Jewish communities.”

The groups called on Weber to explain how the statement was approved. They contended that the entry violated the guidelines by making “extensive reference to third parties” and using “largely of inflammatory and conspiratorial claims unrelated to any permissible category of content” included in the provisions.

“At a time of rising antisemitism, including rhetoric rooted in antisemitic tropes in a state publication is deeply concerning,” read the letter. “This isn’t about limiting speech—it’s about enforcing neutral standards and maintaining the integrity of our election materials.”

The voter guide comes as antisemitism has emerged as a notable issue in the upcoming California governor’s race, with several candidates staking out their approach to rising antisemitism in the state at a candidate forum in February. The primary is on June 2.

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(JTA) — Matan Koch needed little introduction as he rolled up to the podium to speak at his synagogue’s Disability Shabbat service in October. His wide smile and power wheelchair made him well known to many his Los Angeles congregation, Ikar.

Still, Rabbi Sharon Brous, beaming at him, described her congregant warmly before ceding the microphone.

“The most important thing for you to know about Matan is that he is a deeply soulful, profoundly decent, and incredibly kind human being. And every single day that you have been in our community, you have made our community better,” she said. “It’s an absolute joy and honor to dive in with you, to call you a friend, and to have you as a beloved member of our community.”

In the sermon that followed, Koch described times that he had felt excluded from Jewish communities, or struggled to be included, because of his own disabilities. He urged his fellow congregants to change the way they think about inclusion.

“Every time you’re looking for one more participant, one more volunteer, one more Torah reader, think about who is excluded from our community by disability or any other reason — and think about how we would be enriched if only they were here,” he said. “Then let that motivate us to create an inclusive community that truly lets everyone in.”

It was a synopsis of the mission that Koch carried with him in his personal and professional life. Koch, who used a wheelchair throughout his lifetime, and who was respected as an accomplished lawyer, a passionate advocate for people with disabilities, and a committed member of Jewish communities, died Friday in Los Angeles, after a brief but fierce battle against stomach cancer. He was 44.

“His condition declined far more quickly than he, and we, had hoped,” his family wrote as they shared the news of his death on his Facebook page, filled with remembrances from hundreds of friends and followers from across the country.

“Ever optimistic, he pushed to squeeze every drop of love and connection and intellectual engagement out of life,” they added. “Even as options narrowed, Matan remained focused on staying present and connected to the people he loved.”

At the time of his death, Koch was the Los Angeles’ ADA compliance officer and director of its disability access and services division, ensuring that the city comported with the requirements of the 1990 Americans with Disabilities Act.

In the last post he authored earlier this month, Koch expressed both anger about his illness and appreciation for the many people who were contributing to a crowdfunding campaign to allow him to die with dignity at home. He said he was feeling “fury that my life has been cut so tragically short, euphoric overwhelming at the outpouring of love and support, and awe and gratitude for my family as they work with all of you in a full court press to see my needs met.”

Born in 1981, in New Milford, Connecticut, Koch was both brilliant and precocious and from an early age moved through a world not built for his body with clarity and determination, according to Rabbi Shira Koch Epstein, one of his four siblings.

Born prematurely, he had cerebral palsy, a neurological condition that severely limited his mobility and required him to use a wheelchair.

It was just a few years after the passage of the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act, which reshaped the requirements for schools to serve students with special needs. Yet his parents, the late Rabbi Norman Koch and Rosalyn Koch, a Jewish educator, had to fight for services from their local public schools.

Koch advanced to Yale University at age 16 and went on to Harvard Law School when he was just 20, graduating in 2005. He held numerous appointments on disability rights committees, first at Yale and then as vice president of the New Haven Disability Commission. In 2011, President Barack Obama tapped him to serve on the National Council on Disability.

“His whole life was breaking glass ceilings,” Epstein told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency in a phone conversation just hours before Matan’s death.

“He had a body that was built for a world that doesn’t yet exist and he spent his whole life working to build systems that recognize ability, expand access and include people across the full spectrum of disability,” Epstein said, adding, “He sees the goodness in every person he meets, and he sees the possibility.”

The family of five kids grew up in a deeply Jewish home. Epstein recalled her younger brother having deep conversations about Jewish values and ideas with her and their father.

“That was something very important to Matan. He really loved to learn and loved to sing. He sang with gusto. And he loved camp,” added Epstein, who serves as executive director of Atra, the Center for Jewish Innovation.

Their parents were leaders at Camp Eisner, the Jewish summer camp in the Berkshires, and the family spent their summers there. “The Jewish community is his home,” she said.

Rabbi Jonah Pesner, director of the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism and senior vice president for the Union for Reform Judaism, was the director of education at Camp Eisner when Koch was a camper. He recalled a time when Koch asked Pesner to help him to go to the bathroom.

Koch led Pesner back to the bunk and explained step-by-step, how to assist, with laughter and without making Pesner feel self-conscious. “From the earliest age, Matan was engaging, mature beyond his years and non-judgmental,” Pesner said.

After graduating from law school, Koch worked first as an associate at major law firms before striking out on his own as a consultant working to help businesses and nonprofits become more inclusive. From there, he joined a disability rights organization called Respectability, moving to Los Angeles to become its local director.

Many people assumed that because he was quadriplegic, Koch must be helpless, according to Jennifer Laszlo Mizrahi, the Jewish activist who co-founded the group, now known as Disability Belongs. In fact, she said, his abilities were remarkable.

She recalled the role Koch played during the Covid-19 pandemic, a perilous time for people with disabilities, who faced high mortality rates if they became ill from the virus.

Many of his staff were disabled. They — and countless other disabled people — couldn’t risk going to a grocery store before vaccinations were available.

Koch’s team partnered with Los Angeles and the federal government to change the regulations to allow SNAP beneficiaries to have their groceries delivered in California and in several other states. “That was huge,” Laszlo Mizrahi said.

In Los Angeles, Koch was an active and beloved member of Ikar. In his Disability Shabbat sermon, he recalled an experience in college that led him to take a deep dive into a Talmudic debate on excluding people who might be distracting from leading the priestly blessing, he told them. Ultimately, the rabbis reasoned their way into acceptance.

“In using that text, Matan acknowledged the reality of how a community might interact with someone with a disability,” recalled Morris Panitz, the congregation’s associate rabbi. “People might be uncomfortable at first. But the work of the community is to get to know the person.”

Koch delivered his sermon with conviction, but gently, with his warm smile, Panitz said. This was true of him generally. “He invited people along for the journey,” he said.

“Matan Koch left an indelible mark on our community,” the synagogue told its members in an email on Sunday that added, “Matan’s persistent belief and tireless work to ensure that everyone feels welcomed and known will endure as a moral vision in our community. We will miss Matan’s enthusiastic davening, wide smile, and generous love.”

Koch could hold court in meaningful conversations as easily with heads of businesses as with Jewish texts, said Jack Rubin, one of his closest friends since they met their first week at Yale. Until Koch could not anymore, they talked for hours at a time.

“Nothing was outside the bounds of his intellectual curiosity or his capacity to wonder,” said Rubin, whose family spent the first of Passover with Koch at Koch’s home earlier this month.

“We had seder with him, for as long as he had the energy. He asked my kids questions. It was amazing,” Rubin said, holding back tears just a few hours before Koch died.

Although Koch possessed a unique ability to persuade people to embrace inclusion and implement meaningful opportunities for disabled people, according to those who knew him well, he did face limits in his own life.

At one time, Koch hoped to attend Hebrew Union College and become a rabbi, Pesner recalled. He and others tried for a long time to make it happen. But Koch’s complex medical needs couldn’t be overcome within the school’s physical and programmatic constraints at the time.

“It’s the biggest regret of my career that we could not figure out how to get him rabbinic ordination,” Pesner said. “I think it was a loss for the Jewish people.”

Yet Koch never stopped pressing Jewish communities to rethink how they treat members with disabilities, challenging up-and-coming leaders at the Reform movement’s youth conference and being honored in 2016 by the Jewish disability inclusion organization Matan.

“Sometimes you can be a change-maker and be a person who’s putting out really big ideas, but sometimes it can come with a sharp edge,” Rabbi Rick Jacobs said in a movie compiled to honor Koch at the time, which also included a tribute from the actress Mayim Bialik. “With Matan, it comes with love, and he raises people up.”

Meredith Polsky, the director of the organization Matan, said in an email that her group would continue the mission of the friend and advocate who shared its name — a name meaning “gift” in Hebrew.

“Though his final breath came far too soon, we carry that charge forward, committed to building a Jewish community that reflects his vision of true inclusion and belonging,” Polsky wrote.

Koch’s father Norman died in 2015. Koch is survived by his mother, Rosalyn Koch, siblings Rabbi Shira Koch Epstein and Jason, Yonatan Koch, Adina Koch and Aytan Koch; nieces and nephews Amichai, Kobi, Avigayil, Duncan and Jason and his honorary family: Martin Smith, Jack and Stephanie Rubin and their children Olivia and Edward.

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