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The Dominican Republic was a haven for Jews fleeing the Nazis. A museum project could tell that story.
SOSUA, Dominican Republic (JTA) — Sitting inside a small wood-frame shul just around the corner from Playa Alicia, where tourists sip rum punch while watching catamarans glide by, Joe Benjamin recounted one of the most uplifting but often forgotten stories of Jewish survival during the Holocaust.
“I was bar mitzvahed right here,” he said, pointing to a podium at the front of the sanctuary in La Sinagoga de Sosua. It was built in the early 1940s to meet the spiritual needs of about 750 German and Austrian Jews.
At the time, the Dominican Republic was the only country in the world that offered asylum to large numbers of Jewish refugees, earning the moniker “tropical Zion.”
Benjamin, 82, is president of the Jewish community of Sosua and one of only four surviving second-generation Jews remaining in this touristy beach town on the northern coast of the Dominican Republic. His parents were part of the unconventional colony of Jewish immigrants who established an agricultural settlement between 1940-47 on an abandoned banana plantation overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.
“When I talk about that, I get goosebumps,” Benjamin said. “This is a distinction that the Dominican Republic has. It was the only country that opened its doors to Jews.”
Joe Benjamin, president of the Jewish Community of Sosua, inside the sanctuary of La Sinagoga. (Dan Fellner)
At the 1938 Evian Conference in France, attended by representatives of 32 countries to address the problem of German and Austrian Jewish refugees wanting to flee Nazi persecution, the Dominican Republic announced it would accept up to 100,000 Jewish refugees. About 5,000 visas were issued but fewer than 1,000 Jews ultimately were able to reach the country, which is located on the same island as Haiti, about 800 miles southeast of Miami.
Benjamin was born in 1941 in Shanghai, the only other place besides the Dominican Republic that accepted large numbers of Jewish refugees during the Holocaust. Shanghai, then a divided city not under the control of a single government, did not require a visa to enter. About 20,000 Jewish refugees immigrated there, including Benjamin’s parents, who fled Nazi Germany in 1939.
In 1947, with a civil war raging in China, Benjamin’s father realized the country “was getting a little difficult” and looked for another place to raise his two children.
“I think my father read it in a newspaper – there was a Jewish refugee colony in the Dominican Republic,” he says. “My father had no idea where that was, but he said, ‘I’m going there.’”
Benjamin’s family took a ship from China to San Francisco, a train to Miami, and then flew into Santo Domingo, the Dominican Republic’s capital city. At that time, the city was officially called Ciudad Trujillo after the country’s dictator, Generalissimo Rafael Trujillo, who ruled the Dominican Republic from 1930 until his assassination in 1961.
Photos of some of the 750 Jewish refugees who settled in Sosua in the 1940s on display at the Gregorio Luperon International Airport in Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic. (Dan Fellner)
Historians suggest the Dominican dictator’s motives in accepting large numbers of Jewish refugees at a time when so many other countries — including the United States, Canada and the United Kingdom — turned their backs were fueled more by opportunism than altruism. It’s believed that Trujillo wanted to improve his reputation on the world stage following the 1937 massacre of an estimated 20,000 Black Haitians by Dominican troops. Furthermore, Trujillo liked the idea of allowing a crop of mostly educated immigrants who would “whiten” the country’s population.
“He was a cruel dictator,” Benjamin said of Trujillo. “But it’s not for me to judge. Because for us, he saved our lives. If you’re drowning and someone throws you a rope, you hold on to it. You don’t start asking his motive. You just hold on.”
In 1947, Benjamin was among the last group of Jewish refugees to arrive in Sosua, one of about 10 families known by the other colonists as the “Shanghai group.” The Sosua settlement was run by an organization called the Dominican Republic Settlement Association (DORSA) that was funded by the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee in New York.
“DORSA would give you 10 cows, a mule, a horse and a cart,” said Benjamin. “My father by profession was a cabinet-maker. He thought he was going to do that here. But there was no market for that. So he dedicated himself to farming.”
Benjamin said conditions in Sosua were “primitive” and a difficult transition for many settlers who had been city-dwellers in Europe. Still, he spoke fondly of a childhood in which he was relatively insulated from the horrors that befell so many other Jewish children his age.
“We had enough to eat,” he says. “We enjoyed the beach. And I went to a Jewish school.”
La Sinagoga de Sosua in the Dominican Republic served the spiritual needs of the Jewish refugees who found a safe haven in Sosua during the Holocaust. It’s now open only for the high holidays. (Dan Fellner)
The school, originally called Escuela Cristobal Colon, opened in 1940 in a barracks and was attended by Jewish children as well as the children of Dominican farm workers. The school still exists and is now called the Colegio Luis Hess, named after Luis Hess, one of the Jewish settlers. Hess taught at the school for 33 years and lived in Sosua until his death in 2010 at the age of 101.
While the children attended school, men worked on farms and women cooked dinner for their families, who ate communal style. Beds were lined with mosquito netting to prevent malaria. As men greatly outnumbered women — Trujillo did not allow single Jewish women to enter the country — intermarriage was common.
Over time, the agriculture venture failed and DORSA instead decided to promote a beef and dairy cooperative, Productos Sosua, which ultimately proved successful.
After finishing high school, Benjamin moved to Pittsburgh to attend college (he’s an engineer who once built and flew his own airplane), got married and started a family. After 17 years in the United States, he decided in 1976 to return to the Dominican Republic, where he became an executive with Productos Sosua. He worked there until he retired in 2004, when the firm was sold to a Mexican company.
“All my life I talked about Sosua as my home,” he said. “I like it here. Everybody knows me.”
A street mural recognizes Sosua’s Jewish history on the main road connecting Sosua with Puerto Plata on the north coast of the Dominican Republic. (Dan Fellner)
Today, Sosua is vastly changed from the sleepy town in which Benjamin was raised. In 1979, an international airport opened in Puerto Plata, just a 15-minute drive to the west. Sosua morphed into a congested tourist destination known for its golden-sand beaches and water sports. It also became a hub of the Dominican sex tourism industry.
Most of Sosua’s Jewish population immigrated to the United States by the early 1980s. Benjamin estimates that only 30-40 Jews remain in Sosua, most of whom are not religiously observant. As a result, the synagogue hasn’t been able to financially sustain a permanent rabbi for more than 20 years. Services are held only on the high holidays, when a rabbi is flown in from Miami.
Benjamin says a group of seven Jews chips in about $2,500 a month to pay for security and other operating expenses.
“It’s very hard to get the Jews here to pay,” he said. “When we bring in the rabbi, we try to charge something. But we don’t get any people if we charge.”
Next to the synagogue is a small museum called the Museo Judio de Sosua, which offers a window into the town’s Jewish roots. Five years ago, the U.S. Embassy in Santo Domingo donated $80,000 to the museum to preserve and digitize its archives. However, the museum, which is badly in need of repairs, has been closed for the past year.
The Museo Judio de Sosua, which tells the story of the Jewish refugees who found a safe haven in the Dominican Republic during the Holocaust. The museum is closed while the community waits for funding to reopen it. (Dan Fellner)
Benjamin has been in discussions with the Dominican government in hopes it will soon finance a major renovation of the museum that would include an exhibition hall big enough to accommodate 100 people for events. Benjamin says he is optimistic the project, which has a price-tag approaching $1 million, will be green-lighted by the government.
“They are very positive about it because it could become a tourist attraction,” he says, noting that Puerto Plata and nearby Amber Cove have become popular port-stops on Caribbean cruises originating in Florida. “If it comes to fruition, it will be in the next year. Because if they don’t do it by then, the government changes. And the next government never continues what the previous government started.”
Otherwise, there are only a few remnants of Jewish life in Sosua for visitors to see. In Parque Mirador overlooking the Atlantic, there is a white cement-block star of David, built to honor the Jewish refugees. About 70 Jews, including Benjamin’s parents, are buried in a Jewish cemetery about a five-minute drive south of the synagogue.
The main street connecting Sosua with Puerto Plata has a street mural depicting the town’s history that features a large star of David right above a scuba-diver. And two of the most prominent streets in Sosua — Dr. Rosen and David Stern — still bear the names of two of the colony’s Jewish founders.
Dr. Rosen Street in downtown Sosua is named after Joseph Rosen, one of the founders of the Dominican Republic Settlement Association. (Dan Fellner)
There had been an exhibition about Sosua’s Jewish colony at the Museum of Jewish Heritage in New York but it closed several years ago. All the more reason, Benjamin says, that the Sosua museum reopens as soon as possible so that the story of the Jews who found a Caribbean cocoon to ride out the Holocaust isn’t forgotten.
“Look at what’s happening in the world — there is a rise in antisemitism,” he said. “It’s very important that our history is documented. It will also be a place where Dominican schoolchildren can come and learn about Judaism.”
With the museum closed, the only place in the area to see photos of the Jewish settlers on public display is the departure lounge in Puerto Plata’s airport. Next to a Dominican band serenading travelers with meringue music, there is a display of pictures showing the colonists riding horses, tilling the fields, attending school and praying in La Sinagoga.
“When they came here, the Jews found no antisemitism at all in this country,” said Benjamin. “They were as free as anybody. They had a wonderful life.”
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Romania’s secret police trailed a Jewish photographer. Decades later, their files have become a film.
(JTA) — BERLIN — He had wild hair and wore jeans. He was American — and Jewish. He had a camera.
That was enough to trigger surveillance by the notorious secret police of communist Romania, the Securitate.
Now, 41 years after photojournalist Edward Serotta boldly stepped behind the Iron Curtain, we can see just how obsessed the Romanians were with him, thanks to a short documentary by renowned Romanian director Radu Jude and historian Adrian Cioflâncă.
“Plan contraplan/Shot Reverse Shot,” which had its world premiere at the Berlinale international film festival last month, gives equal time to Serotta’s reminiscences about Romania in the 1980s, and to the Securitate’s observations of him.
And of course, to the photos: After his Romania adventure, Serotta put down new roots in Europe, and has spent decades documenting the Jewish life that was nearly obliterated in the Holocaust. He has published several books of photographs documenting Jewish communities. He also documented the fall of the communist regimes in which he’d set foot as a young man.
Twenty-two minutes long, the film was one of several shown at the festival with themes related to Jewish life and history, or to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.
The obsessive spying of the communist regime, as documented here, appears absurd today. But it was fully serious at the time.
In his narration, Serotta — born in 1949 in Atlanta — recalls how communist authorities in 1985 “had given me the permission to come to Romania under the idea that they would have glowing and fine articles and positive articles about Romania.” His stated intention was to document World War II memorials, of which at the time there were only a handful. Today, there are many more.
“He will be put under surveillance,” declares the spy, narrated in the film’s second half by Romanian political scientist Diana Mărgărit, “in order to prevent contact with parasitic protest elements.”
While Serotta was aiming his lens, the informants were sneaking around, snapping quick shots and jotting down observations. They also slipped into his hotel room one day, and exposed a roll of film.
The things they frantically recorded are “funny right now,” a reminder of a bygone regime that at the time was deadly serious, said Cioflâncă in an interview. Cioflâncă is on the advisory college of the National Council for the Study of the Securitate Archives, a state institution that deals with the history of communism. “I lived for 15 years when I was a child under communism. And it was not fun.”
For 41 years, until the regime’s fall and the execution of president Nikolae Ceaușescu and his wife, Elena, in 1989, the Securitate spied on and terrorized citizens of Romania, suppressing dissent. According to the virtual Cryptomuseum, based in the Netherlands, the Securitate had up to 11,000 agents and 500,000 informants monitoring a population of 22 million.
In 2006, a governmental commission reported that more than 600,000 Romanians — and potentially around 2 million — were incarcerated for political crimes, and more than 100,000 died.
Western journalists, though suspect and surveilled, were to some extent wooed — at least in the 1980s. When Serotta requested to visit in 1985, Ceaușescu had been president for some 11 years (after heading the communist party from 1965). Ceaușescu was seen as more friendly to the west: He had refused to contribute troops to invade former Czechoslovakia in 1968; and he kept up relations with Israel when other communist countries severed their ties.
At the time, the regime wanted to gain “most favored nation” economic status from the United States, which depended on their allowing some freedom of movement to its population.
“There were 855 western journalists coming to Romania during the Ceaușescu period, and 80 of them were American,” said Cioflâncă, who also directs the Bucharest-based Center for the Study of Jewish History, under the Federation of Jewish Communities in Romania.
“Many of these visits were organized as a propaganda instrument. In all the cases, they wanted to interfere with the journalist and to influence his work. They tried something similar with Edward when he came,” he added.
“They felt that the Jews are so influential, especially in the relationship with the United States,” Serotta said in an interview.
“In their mind, everything that was Israeli, Jewish, or American Jewish was deemed like an important piece of influence to use for their political PR at that time,” said Serotta, who eventually moved to Europe and in 2000 founded the Centropa nonprofit archive aimed at preserving Jewish memory in Central and Eastern Europe, the Balkans, the Baltics, and the former Soviet Union.
Centropa was purchased by the US Holocaust Memorial Museum in 2024.
Given Serotta’s obsession with documenting history, Cioflâncă said he was surprised to learn that his friend had never viewed his Securitate files. Several years ago, he asked Serotta if he’d like to see them.
“The funny thing is, I didn’t think I was important enough to have any,” Serotta recalled.
Cioflâncă found some 300 pages of documents. The informants had tried to influence the photojournalist, saying that the World War II killings of Jews in the region were “a marginal moment,” Cioflâncă noted. “They wanted to make sure that their reputation remained clean, that they were not collaborators” with the Nazis.
According to the US Holocaust Memorial Museum and Yad Vashem, at least 380,000 Romanian Jews were killed during the Holocaust.
“I was there for a matter of several weeks,” Serotta said. He recalled “a very tense atmosphere. Nothing worked properly. We barely found food in stores. It was awful.”
And he is still astonished that the Securitate spent so much time following him. “It’s funny stuff.”
“Many Securitate officers were pretty stupid,” Serotta said in the interview. “They were so distorted in doing their job that they didn’t have this sense of [the] ridiculous and humor.”
Moreover, “their [photo] equipment, first of all, was not very good. Secondly, they were usually doing it surreptitiously: behind a wall or a door or something or something like that. But as the old expression goes, the pictures are great because I look young. I look like a casting reject from ‘Flashdance.’”
Serotta, for the most part, ignored or was unaware of the surveillance, except for when the only two cars on remote roads, hour after hour, were his and that of a spy on his tail.
And yet the trip to Romania was priceless. On one of his first visits to a Jewish community in Romania, he said to himself, “Wow, this is interesting. This is like the old country.”
“Then I said, ‘It’s not like the old country. It is the old country, and I’m in it,’” he added. “From that moment on, I felt like I had opened a door, and I’ve never come back through it.”
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Avraham Burg, longtime fixture of Israeli left, meets Tucker Carlson on his own turf
(JTA) — Tucker Carlson has set off alarm bells among many Jewish groups and even some conservative allies by hosting conspiracy theorists, grilling the U.S. ambassador to Israel and dabbling in sinister-sounding theories about Benjamin Netanyahu and Chabad.
But on Monday a notable Israeli opted to appear on Carlson’s show: former politician and left-wing figurehead Avraham Burg. And their talk was demonstrably cordial — though not without some gentle ribbing.
“Listen, Tucker, I cannot stand you,” Burg told his interviewer over a video call. “But you’re a nice person, so I talk with you.”
“I’ll take that as a half compliment,” Carlson responded, laughing.
A former speaker of the Knesset, interim Israeli president and onetime chair of the Jewish Agency for Israel and World Zionist Organization, Burg today remains an outspoken member of Israel’s dwindling left. A proponent of positions like post-Zionism and the Palestinian right of return that are deeply unpopular in Israel, he is also a frequent Netanyahu critic and current member of Hadash, an Israeli far-left party with Communist roots.
In his newsletter, Burg explained his decision to appear on Carlson’s show by saying the influential podcast host was “one of the most powerful voices in today’s American Right.”
“This interview was born out of a genuine desire to step outside familiar patterns and meet the person behind the public image that has been built around him, not out of prior agreement and not out of any need to adjudicate, but out of a willingness to seriously engage with the challenges he poses to the political and cultural discourse of our time,” Burg wrote in his Substack.
In a veiled swipe at other Jewish groups and Israeli leaders that have denounced Carlson, he added, “Carlson manages to touch a raw nerve of an American society whose doubts are deepening, and the temptation is to dismiss that with slogans. I chose not to do that.”
Indeed, throughout their 90-minute conversation, Burg did not push Carlson on the more outlandish claims the pundit has made on his shows in the past, even as he noted he watched the show frequently. He did object to Carlson’s past contentions that Israel would consider using nukes against Iran, as well as to Carlson’s rejection of the question of whether Israel “has the right to exist.”
Another area of pushback came when Burg insisted that, contrary to Carlson’s claims, Israel doesn’t have a consistent security policy, let alone a grandiose religious or conspiratorial vision.
“I listened to you very carefully in the last couple of weeks, and the way you try to conceive the Israeli strategy, from Netanyahu’s 40-year life mission to the greater land of Israel,” as biblical, “Messianic” or “eschatological,” said Burg. “I envy you that you really believe that we have something like that.” However, he added, “It doesn’t work that way.”
He instead focused on what he referred to as the Israeli mindset, which he called “a very, very hard, stiff-necked” one. Israelis, Burg said, do not believe in a “win-win” solution to their conflicts with their neighbors: “We live in a zero sum game.”
“‘I want to win alone. I want you to be dead. I want to humiliate you. I want to cancel you,’” Burg said, explaining that mindset. “‘Whomever you are, you are my enemy.’ And when you look at this philosophy, you understand where comes the political rhetoric that every adversary, never mind who [he is], minor or major, but at the end of the day, he is a Hitler.”
Israelis, Burg claimed, are also isolated from much of the English-language media, and reflexively dismiss any media criticism of their actions as antisemitic, creating “a thick filter that enables us to reject any kind of legitimate criticism.”
Carlson, who himself has offered various denunciations of the Israeli mindset on other episodes, took a soft approach to interviewing Burg. He praised Burg as “a pretty brave guy,” citing a recent op-ed in which the Israeli had opposed war with Iran, and ended by stating, “This conversation has really been a blessing for me.”
He avoided testier subjects he had raised with U.S. Ambassador to Israel Mike Huckabee and other guests in recent episodes, such as suggesting genetics testing for all Israelis to test the Jewish claim to the Holy Land, or musing that the Chabad Hasidic movement orchestrated the war as a means of building the Third Temple.
Whether his audience appreciated the apparent sincerity is an open question. On YouTube, commenters variously described Burg as complicit in Israel’s failings despite his politics or offered backhanded praise for the ways he confirmed their worst suspicions about Israelis. “If what he’s saying is true then what an unbearable group of people,” read one comment.
On X, Carlson’s other main platform, prominent pro-Israel Jews denounced Burg as a Communist and traitor to Israel.
Burg’s willingness to find common cause with Carlson was the latest sign of how some on the Jewish left, finding little appetite among institutional Jewish groups and Israeli society for sustained pushback against Israel’s actions in Gaza and Iran, may be looking instead to fringe voices on the right, where anti-Israel sentiment is also growing.
American Jewish left-wing intellectual Norman Finkelstein has appeared on Candace Owens’ podcast, while Israeli left-wing activist Miko Peled has aligned with Carrie Prejean Boller, a former religious liberties commissioner under Trump who was ousted over her stated Catholic opposition to Zionism.
Also this week Jewish journalist Peter Beinart, a leading progressive critic of Israel, praised former Trump counterterrorism director Joe Kent — another recent Carlson guest — as “a brave man” for resigning from his post while citing his opposition to war with Iran. Kent’s resignation letter accused Israel not only of manipulating Trump into war but also of having started the Iraq War and the Syrian Civil War, raising concern among American Jewish groups and providing further fodder for antisemitic elements on the right. (Beinart criticized aspects of the letter as “faulty” in his Jewish Currents essay, which was publicly assailed by a former magazine board member.)
For Burg and Carlson, the meeting revealed more similarities than differences in their worldviews. Toward the end of their talk, Burg expressed optimism that his grandchildren’s generation “will stand up and say, ‘We are ready to defend the legitimate Israel, but we’re not ready to sacrifice our life or to sacrifice the life of others on the altar of this craziness.’ This day is close.’”
“That’s a very reassuring thing to hear,” Carlson responded, in agreement.
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King Charles named patron of British Jewish security nonprofit following ambulance attack
(JTA) — King Charles has been named the first-ever patron of a British Jewish security nonprofit, a move announced in the wake of an arson attack that targeted four ambulances owned by a Jewish volunteer emergency service in north London.
The Community Security Trust, Britain’s main antisemitism watchdog, announced that King Charles had accepted the role — indicating a royal’s endorsement of a cause — during an annual fundraising dinner Monday night, where British leaders condemned the attack.
“His Majesty’s longstanding commitment to promoting tolerance, inclusion and interfaith understanding align closely with CST’s mission to protect British Jews and CST is honoured by this recognition and looks forward to working under His Majesty’s patronage to further its vital work across the country,” CST wrote in a statement.
While the attack is being investigated as an antisemitic hate crime but not a terrorist incident, counterterror officers have been leading the investigation after an Islamist group claimed responsibility for the attack. (The same group also claimed responsibility for synagogue bombings in Belgium and the Netherlands.)
“It is too early for me to attribute last night’s attack in Golders Green to the Iranian state … but whoever was responsible, the impact is serious,” London police chief Mark Rowley said at the annual dinner on Monday.
Police believe three suspects were involved in the attack, although no arrests have been made yet. Security footage of the scene of the attack in Golders Green, a heavily Jewish neighborhood of London, appeared to show three individuals approaching the ambulances parked outside the Machzike Hadath Synagogue.
In the wake of the attack, Rowley pledged to deploy over 250 additional police officers to protect Jewish communities and the British government announced it would provide four replacement ambulances to Hatzola.
In a speech at the dinner, British Home Secretary Shabana Mahmood said that antisemitism was on the rise and vowed that those responsible would be “pursued and made to face the consequences of their vile actions.”
“It is so warped it defies words,” Mahmood said of the arson attack. “This was more than an attack on four ambulances; it was more than an attack on one organisation or on one community. It was an attack on this country and on us all.”
In the days following that attack, donations to fundraising campaigns on behalf of Hatzola reached nearly $2 million following a plea from the organization for urgent support.
“We are launching an urgent appeal to rebuild what has been lost — we cannot to afford to let our life-saving work be put on pause,” Hatzola said in a statement. “We need immediate support so we can source: new ambulances, strengthening security, equipping the teams, restocking and ensuring we can continue to respond safely and effectively in every emergency.”
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