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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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The post The Dominican Republic was a haven for Jews fleeing the Nazis. A museum project could tell that story. appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Apple TV’s ‘Your Friends & Neighbors’ just gave us a stunningly authentic Jewish episode
(JTA) — Matzo is not something I typically give much thought to in the days following Passover. Yet I cannot stop thinking about a piece of shmura matzo I recently encountered.
The encounter came on Apple TV’s “Your Friends & Neighbors,” where the handmade round matzo (that always tastes a little burnt) just had a major cameo — perhaps its debut on a national TV series — in the episode that dropped on Friday.
“Your Friends & Neighbors” stars Jon Hamm as a suburbanite who takes to theft, roiling his community. The entire show is packed with rounds of golf and all-you-can-eat buffets at a WASPy country club — I hadn’t gotten the sense that anyone was Jewish. Until I saw that the fourth episode of the second season was called “The Bread of Affliction.”
Perhaps I should have known: The show is based (and filmed) in Westchester County, just north of New York City, where I work as a rabbi and where many secular families include Jews. And there was a “L’chayim” in the previous episode, but that phrase has practically entered the English lexicon. I never saw the matzo coming.
I’ve carved out a social media niche critiquing portrayals of Judaism in pop culture. So I have to give credit where credit’s due — what transpired on “Your Friends & Neighbors” was no less than a modern miracle: Judaism done right.
I was sold at “Good yontif,” the words recited by Hari Sahni (played by Manu Narayan), one of the hosts, as guests entered his gorgeous, towering home for the seder.
What soon transpired was not your traditional hodgepodge of a Passover table: no scattered Hebrew school projects or random plastic frogs. We viewers got an aspirational seder, with an aesthetic somewhere between cottagecore and, well, upscale Westchester. The seder table was a canvas filled with floral arrangements, votive candles, and beautifully scripted place cards. For those playing insider Jewish baseball, there was even a place card for Elijah (no last name).
There was also drool-worthy matzoball soup being stirred in a giant, seder-sized pot, and caviar on matzo, an atypical yet perfectly kosher combination.
And then, the kiddush. Gretchen Reagan (played by Miriam Silverman, a Jewish actress and Broadway star), who is married to Hari, recited a full version of the Passover blessing — not the one-liner everyone knows from Hebrew school — and with the right nusach (tune). That tune, that beautiful, trembling holiday version, is one that most traditional households don’t even quite land as well as she did.
All of the guests at the table held (in unison) a classic yellow-and-maroon haggadah, first published in 1949. This nostalgic haggadah, which also appeared in the Passover episode of “Curb Your Enthusiasm” back in 2005, is still used at many seders today. It’s known for its simplicity, black-and-white drawings and helpful directions.
Following that epic kiddush, Mel and Coop’s teenage son, Hunter, struggles to sing “Ma Nishtanah.” Honestly, an all-too-accurate portrayal, too — he probably hadn’t practiced since Hebrew school. He was soon backed up by another Jewish actress and Broadway star, Rebecca Naomi Jones, who plays Suzanne Haber, a neighbor in the series’ fictional Westmont Village community.
Yet what blew me away the most was that shmura matzo. Square matzo famously occupies supermarket kosher sections year-round, but shmura matzo tends to appear only right before the holiday.
Where did the props department find an intact piece? Most boxes of shmura matzo come cracked. And once they had one, how many tries did it take for Amanda Peet to break it neatly in half? The notable Jewish actress plays Mel Cooper, the Jewish ex-wife of Andrew (Coop) Cooper (Hamm), who is not Jewish. Peet’s role has been central across both seasons, as she navigates challenging family dynamics, many of which play out at the seder.
As the seder continued, guests dipped pinkies in wine (ever so daintily) for the Ten Plagues. They went around the table, each reciting one plague in English — a genuinely engaging idea. And of course, there is an epic afikomen hiding spot. I won’t spoil details about its discovery, but let’s just say the afikomen was located exactly where it gets hidden in most households.
This episode was like manna from heaven. It literally just dropped. No hype, no press conference, no rounds of Jewish podcasts that project Jewish pride, sometimes a little too hungrily.
This may be the best thing that happened to Passover since 1995 — i.e., a “Rugrats Passover.” That episode still has the edge because it not only portrayed the seder and intergenerational family drama accurately, but it actually told the story of the Exodus in a way that felt new: accessible, funny and memorable. (Plus, it gave us the line “Let my babies go!”)
I wonder whether my excitement is simply because the standard is just that low for Judaism on-screen. It is. But this episode went above and beyond — even explaining that “Shanah Tovah” is not the appropriate greeting for Passover, or that afikomen means “dessert.”
The episode comes in stark contrast to another trending “Jewish show”: “Nobody Wants This.” I’m still not over Rabbi Noah Roklov (played by Adam Brody) trying to make “Mazel” a greeting. It’s not. Nor is Tu Bishvat a mourning holiday (thank you, Rabbi Neil, played by Seth Rogen).
Where does that leave the future of Judaism on TV? The bar has certainly been leavened, and I’m here for it.
From a material culture perspective, we’ve been living in an era where it has been dayenu — enough — just to have something on the shelves for Hanukkah or Passover, even if it was riddled with errors that could have been fixed by asking one person familiar with Hebrew or Jewish symbols.
And at a time when many people fear being Jewish in public, seeing Judaism on screen as a given — and portrayed correctly — is so affirming. At a moment when I, as a Jewish content creator, am flooded with antisemitic comments, direct messages, and screenshots of my “Jewish” nose, seeing Judaism in the wild is a reminder that they have not “won.”
This episode makes me hopeful that Judaism can be once again celebrated and talked about — not hidden. Now, I’m ready for a Rosh Hashanah episode in Season 3!
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post Apple TV’s ‘Your Friends & Neighbors’ just gave us a stunningly authentic Jewish episode appeared first on The Forward.
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NATO Alliance Considers End to Annual Summits
US President Donald Trump holds a bilateral meeting with NATO Secretary General Mark Rutte at the World Economic Forum (WEF) in Davos, Switzerland, Jan. 21, 2026. Photo: REUTERS/Jonathan Ernst
NATO is considering ending its recent practice of holding annual summits, six sources told Reuters, a move that could avoid a potentially tense encounter with US President Donald Trump in his final year in office.
Trump‘s administration has engaged repeatedly in scathing criticism of many of the US-led defense alliance‘s 31 other members, most recently berating some for not providing more assistance to US military operations against Iran.
The frequency of NATO summits has varied over the alliance‘s 77-year history but its leaders have met every summer since 2021 and will gather this year in the Turkish capital Ankara on July 7 and 8.
But some members are pushing to slow the tempo, a senior European official and five diplomats, all from NATO member countries, told Reuters.
NATO MEMBERS LOOKING FOR LESS DRAMA AND BETTER DECISIONS
One diplomat said the 2027 summit, to be held in Albania, would likely take place that autumn and NATO was considering not holding one at all in 2028 – the year of the US presidential election and Trump’s final full calendar year in office.
Another said some countries were pushing to hold summits every two years, adding that no decision had been taken and Secretary General Mark Rutte would have the final say.
The sources spoke on condition of anonymity to discuss internal NATO deliberations.
In response to a query from Reuters, a NATO official said: “NATO will continue to hold regular meetings of Heads of State and Government, and between summits NATO Allies will continue to consult, plan, and take decisions about our shared security.”
Two of the sources mentioned Trump as a factor but several said broader considerations were at play.
Some diplomats and analysts have long argued that annual summits create pressure for eye-catching results that distracts from longer-term planning.
“Better to have fewer summits than bad summits,” said one diplomat. “We have our work cut out for us anyway, we know what we have to do.”
Another said the quality of discussions and decisions was the true measure of alliance strength.
TRUMP CASTS LONG SHADOW OVER NATO MEETINGS
Phyllis Berry, nonresident senior fellow at the Atlantic Council, wrote: “Reducing high-profile summitry would allow NATO to get on with its business and dial down the drama that has marked many recent transatlantic encounters.”
In an article published on the think tank’s website last week, she noted that NATO held only eight summits during the decades of the Cold War. She described Trump’s first three NATO summits in his first term as “contentious events, dominated by his complaints about low allied defense spending.”
Last year’s summit in The Hague was also largely shaped by Trump’s demand that NATO members boost defense spending sharply to 5% of GDP – a target they accepted by agreeing to spend 3.5% on core defence and 1.5% on broader security-related investment. The mere fact that it ended without major drama was considered a success.
This year’s gathering also looks set to be tense.
After NATO allies refused to give him the support he was demanding in the Iran war, which he had begun without consulting or informing them, Trump openly questioned whether the US should stand by NATO’s mutual defense pact and said he was considering leaving the alliance. Months earlier, he had laid claim to Greenland, an autonomous territory belonging to fellow NATO member Denmark.
At the 2018 summit, Trump threatened to walk out in protest at other NATO allies’ low defense spending.
“Had he made good on his threat to leave in protest, we would have been left to pick up the pieces of a shattered NATO,” Jens Stoltenberg, NATO’s secretary general at the time, wrote in a memoir published last year.
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When a Jewish Icon Moves to Israel for Her Safety: A Warning Sign for the Netherlands
A view of the Concertgebouw building in Amsterdam, Netherlands on Aug. 26, 2024. Photo: Jakub Porzycki via Reuters Connect
The reported decision of Dutch singer Lenny Kuhr, a beloved cultural figure and winner of the 1969 Eurovision Song Contest, to relocate to Israel should prompt serious reflection across the Netherlands.
When a Jewish public figure feels compelled to leave because of hostility, intimidation, or fear, it is not merely a personal decision. It is a warning sign about the health of Dutch society.
For generations, the Netherlands has cultivated an international reputation for tolerance, openness, and civic decency. It is a nation admired for democratic values, free speech, and social stability. Yet no society is immune to the resurgence of antisemitism, and recent years have shown that the Dutch exception is not guaranteed.
Across Europe, Jews are reporting increased harassment, threats, vandalism, and social isolation. The Netherlands is one place where this is happening. What often begins as political hostility toward Israel can quickly spill over into open hostility toward Jews. Online abuse becomes street intimidation. Campus activism becomes exclusion. Political rhetoric becomes a license for prejudice.
This is especially dangerous because it often hides behind respectable language of “anti-Zionism,” “human rights,” or opposition to Israel. But usually, this goes much deeper and becomes (or reveals itself as) a hatred of Jews.
Dutch directness is often celebrated as a cultural virtue. But there is a profound difference between candor and cruelty. When “speaking plainly” becomes an excuse for abuse, society loses an essential moral boundary. Free expression must never become a shield for threats or dehumanization.
The same is true in politics. Consensus culture has many strengths, but it can also create hesitation in moments that require clarity. When antisemitism rises, leaders cannot afford ambiguity. They must name it, confront it, prosecute it, and isolate those who spread it.
Jewish citizens should never have to wonder whether their future is safer elsewhere. They should never need to hide symbols of identity, avoid public spaces, or explain away hatred as the cost of living in a pluralistic democracy.
The departure of a well-known Jewish Dutch figure should therefore be seen not as an isolated story, but as a national test. If even prominent, admired Jews feel unsafe, what message does that send to ordinary Jewish families, students, and elders?
The Netherlands still has time to choose a different path. It can reaffirm that antisemitism has no place in Dutch life. It can protect Jewish institutions, enforce existing laws, educate younger generations, and draw a bright line between legitimate political disagreement and hatred toward Jews.
If it fails, more Jews may conclude that their future lies elsewhere. And that would not only be a tragedy for Dutch Jewry. It would be a tragedy for the Netherlands itself.
Sabine Sterk is the CEO of the NGO Time To Stand Up For Israel.