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The first Passover haggadah in Ukrainian marks a community’s break with Russia
(JTA) — For Michal Stamova, the challenge of translating Passover’s core text into Ukrainian started with the title.
The haggadah — the book containing the Passover story — starts with an “h” sound in both Hebrew, its original language, and English. In Russian, the primary language of organized Jewish life in Ukraine until recently, there is no such sound, so the book has long been known there as an “agada.”
Ukrainian does have an “h” sound. But the character representing that sound conveys a different sound in Russian: a “G.” So for many Ukrainian Jews, the cover of Stamova’s translation will read as “Gagada.”
The journey of that single sound reflects the complexity of the task Stamova took on to aid Ukrainian Jews celebrating Passover a year into their country’s war with Russia. A musicologist from western Ukraine who fled to Israel shortly after Russia’s invasion, Stamova was recruited to create a Ukrainian-language haggadah, a powerful sign of the community’s rupture with its Russophone past.
Stamova knew she wanted to base her translation not off the preexisting Russian translation, but from the original Hebrew and Aramaic. That proved challenging because much of the text of the haggadah is lifted from other sources in Jewish canon, but Jewish translations of those texts to Ukrainian are only underway now for the first time.
“At first, it was very difficult to start, because we don’t have the sources in Ukrainian,” Stamova said. “We don’t have Torah in Ukrainian. We don’t have Tanakh in Ukrainian. It was very difficult to know what words to find.”
Stamova’s text, titled “For Our Freedom,” was released online earlier this month in advance of the Passover holiday that starts April 5. It is one of a growing number of efforts to translate Jewish texts into Ukrainian. Translators affiliated with the Chabad-Lubavitch movement have produced a book of psalms and are working on a daily prayer book, with their sights set on a full translation of the Torah. An effort is also underway now to translate a chapter of a newer text associated with Yom Hashoah, the Jewish Holocaust memorial day, in advance of its commemoration this year on April 18.
The absence of those texts until now, despite Ukraine’s significant Jewish population, reflects the particular linguistic history of Ukrainian Jews. Under the Russian empire, Jews living in what is now Ukraine in the 19th century tended to adopt Russian rather than Ukrainian, usually in addition to Yiddish, because Ukrainian was perceived as the language of the peasantry and conferred few benefits. That tilt became more pronounced after World War II and the Holocaust, when Yiddish declined as a Jewish vernacular and Russian became the main language of the Soviet Union. The history helps explain why, even as the number of Ukrainians speaking Russian at home fell sharply over the last decade, Jews remained largely Russian-speaking. (Russian and Ukrainian are related linguistically, though their speakers cannot understand each other.)
A sample page of text from the haggadah. (Courtesy of Project Kesher)
Over the past 30 years, the vast majority of printed material used by Ukrainian Jewish communities, including haggadahs for Passover, were created in Russian by groups such as Chabad, which is the main Jewish presence in both countries. But after Russia’s invasion, those materials became a liability at a time when being perceived as having ties to the enemy could be dangerous.
Indeed, Russia’s invasion of Ukraine last year prompted many Russian-speaking Ukrainians to switch languages as a marker of national solidarity — and sparked a push to translate Ukraine’s Jewish life into the Ukrainian language.
“Ukrainian Jews always spoke Russian. That really was the norm. With the advent of the escalation of the war, that has shifted, and Ukrainian Jews who are in the country are shifting as fast as they can over to Ukrainian,” said Karyn Gershon, the executive director of Project Kesher, the global Jewish feminist nonprofit that commissioned the new haggadah.
Gershon said the haggadah offers an opportunity to elevate a Ukrainian Jewish identity in other ways, such as by including tidbits about famous Jewish writers from the area that comprises modern Ukraine who in the past might have been characterized only as “Russian.”
“In most of the Jewish world, the things that make a haggadah unique are the special readings,” Gershon said. The new Ukrainian haggadah includes alongside the traditional text, she said, “prayers for the defenders of Ukraine, prayers for peace in Ukraine, but also [passages] reclaiming writers who were always categorized as Russian, but because they came from places like Kyiv, Odessa and Berdichev, are more accurately Ukrainian.”
For example, the haggadah includes passages from the 1925 book “Passover Nights,” by Hava Shapiro, a Kyiv-born Jew and journalist who authored one of the first Hebrew-language diaries known to have been written by a woman.
The additions offer an element of pride for some of the Ukrainian Jews who plan to use the new haggadah.
“It is bringing you to the roots of those Jews who were living here before the Holocaust,” said Lena Pysina, who lives in Cherkasy, southeast of Kyiv. “It’s about rebuilding the Jewish communities in Ukraine as ‘Ukrainian Jews.’”
Pysina said the switch to Ukrainian and the embrace of Ukrainian Jewish history in some ways echoed the themes of the Passover story, which describes the Israelites fleeing slavery in Egypt.
“It’s like an exodus for us. It is not comfortable, because we get used to what we get used to. But we have to be proactive, we have to find our identity,” she said. “It took us 70 years of Soviet times to … celebrate the Jewish holidays and Jewish traditions. And it took us 30 years to understand that we have to build Ukrainian Jewish communities, too.”
Those communities are very much in flux a year into the war, with millions of Ukrainians internally displaced or having relocated overseas. Stamova undertook the haggadah project from Israel, where she is one of an estimated 15,000 Ukrainians who arrived since February 2022.
Stamova grew up in western Ukraine, where the use of the Ukrainian language is more common than in the east. Like most other Ukrainian Jews, she still grew up speaking Russian at home, but her school, university and most of her life outside the home was conducted in Ukrainian. That made her a natural fit for the translation project, along with her background in Jewish liturgy, which she had studied at a Conservative yeshiva in Jerusalem.
Over the past 30 years, the vast majority of printed material used by Ukrainian Jewish communities, including haggadahs for Passover, were created in Russian. (Courtesy of Project Kesher)
The challenges went beyond phonetics. One frequent question was whether to use Russianisms that are widely known in Ukrainian and would be more easily understandable to a Jewish audience, or to use uniquely Ukrainian words.
The most difficult section of the text, she said, was Hallel, the penultimate step of the Passover seder. Hallel is a lengthy song of divine praise heavy with poetry and allegorical language — making for challenging translation work in any language.
Stamova said she sought to stick to the traditional understanding of the text while also making some adjustments for the contemporary seder attendee. For example, the section of the haggadah about the “four sons” with varying relationships to Judaism is rendered gender-neutral and changed to the “four children” in Stamova’s translation — an adjustment that has been made in other languages, too.
Most of all, Stamova said, she hopes the haggadah offers some solace to Ukrainian Jews whose entire lives have been turned upside down.
“The Jewish tradition of Pesach is that we every year have to remember that we escaped from Egypt, from slavery. It’s very therapeutic,” Stamova said, using the Hebrew word for Passover. “How is it like therapy? Yes, we every year remember this difficult story, but then we have a plan for the future, we say next year in Jerusalem. So we have to have a plan. We have to see the future.”
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Netanyahu deploys AI videos as political weapon, aimed at voter fears of Arab power
As election season in Israel heats up, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and members of his government are deploying a charged weapon against their political opponents aiming to overthrow them: AI-generated viral videos.
In recent weeks, Netanyahu and key allies have taken to social media to post satirical content on their social media accounts, depicting their leading opponents, Yair Lapid and Naftali Bennett, as being controlled by Arab-Israeli puppetmasters.
One viral video posted by the prime minister last week, with over a million views, is captioned “taking off the masks.” It shows a smiling Bennett and Lapid embracing before peeling off their faces to reveal those of prominent Arab-Israeli political leaders Mansour Abbas and Ahmad Tibi.
מורידים את המסכות pic.twitter.com/IgFDWXp96N
— Benjamin Netanyahu – בנימין נתניהו (@netanyahu) April 29, 2026
After Bennett and Lapid announced in April that they would run jointly against Netanyahu in the upcoming fall elections, Israeli political Twitter flooded with AI-generated content on this theme, which goes for the jugular on a political vulnerability for Bennett: his past inclusion of Abbas’ Arab Ra’am party in his governing coalition.
One image posted by Likud, Netanyahu’s party, featured Bennett and Lapid depicted as children sitting obediently in the back seat of a car as Abbas drives. The photo is accompanied by the caption: “In any case, Bennett and Lapid will go again with the Muslim Brotherhood, the terrorism supporters.”
גם ביחד זה ברור – הנהג הוא מנסור.
לא משנה איך השמאל מחלק את הקולות שלו.
בכל מקרה בנט ולפיד ילכו שוב עם ברית האחים המוסלמים תומכי הטרור. pic.twitter.com/iYFIZQ8QhJ
— הליכוד (@Likud_Party) April 26, 2026
These AI videos reflect a growing post–Oct. 7 trend in Israeli politics: accusing one’s political opponents of being aligned with Arab parties as a way to delegitimize them.
Dr. Arik Rudnitzky, a researcher in the Arab Society in Israel program at the Israel Democracy Institute, said the trauma Israelis experienced after Oct. 7 has left a profound mark on the Jewish public. That fear, he said, is now being actively mobilized in political messaging.
“The post–Oct. 7 discourse is so influential in Israeli politics that it dictates everything,” Rudnitzky said. On Tuesday, Finance Minister Betzalel Smootrich went as far as to say that Naftali Bennett’s decision to include the Islamist Ra’am party in the 2021-2022 government was worse than the Netanyahu government’s failures tied to Hamas’s attacks on Oct. 7. This, despite the fact that Mansour Abbas has said that Netanyahu tried to court him into joining his coalition in 2021, though Netanyahu has denied this.
According to Rudnitzky, the implicit message is that Israel’s Arab parties are dangerous. The argument is that they are not Zionist (and some Arab parties are even explicitly anti-Zionist). In the aftermath of Oct. 7, while some Arab-Israeli political leaders condemned violence from both Hamas and the Israel Defense Forces on civilians, they stopped short of referring to Hamas as a terror organization. Some also failed to condemn the murder of Israeli soldiers on that day.
Now, Netanyahu’s government has taken to framing the choice for voters as existential. “Either you are with the most experienced prime minister in Israel’s history, or you are willing to gamble and put Israel at risk by electing Bennett and Lapid,” said Rudnitzky.
The use of AI by Israeli politicians, Rudnitzky added, makes that message more visceral. “It looks real, it goes straight to the back of your mind, and it hits a nerve.”
Bennett, for his part, has tried to distance himself from this narrative, stating after he announced that he would be running against Netanyahu, “The Arab parties are not Zionist, and therefore we will not rely on them.”
But the videos are taking their toll. Earlier this year, Bennett filed a police report after the Likud X account posted a doctored image that depicted Bennett celebrating with Arab leaders, with the men all raising their clasped hands in celebration. Bennett called the image “malicious forgery.”
Other politicians have deployed similar messaging tactics — against Netanyahu. In February, Avigdor Liberman, a right-wing critic of the prime minister, posted an AI-generated image of Netanyahu holding hands with Abbas in front of a bouquet of heart-shaped flowers, captioned: “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
יום אהבה שמח❤ pic.twitter.com/Sel1CkURFn
— אביגדור ליברמן (@AvigdorLiberman) February 14, 2026
In response, Netanyahu posted an actual photo of Lieberman meeting with Abbas with the caption: “Lieberman published a doctored AI photo of the PM holding hands with Mansour Abbas. So, Avigdor, here’s a real, unedited photo of you and Mansour Abbas.”
Lieberman then shared 10 posts of Netanyahu meeting with various Arab leaders since the 1990s, including former PLO Chairman Yasser Arafat and current Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas.
According to Rudnitzky, such wrestling-ring attacks have become normalized since Oct. 7, aimed at Jewish politicians and voters. “This is not about delegitimizing Arab voters,” he said. “The target is Naftali Bennett — not Mansour Abbas.”
A controversial pragmatist
Arab parties have long represented Israel’s Arab minority in the Knesset but historically remained outside governing coalitions. For decades, this arrangement — Arab parties supporting from the outside or remaining in opposition — was broadly acceptable to both sides. Arab politicians often avoided joining coalitions for ideological reasons, while Jewish parties largely viewed their inclusion as politically untenable.
That changed in 2021, when Abbas made history by joining the winning coalition led by Bennett and Lapid. That decision positioned him as a pragmatist, willing to work with Jewish parties to secure gains for Arab citizens.
In the aftermath of Oct. 7, Abbas issued the most explicit condemnations of Hamas among Arab Israeli political leaders. He has also said that “the state of Israel was born as a Jewish state, and it will remain one,” a rare acknowledgment of Israel’s identity in those terms. Still, no Arab-majority party in Israel defines itself as Zionist.
While it is considered to be the most moderate of the Arab parties in Israel, Abbas’ Ra’am is an Islamist party that emerged from the Islamic Movement in Israel and the Shura Council — organizations tied to the Muslim Brotherhood. Abbas has increasingly sought to distance the party from those groups and has denied any affiliation with the Brotherhood.
Forming a governing coalition in Israel requires at least 61 seats out of 120, and several polls have suggested that any viable opposition to Netanyahu would likely need Arab party support to reach that threshold. But reliance on Arab parties to form a coalition has become more contentious since Oct. 7.
According to the Democracy Index poll, 72% percent of the Jewish public in Israel opposes the inclusion of Arab parties in the governing coalition. Opposition extends beyond the right: 43% of centrist voters and 20% of left-wing voters also oppose such coalitions. Support has declined significantly since before Oct. 7, when roughly 36% of Jewish Israelis backed including Arab parties in government, compared to just 27% today.
Hence the opening for Bibi and his video blitz. “We’ve seen an escalating political discourse over the past several years. There are no more holy cows,” said Rudnitzky. “If you want to mobilize the entire Jewish public and you know that you are in an inferior position in the polls … this is the way to take the demons out of the bottle.”
The post Netanyahu deploys AI videos as political weapon, aimed at voter fears of Arab power appeared first on The Forward.
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Man charged for two Toronto-area synagogue shootings
(JTA) — Police have arrested a man in connection with two Toronto-area synagogue shootings that occurred on the same night in March.
Nobody was injured in either attack, though two maintenance workers were inside Beth Avraham Yoseph when it was struck with bullets on March 6 after Shabbat services.
Toronto police did not share the name of the suspect, who is an 18-year-old man, because he was 17 at the time of the incidents. His photo was shared by police last week.
The suspect, who police said is “of no fixed address,” faces a number of charges, including mischief to property over $5,000, discharging a firearm into a place, unauthorized possession of a firearm, and possessing a “prohibited device.” He was not charged with a hate crime, though the investigation is still ongoing.
Toronto’s Jewish community has been roiled by a recent string of overnight gunfire attacks on synagogues and Jewish-owned restaurants, for which police had identified no suspects for months. A rock was also thrown through the glass window of a Judaica shop in April in broad daylight.
Similar attacks have targeted Jewish communities in places such as the United Kingdom and Australia. Police in London said recent arson attacks may have been carried out in exchange for payments from Iran, which has a long track record of sowing violence against Jewish and Israeli targets abroad. Australian authorities also suggested that assailants might have been paid amid arsons and an antisemitic terror plot there last year.
Wednesday marked the second arrest made by police related to Toronto’s string of attacks, after a suspect was charged on April 8 for shooting at the Jewish-owned Old Avenue Restaurant a week prior. No suspects have been publicly identified for a separate Old Avenue shooting, as well as another synagogue shooting, both in March.
“These attacks shook the sense of safety not only for those congregations, but for Jewish communities across the region,” the UJA Federation of Greater Toronto wrote following the arrest. “We thank the Toronto Police Service and York Regional Police for their diligence and coordination in advancing this investigation. Their work sends a clear signal that those who target our community will be identified and held accountable.”
B’nai Brith Canada thanked police in a statement, but said that “there is still more work to do.”
“It’s a stark reminder of why a whole‑of‑government response is long overdue. Confronting antisemitism requires our leaders to act with moral clarity,” the organization wrote.
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A Jewish Expressionist artist’s life, preserved in a brownstone
NEW YORK — Even inside a five-story brownstone crowded with paintings, sculptures and books, no single work can fully contain the spirit of Ukrainian-born artist Ben-Zion. Still, one painting comes close: a portrait of the healer and rabbi known as Baal Shem Tov, seated calmly beneath a tree. Rendered in ochre, gray and green, the canvas draws on Jewish mysticism and the natural world, themes that pulse through Ben-Zion’s life and work.
Perfectly preserved from the years Ben-Zion lived there, from 1965 until his death in 1987, the Ben-Zion House, located in Chelsea in Manhattan, is anything but a mausoleum. Instead, it feels like a living sanctuary — one that not only celebrates the Jewish artist’s life and work, but continues to inspire the writers, poets, architects, musicians and painters who pass through its rooms.
“Through the years many artists have been in the space and have expressed their awe and inspiration,” said Tabita Shalem, the house’s curator and manager while leading a tour on a drizzly Thursday in April. “The way Ben-Zion lived was intimately connected to the work he created, and artists and creatives feel that when they are in the home and studio.”.
Shalem worked closely with Ben-Zion during the last decade of his life, helping to organize exhibitions and maintain the vast collection. She continued those efforts with his widow, Lillian Ben-Zion, until her death in 2012. Through Shalem’s stories, the house emerges not simply as an archive, but as an extension of the artist himself.
As one of “The Ten,” a cohort of artists who rejected realism in favor of experimental, expressionist work, Ben-Zion stood alongside Mark Rothko, Adolph Gottlieb and others who helped shape American Expressionism. Yet while many of his contemporaries became internationally renowned, Ben-Zion’s name lingers at the edge of obscurity — even as his work hangs in institutions such as the Smithsonian Institution, the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Art Institute of Chicago.
In 1948, the Jewish Museum opened in Manhattan with an exhibition devoted to Ben-Zion’s work and later mounted two more shows, including a 1959 retrospective. But as Abstract Expressionism rose to dominance, interest in his work faded.
“He wasn’t interested in abstract art,” Shalem said. “He wasn’t a joiner.”
Still, his wife and friends held firmly to their belief in the value of Ben-Zion’s work, a conviction reflected in the preservation of the house itself. Funded by a private estate, the home allows artists and visitors to continue engaging with the work of this important, though largely forgotten, Jewish artist. His legacy is also kept alive through guided tours, often organized in partnership with community groups.
Born in 1897 in Staryi Kostiantyniv, Ben-Zion grew up in an observant Jewish home. His father, Hirsh Weinman, was a cantor who, in 1909, accepted a position at the largest synagogue in Galicia. For a time, Ben-Zion considered becoming a rabbi himself.
That changed at 16, when he read about the excommunication of Baruch Spinoza for challenging rabbinic authority and questioning Jewish doctrine.
“His brain was on fire,” Shalem said. “He never went to shul again.”
Yet Ben-Zion never abandoned Judaism. After his father’s sudden death in 1920, his mother moved the family to Boston. Among the belongings he carried with him was a handwritten Purim megillah he had calligraphed at age 14.
“His Jewish identity was always a part of him. The way I think of Ben-Zion is that he was deeply rooted in Judaism, but like the branches of the trees he painted, he was free and always reaching,” Shalem said.
Feeling out of place in Boston society, Ben-Zion moved less than a year later to the Bronx, where he immersed himself in poetry, prose, painting and sculpture. The move marked the beginning of a fiercely independent artistic life, one equally nourished by Jewish tradition, philosophy and the natural world.
That reverence for nature reveals itself throughout the brownstone, from monumental canvases of golden wheat beneath cerulean skies to delicate pen-and-ink drawings of thistles and poppies. Walking through the house, lit almost entirely by natural light, it becomes clear that Ben-Zion was as much a collector as a creator.
A bowl of prehistoric tools sits atop one table. Nearby, miniature statues of prophets and Buddhas line a curio cabinet. Conglomerates gathered from rivers and streams are interspersed on shelves. And in another corner, his paint-scarred palette rises from a wooden table like a small mountain streaked with copper and turquoise. Behind a leafy plant, a Ten Commandments tablet features smooth pebbles instead of words.
One of the tour’s highlights comes on the garden level, where visitors descend through a trapdoor and down a steep staircase into the cellar. During Ben-Zion’s lifetime, the stone-lined basement served primarily as storage for art materials. After his death, Lillian and Shalem transformed it into a gallery-like space filled with sculptures, tools and unfinished ideas.
Rows of scissors and metal implements hang against whitewashed walls. Four masks carved from tree bark rest on a wooden table nearby.
“He saw art in everything,” said Amy Levine-Kennedy, director of the Westchester Jewish Center Koslowe Gallery, which organized the private tour.
Against one wall stands an iron sculpture of a circus, while nearby the 1972 work “Apocalypse (or Devastation)” rises from the floor, reflecting Ben-Zion’s recurring fascination with destruction, memory and survival.
According to Shalem, a friend of Lillian’s who had been stationed in the South Pacific during World War II shipped crates of discarded munitions to Ben-Zion after learning of the artist’s love for forged iron. Ben-Zion transformed the remnants of war into sculpture.
Though Ben-Zion studied briefly at an art school in Vienna during World War I, he was otherwise self-taught. A voracious reader, he consumed history, poetry, philosophy, Hebrew and Yiddish literature, and art history. Today the brownstone contains hundreds of books on art, history, spirituality, archaeology, and literature. “France in the Middle Ages” and “History of the Jewish Khazans” compete for shelf space with “Van Gogh in Arles” and “Jews and Arabs.”
Beyond making art and mentoring younger artists, Ben-Zion also taught through Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Works Progress Administration. At Cooper Union, where he taught from the 1930s up until the 1960s, he encouraged students to treat art not as decoration, but as a way of giving form to inner vision.
That vision lingers in the final work he created in the house. Resting on an easel on the second floor, the painting depicts a Jewish man wrapped in tefillin, his head tilted downward toward the prayer book in his hands. In broad strokes of orange, white, black, and blue, Ben-Zion distilled the themes that shaped his life: Jewish identity, learning, ritual and spiritual searching.
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