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The legacy of Isaac Babel, Russia’s Jewish Hemingway, is dissected in new Chicago play
CHICAGO (JTA) — All writers strive for a good story. How far they will go to find it depends on their ambition, their wherewithal and their sanity.
Isaac Babel, a Russian-Jewish writer who came from a relatively stable, privileged background in Odessa in the late 1800s, would go to war among Cossacks who murdered Jews, make friends with Soviet agents and then cuckold one of them. The reason why Babel constantly put himself in harm’s way may have been simple, according to another writer.
“I think he wanted something to write about,” said Rajiv Joseph, whose play at Steppenwolf Theater in Chicago, “Describe the Night,” centers on Babel. “He was a young man who had wanted to be a writer but had nothing to write about.”
“Describe the Night” blends three stories from different eras that engage with questions of who controls the truth. The first portrays Babel, the Soviet secret police head Nikolai Yezhov and Yezhov’s wife, Yevgenia, with whom Babel begins an affair. The second follows a young Soviet agent rising through the ranks just before the Berlin Wall falls, and the third dives into a conspiracy behind a 2010 plane crash near Smolensk, Russia.
Babel himself may not rise to the ranks of Tolstoy or Dostoevsky in terms of immediate name recognition in the United States, but the journalist, author and playwright is remembered as one of Russia’s preeminent 20th-century writers. His modernist and bloody tales in “Red Cavalry,” a collection of short stories inspired by his time on the frontlines of the Polish-Soviet War of 1919, vaulted him to the status of a Russian Hemingway. The pithy American war correspondent once expressed his admiration, perhaps even jealousy, of Babel’s writing, saying “Babel’s style is even more concise than mine.”
Like Hemingway, Babel went to war in search of a good story. Combat itself was not the only threat to him: as a Jew, he bore witness to the Cossack cavalry’s antisemitic atrocities. Babel tamped down his Jewish identity while covering the war, though he would feel a sense of isolation in both societies or as his grandson would later describe him “a Jew among the Cossacks, and a Cossack among the Jews.” In his own diary, Babel wrote “Talking to the Jews, I feel kin to them, they think I’m Russian and my soul is laid bare.”
Joseph, who is not Jewish and authored the Pulitzer-nominated play “Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo,” had read “Red Cavalry” years ago but was inspired to write “Describe the Night” after discovering the poetic journal Babel had kept during the war. The title of the play comes directly from the diary, which repeats the word several times in Babel’s own prompts to describe things ranging from kitchens to marketplaces to women to horses. Sometimes Babel successfully answers his own prompts by forcing himself to write, and other times he doesn’t, Joseph said.
Lead actor James Vincent Meredith is also not Jewish and admitted he had concerns about “the choice of casting a black man in the role of a Jewish man living in the world of Russia, the Ukraine and Paris.” He partly found his way to the character by watching the 2015 documentary “Finding Babel,” which follows Babel’s grandson across Russia and Ukraine as he searches for his famous ancestor’s remains.
“I can read Babel’s work (I have), I can travel to Israel (I have, decades ago), I can take Hebrew as an elective in college (I did, not very well), I can read Chaim Potok (I have). But these are at their best, however well intentioned, tourist pursuits for one who is not Jewish,” he said. “I will never come close to knowing the true soul of a Jewish person. Thankfully, Rajiv has created this character that by his design, anyone can inhabit.”
Yasen Peyankov and James Vincent Meredith in a scene from the play about Isaac Babel. (Michael Brosilow)
He added that the play isn’t meant to be historically accurate. “The character of Isaac, as well as others in the play, is meant to be an entry point into a world where the scalpel crafting the ‘truth’ is rarely placed in the hands of those who are adversely affected by it. As a black male and father of a black male in the U.S., I’m certainly cognizant of that world.”
Joseph feels that he and other artists share the instinct Babel had to leave his comfort zone. He wanted to be a writer, but growing up in suburban Cleveland gave him little inspiration. After college, he joined the Peace Corps and spent three years in West Africa.
“That was a real life-changing event for me that opened my world and opened my mind,” Joseph said. “Not nearly as traumatic as traveling with the cavalry through Poland in 1920, but the same impulse to break out of your norms.”
Yet Joseph believes Babel’s desires went beyond pushing boundaries and into a deep, pathological need to associate with danger.
“The thing I find really interesting about Babel, both through his writing and through his personal life, is this inexorable draw towards danger and filth,” Joseph said, adding that Babel would hang out in taverns with Soviet soldiers, members of the secret police and executioners like Yezhov. “He was already treading on such thin ice. So he had a recklessness, you could call it a death wish if you want.”
Meredith was also stunned by the writer’s intense flirtations with danger.
“Why get that close to the flame? That to me is one of the things that really appealed to me about this guy,” Meredith said. “I tend to play it safe, as safe as an actor can play it, but I see this guy who had these kinds of desires, he had this quest to make this amazing art as far as his stories and I just I’m just so attracted to that.”
Joseph said he saw some parallels between Babel’s story and the exodus of some of his artistic peers in Russia, who have fled to Europe. In his time, Babel was seen as subversive by nature, existing as a Jewish man in early Soviet Russia. His relished writing about prostitutes and mobsters, transforming underworld characters into urban legends. His 1935 political play “Maria” was canceled during rehearsals and by 1939, Soviet police arrested him and confiscated his writing. Throughout the 1940s, his works disappeared from circulation. Though some believed Babel had spent time throughout that decade in a prison camp, the government had executed him in 1940.
“In the 1930s and ‘40s, I think if you are a Jewish creative writer, you’re automatically subversive,” Joseph said. He noted one pivotal scene where Nikolai Yezhov labels Babel as such because his writing portrays Russia as gloomy rather than inspiring.
“If you’re telling the truth, you are subversive,” Joseph added. “So I think that pretty much any creative writer worth his or her weight would be considered subversive at that moment.”
“Describe the Night” runs until April 9 at the Steppenwolf Theater in Chicago.
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Chaim Beer’s new book revolves around J. Opatoshu’s novella ‘A Day in Regensburg’
„לווייתן ברוח“ פֿון חיים באר
פֿאַרלאַג: עם עובד (2026)
303 זײַטן
די טעג איז אַרויס אין ישׂראל אַ נײַ, אייגנאַרטיק בוך, „לווייתן ברוח“ (אַ וואַלפֿיש אין ווינט), פֿונעם אָנגעזעענעם ראָמאַנען־שרײַבער און עסיייִסט חיים באר. דאָס איז דאָס 17סטע בוך זײַנע, וואָס אַלע פֿון זיי ווערן פֿאַררעכנט אין ישׂראל פֿאַר דער „סמעטענע“ פֿון דער העברעיִשער ליטעראַטור. איינער פֿון זײַנע פֿריִערדיקע ביכער האָט מײַסטעריש באַשריבן די באַציִונגען צווישן ח.־נ. ביאַליק, ש.י. עגנון און י.-ח. ברענער.
דאָס נײַע בוך איז אַ ביסל שווער צו דעפֿינירן: מע לייענט עס ווי עס וואָלט געווען אַ שפּאַנענדיקער ראָמאַן, אָבער עס געהערט גיכער צום זשאַנער פֿאַקטפּראָזע (non-fiction בלע״ז). אַלץ וואָס ער דערציילט אינעם בוך האָט טאַקע פּאַסירט. הייסט עס, אַז דער מחבר פֿון בוך איז גלײַכצײַטיק דער נאַראַטאָר: ער דערציילט וועגן פֿיגורן וואָס ער קען, מיט זייערע אמתע נעמען, און וועגן געשעענישן וואָס ער האָט אַליין דורכגעלעבט. און הגם „לווייתן ברוח“ איז געשריבן אין חיים בארס פּרעכטיקן העברעיִש — ער איז דאָך אַ גרויסער קענער פֿון די שפּראַך-אוצרות און דערצו אַ בקי אין די קליינע אותיות — האָט דאָס בוך אויך אַ סך צו טאָן מיט ייִדיש.
קודם-כּל, איז די הויפּטטעמע פֿונעם בוך יוסף אָפּאַטאָשוס נאָוועלע „אַ טאָג אין רעגענסבורג“, וואָס איז אַרויס אין יאָר 1933. און השנית, אין משך פֿונעם בוך באַקענט זיך דער מחבר (און דער נאַראַטאָר) מיט אַ ריי ייִדישע שרײַבערס און פֿאָרשערס — י. ל. פּרץ, ש. אַנ-סקי, מאַקס עריק, דבֿ סדן (שטאָק), חנא שמערוק און נאָך אַ סך אַנדערע ייִדישע פֿיגורן וואָס שטייען אויף תּחיית-המתים.
דער סיפּור-המעשׂה הייבט זיך אָן אין אַ ביכערקראָם אין ירושלים מיט פֿערציק יאָר צוריק. באר קויפֿט אַן עקזעמפּלאַר פֿונעם בוך „ספֿר חסידים“, אַן אַשכּנזיש-העברעיִשן חיבור פֿונעם 12טן יאָרהונדערט, און טרעפֿט צופֿעליק אינעם בוך נאָך אַ ביכל: די העברעיִשע איבערזעצונג פֿון יוסף אָפּאַטאָשוס ראָמאַן „אַ טאָג אין רעגענסבורג“ („יום ברגנספורק“). דער פֿאַרקויפֿער, וואָס איז נישט קיין עם-האָרץ, זאָגט אים: „זאָלסט וויסן אַז דאָס בוך איז אַ ווילדע מציאה!“ (די צוויי לעצטע ווערטער זײַנען אין בוך געשריבן אויף ייִדיש, ווי אַ סך אַנדערע ייִדישע אויסדרוקן וואָס באר ניצט).
אין אויטאָבוס, אויפֿן וועג אַהיים, הייבט באר אָן לייענען אָפּאַטאָשוס נאָוועלע, און תּיכּף ווערט ער אַנטציקט. היות ווי חיים באר איז אַליין אַ רעדאַקטאָר פֿון אַ ביכער-פֿאַרלאַג („עם עובד“), קווענקלט ער זיך, וואָס צו טאָן מיט דער נאָוועלע: זאָל ער אויסאַרבעטן די אַלטפֿרענקישע איבערזעצונג? זאָל ער עס איבערזעצן פֿון דאָס נײַ? צום סוף, קומט צו אים אין זינען גאָר אַ נײַער אײַנפֿאַל: אַנשטאָט איבערזעצן די נאָוועלע וועט ער דערציילן וועגן איר. במילא ווערט „לוויתן ברוח“ אַ דערציילונג וועגן אַ דערציילונג.
אין דער צווישנצײַט באַקענט זיך באר מיט דער געשיכטע פֿון דער אַלטער ייִדישער קהילה פֿון רעגענסבורג. די שטאָט געפֿינט זיך אין דרום־דײַטשלאַנד, צווישן מינכן און נירנבערג, אויפֿן טײַך דונײַ. דאָרטן האָבן אינעם 12טן יאָרהונדערט געלעבט די בעלי-תּוספֿות און די תּלמידים פֿון רבנו תּם. אינעם 13טן יאָרהונדערט, זײַנען דאָרטן באַרימט געוואָרן דער עטישער שרײַבער און קבליסט ר׳ יהודה החסיד מיט זײַנע תּלמידים, באַקאַנט ווי די „חסידי אשכּנז“ (די דאָזיקע „חסידים“ האָבן, אַגבֿ, גאָרנישט צו טאָן מיט די תּלמידים פֿונעם בעל־שם־טובֿ).
נישט געקוקט אויף די בלוטיקע קרײַצצוגן פֿון יענע צײַטן האָבן ר׳ יהודהס תּלמידים אָנגעשריבן „ספֿר חסידים“: אַ וויכטיקע שאַפֿונג פֿון אַ פֿאַנאַטישער און פֿאַנטאַסטישער פֿרומקייט און עס האָט זיך אַנטוויקלט אין רעגענסבורג אַ חשובֿע קהילה און אַ וויכטיקע ישיבֿה, וואָס זענען פֿאַרבליבן ביזן גירוש-רעגענסבורג אין יאָר 1519, ווען אַלע ייִדן זײַנען פֿאַרשיקט געוואָרן פֿון שטאָט. דער בית-עולם איז דעמאָלט פֿאַרשוועכט געוואָרן, און די מצבֿות האָט מען באַנוצט ווי בוי-מאַטעריעל.
אָפּאַטאָשוס „אַ טאָג אין רעגענסבורג“ דערציילט וועגן די לעצטע טעג פֿון דער ייִדישער קהילה דאָרט — אַ חתונה אין שטעטל, מיט כּלי־זמרים און חבֿרה-שוישפּילערס, פֿריילעכע באַנקעטן און באַלן — וואָס שטעלן זיך אָפּ מיט אַ מאָל, ווען די ייִדן באַקומען די בשׂורה פֿונעם גירוש. שטעלט באר אַזאַ קשיא: „צי האָט דער מחבר פֿון בוך באַנוצט אַ ליטעראַרישע טאַקטיק, כּדי די לייענערס זאָלן ווערן אַזוי באַצויבערט פֿונעם קאַרנאַוואַל, אַז זיי וועלן זיך נישט ריכטן אויף דער טראַגעדיע וואָס דערוואַרט זיי?“
במשך פֿונעם בוך לייענט מען ווי באר באַקענט זיך מיט פֿאַרשיידענע ענינים וואָס האָבן אַ שייכות סײַ מיט אָפּאַטאָשוס נאָוועלע און סײַ מיט רעגענסבורג. אָט, למשל, שילדערט אָפּאַטאָשו אינעם בוך אַ קאַרנאַוואַל, וווּ עס באַווײַזט זיך „דער שפּילמאַן“ — אַן אַרכעטיפּ אין דער ייִדישער ליטעראַטור וואָס אַ צאָל ליטעראַטור־פֿאָרשער האָבן באַצייכנט ווי אַ מין ייִדישער טרובאַדאָר, וואָס האָט כּבֿיכול געוואַנדערט פֿון איין קהילה צו דער אַנדערער. דערצו באַקענט זיך באר, און במילא די לייענערס, מיט אליהו בחור; מיט פֿאַרשיידענע ייִדישע אַרויסגעבערס און דרוקערס; מיט ייִדישע רופֿאטעס; מיט דער אויטאָביאָגראַפֿיע פֿון גליקל האַמעל און מיט נאָך אַ סך אַנדערע ווערק אין אַלט-ייִדיש און אין נײַ-ייִדיש, ווי „דער דיבוק“ און „בײַ נאַכט אויפֿן אַלטן מאַרק“.
צוזאַמען מיט בארן באַזוכן מיר געוועזענע ייִדישע אינסטיטוציעס, ווי די ענגע ייִדישע ביכערקראָם אויף ברענער גאַס אין תּל-אָבֿיבֿ. „וואָס ברענגט אײַך צו אונדז, חבֿר ׳בער׳, נאָך אַ שאָק מיט יאָרן?“ (אַזוי רופֿן זיי דעם שרײַבער מיט אַ טיפֿן ייִדישן אַקצענט.) ענטפֿערט ער אַז ער זוכט ביכער פֿון אָפּאַטאָשון. ער ווייסט גאַנץ גוט אַז די צוויי פֿאַרקויפֿערס „פֿילן זיך אַז זיי זײַנען די היטערס פֿון די אוצרות פֿון ייִדיש, און יעדעס מאָל וואָס זיי לאָזן אַרויס אַ בוך פֿון דעם שוץ-קעלער איז אַ פֿאַרברעכן, כּמעט ווי זיי וואָלטן עס מפֿקיר געווען“. צום סוף גיבן זיי אים דאָס בוך, אָבער מיט אַ וואָרענונג אַז אויב ער דאַרף עס נישט מער, זאָל ער עס אין גיכן צוריקגעבן.
אין חיים בארן איז אַ פּנים אַרײַן אַ מין רעגענסבורגער דיבוק: איצט וויל ער שוין אַלץ וויסן וועגן רעגענסבורג. כאָטש נאָך די צוויי גרויסע גירושים (דער פֿון 1519 און דער פֿון די נאַציס) איז גאָרנישט נישט געבליבן פֿון דער רעגנסבורגער קהילה, וויל ער זען יעדעס רעשטל מיט זײַנע אייגענע אויגן. פֿאָרט ער קיין רעגענסבורג זוכנדיק די ברעקלעך פֿון די ייִדישע מצבֿות, וואָס מע קאָן נאָך זען דאָ און דאָרטן אין די מויערן און אין די אַלטע הײַזער. ווײַזט זיך אויס אַז הײַנט צו טאָג קאָן מען אַפֿילו קריגן אין רעגענסבורג אַ מאַפּע, וווּ עס זײַנען מאַרקירט די גענויע ערטער פון די מצבֿות. גייט חיים באר זוכן „די נעכטיקע טעג“, וווּ ער אַנטדעקט, למשל, אַ מצבֿה פֿון אַ פּעסל בת יוסף, וואָס איז געשטאָרבן אין יאָר 1482.
אָבער פֿאַר וואָס איז חיים באר אַזוי פֿאַרכּישופֿט געוואָרן דווקא פֿון „אַ טאָג אין רעגענסבורג“? אַ פּנים פּרוּווט ער מיט דער הילף פֿון דער נאָוועלע פֿאַרשטיין ווי אַזוי מע לעבט אינעם שאָטן פֿון אַ קומענדיקן שטורעם. דאָס בוך „לווייתן ברוח“ איז געשריבן געוואָרן אין דער צײַט פֿון דער קריג וואָס האָט זיך אויסגעבראָכן דעם 7סטן אָקטאָבער 2023, און וואָס האָט, צום באַדויערן, זיך נאָך אַלץ נישט געענדיקט. אין די כּמעט דרײַ יאָר האָבן מיר, ישׂראלים, אַ סך געטראַכט וועגן די טראַגעדיעס וואָס מיר און אונדזערע שכנים האָבן איבערגעלעבט, און וועגן די וואָס קאָנען נאָך קומען, חלילה.
„הגם די נאָוועלע פֿון אָפּאַטאָשו דערציילט וועגן דער ווײַטער פֿאַרגאַנגענהייט — שרײַבט באר — פֿאַרנעמט זי זיך אין דער אמתן מיט אַן אייביקער מענטשלעכער סיטואַציע: ווי מענטשן קען זײַן אַזוי קורצזיכטיק און נישט זען די דראַמאַטישע און קריטישע מאָמענטן וואָס לויערן אויף זיי.“
The post Chaim Beer’s new book revolves around J. Opatoshu’s novella ‘A Day in Regensburg’ appeared first on The Forward.
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The Jewish Brigade fought fascism in Italy. Now its flags spark protests.
(JTA) — When the Jewish Brigade appears today in Italian public debate, it is rarely about the British Army unit, formed largely by Jewish volunteers from Mandatory Palestine, that was sent to fight in Italy in the final months of the Second World War.
The Jewish Brigade has become a screen onto which other conflicts are projected: Zionism and anti-Zionism, antisemitism, Israel and Palestine, the meaning of antifascism and the ownership of public memory.
This is why recent tensions in Milan and Rome during Italy’s Liberation Day commemorations were not simply disputes about flags or parades. They were symptoms of a deeper problem: the difficulty of allowing history to remain history, while also recognising that memory is always political.
On April 25, Italy celebrates its liberation from Nazi occupation and fascist rule. It is the most important civil holiday of the Italian Republic, a foundational moment in the country’s democratic identity. But precisely because it is so symbolic, it has always been a stage on which the political tensions of the present are acted out.
The Jewish Brigade occupies a peculiar place in this story. Militarily, its contribution to the Allied campaign in Italy was limited. The Brigade arrived late at the front, in early 1945, and fought for only a short time. Its soldiers were deployed in Romagna, north of Ravenna, along the Lamone, and later near Riolo Terme and the Senio river. About 50 of its soldiers died.
Yet to measure the Brigade only by military impact is to misunderstand its historical significance. Its importance was symbolic, political and psychological. These were Jews in uniform, fighting under a flag marked by the Star of David, against the army of the regime that had attempted to annihilate European Jewry. For many of the volunteers, especially those who were committed Zionists, service in Italy represented more than participation in the Allied war effort. It was a form of Jewish self-assertion, and a claim to political dignity before the world.
This is one reason the Brigade mattered then. It also helps explain why it matters now.
After the war, the memory of the Jewish Brigade did not immediately become central to Italian public memory. For decades it remained relatively marginal, preserved above all within parts of the Jewish community and in the recollections of veterans. Its later rediscovery, especially from the 1990s and 2000s, coincided with new struggles over the meaning of April 25. Some Italian Jewish communities began to bring the Brigade’s flag into Liberation Day commemorations to remind the public that Jews had not only been victims of fascism and Nazism. They had also been combatants, liberators and political actors.
That reminder was, and remains, historically legitimate. Italian Jews belong fully to the history of the Resistance and to the history of the Republic that emerged from the defeat of fascism. The Jews of Mandatory Palestine who served in the Jewish Brigade also belong to the history of Italy’s liberation, however brief their time at the front. They fought in Italy, against German forces, alongside other Allied soldiers and alongside the reborn Italian army. To deny their place in that history is not a neutral act of historical correction. It is an exclusion.
At the same time, it is clear that the Brigade has become controversial not only because of what it did in 1945, but because of what its flag is understood to mean today. The flag of the Jewish Brigade is virtually identical to the later flag of the State of Israel. For some, this makes it a proud symbol of Jewish resistance to Nazism and of the Jewish contribution to liberation. For others, especially in the context of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, it is read primarily as a symbol of Israel and therefore as a political provocation.
This is the heart of the problem. The dispute is often presented as a debate about history, but it is in fact a debate about the present. People argue about the Brigade because they are really arguing about the legitimacy of Zionism, about whether anti-Zionism can become antisemitism, about whether Israel should be understood as a national project or an imperial one, and about what antifascism should mean today. These questions generate fierce disagreements, and April 25 gives them a highly charged public stage.
There are two competing visions of Liberation Day. One sees April 25 primarily as a historically defined Italian commemoration: the day on which the country remembers those who fought between 1943 and 1945 to free Italy from Nazi-fascism. In this interpretation, the Jewish Brigade clearly has a place, because it took part in that struggle. Palestinian flags, by contrast, are harder to place within that specific historical frame, not because Palestinians were fascists, but because they were not participants in the liberation of Italy.
The other vision is more dynamic and internationalist. It sees April 25 not only as the commemoration of a past event, but as an annual reaffirmation of resistance to oppression in the present. In this interpretation, the presence of Palestinian flags, Ukrainian flags, Iranian dissidents or other contemporary causes can be understood as part of a broader antifascist language. April 25 becomes not only the memory of Italy’s liberation, but a ritual of solidarity with those who resist domination elsewhere.
The Jewish Brigade forces us to confront this tension. It belongs to the historical April 25 because it helped liberate Italy. It also belongs to the broader moral history of antifascism because it embodied Jewish armed resistance to Nazism. But its memory is now inseparable from the unresolved political and psychological impact of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict on Italian, and indeed international, public life.
This does not mean that every criticism of Israel is antisemitic. It is not. Nor does it mean that Jewish history should be used to silence Palestinian suffering. It should not. But it does mean that excluding Jews from an antifascist march, insulting people carrying the symbols of the Jewish Brigade, or treating Jewish participation in Liberation Day as illegitimate is a profound historical and moral failure. Antifascism without Jews is not antifascism. An April 25 in which Jews are tolerated only if they hide the symbols they decide to choose is not a healthy democratic ritual.
The answer is not to turn the Jewish Brigade into a weapon in today’s political battles. Nor is it to erase it in the name of avoiding controversy. The answer is to recover the complexity of its history. The Brigade was a military unit, but also a symbol. Its soldiers were liberators in Italy, survivors or relatives of victims of European catastrophe, Zionists of different kinds and human beings who often carried grief, hope and a desire for revenge. Their story links the Holocaust, the Second World War, the end of empire, the birth of Israel and the politics of memory in postwar Italy.
That is why the Jewish Brigade matters today. It reminds us that history cannot be reduced to slogans, that memory can both illuminate and distort, and that democratic societies must make room for complexity and uncomfortable truths.
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of JTA or its parent company, 70 Faces Media.
The post The Jewish Brigade fought fascism in Italy. Now its flags spark protests. appeared first on The Forward.
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Jerusalem Pride march turns toward the Knesset as LGBTQ Israelis eye pivotal election
(JTA) — JERUSALEM — The Pride march in Israel’s capital city changed its traditional route on Thursday to end near the Knesset, in a show of force ahead of elections that could have major implications for the status of LGBTQ Israelis.
“If the current government has a problem with LGBTQ+ people, then the current government can go home, because the community is here to stay,” opposition leader Yair Lapid said during the culminating rally.
Jerusalem’s Pride march is always more muted than the raucous celebration that takes place each June in Tel Aviv. But this year, the looming election, which must be held by Oct. 27, galvanized participation.
More than 10,000 Israelis gathered in Sacher Park for the rally, according to Noa Fisher of the Jerusalem Open House, the LGBTQ+ equality organization that organizes the event.
“It’s always more like a protest than anything else. This year, especially,” said Hadas Bloemendal, chair of the Jerusalem Open House, walking alongside the crowd with her baby in a stroller.
“I’m supposed to be on maternity leave,” she said. “But this year, I had to be here.”
The status of LGBTQ Israelis is complex. While the country has a thriving gay culture and the speaker of the Knesset is openly gay, same-sex marriage is prohibited by law and some haredi Orthodox lawmakers have spoken with disdain about LGBTQ people and said they want to see their rights rolled back. The elections this fall will determine whether those lawmakers retain power in the next government.
Michal Rozin, a former lawmaker from the liberal Meretz party, urged rally-goers on Thursday to boo after recounting a 2023 comment by a member of the United Torah Judaism party, a partner in the governing coalition, who said the LGBTQ community is “the most dangerous thing for the State of Israel, more than Islamic State, more than Hezbollah, more than Hamas.” (He was commenting during Pride month, before Hamas’ Oct. 7 attack on Israel.)
Avi Maoz, an anti-LGBTQ politician who was part of the current government until last year, called this year’s march an “abomination” in a post on social media on Thursday.
The rally marked 11 years since 16-year-old Shira Banki was killed when a haredi Orthodox man stabbed six Jerusalem Pride attendees, weeks after being freed from prison after staging a similar attack a decade earlier.
“Some of the friends she walked with are still, today, volunteering. That’s what echoes the most, what she chose to do,” Bloemendal said.
Security was intense Thursday, and the gathering area before the march was completely sealed off. More than 2,000 Israel Police officers and border agents were dispatched to protect the march, according to Israeli police spokesperson Dean Elsdunne.
Behind a wall of tour buses was a counter-demonstration hosted by the extremist group Lehava, which opposes Jewish-Arab coexistence and gay relationships. By the time the march left Sacher Park for the Rose Garden near the Knesset, only a few dozen men remained in the heavily policed and cordoned-off area.
“Those standing outside and protesting against us have forgotten what it means to be Jewish and have forgotten what it means to be human,” Lapid said from the stage.
Despite the counter-protest, spirits were high at the rally, where attendees said they were determined to make their voices heard at a time when they feel their country is closing itself off to LGBTQ+ life.
“The LGBTQ+ community is present everywhere that the fate of this country is being written,” Rozin said in her speech. “But there are those who continue to incite against it.”
Lapid has long made LGBTQ+ equality a central tenet of his platform. His alliance this year with Naftali Bennett (a religious Zionist who historically opposed same-sex marriage) is notable in part because Bennett announced at their April 26 press conference announcing a joint campaign that a government under his leadership would advance same-sex marriage in Israel.
Marriage in Israel is regulated by the Rabbinate, which prohibits LGBTQ+ unions, leaving many couples to wed abroad and petition to have those marriages recognized at home. Lapid promised that “in the first 100 days of the next government, we will bring legislation that says the rights of every couple in Israel will be equal. Mom and dad, dad and dad, mom and mom — everyone the same rights.”
The nearly 10,000 attendees gathered beneath different banners and identities, some flying the flags of their youth movements, from socialist to LGBTQ+ organizations, to different political factions, including the Democrats, which made a significant showing at the event.
Drummers from the Pink Front led the rally toward the Rose Garden near the Knesset, passing through a tunnel, with chants echoing off the stone walls.
Shira Zagury, CEO of Shira Banki’s Way, founded by Banki’s parents the year after her murder to build coexistence and pluralism in Israeli society, said the march “continues to mark a moment of inclusion and positivity.”
Before the march set off for the Rose Garden near the Knesset, Rabbi Tamar Elad-Appelbaum recited the Traveler’s Prayer, praying for the marchers’ safety and alluding to Banki’s death nearly 11 years before.
“In the face of violence, hatred, and attempts to send us back into the closet, we will march this year and every year and say, ‘We are here to stay,’” she said.
The post Jerusalem Pride march turns toward the Knesset as LGBTQ Israelis eye pivotal election appeared first on The Forward.