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This organization hired asylum seekers to pack Passover goods for Jews in need
(New York Jewish Week) — At a warehouse in Borough Park, thousands of apples were waiting to be taken off two 18-wheelers, as dozens of volunteers were hard at work putting groceries into bags.
The scene was one part of a massive $1.5 million operation undertaken every year by Masbia, an Orthodox organization that helps provide kosher food for low-income people, to distribute food for Passover to 10,000 families.
But this week, the Passover initiative differed from those of previous years. That’s because most of the people in the warehouse were migrants, the majority of whom were bused to New York from Texas during the past year. Because they are undocumented, they lack work permits, and for many of them, working in Masbia’s warehouse is their first job in the city.
Masbia was one of many organizations to welcome migrants who came from Texas when they arrived at the Port Authority last year, providing them with new shoes to replace pairs that may have broken down during long treks through jungles and other dangerous areas. The group’s executive director, Alex Rappaport, sees employing a group of migrants as another way to help them find their footing in the city.
“Sometimes, you need to turn over every stone to find a way to help people,” Rappaport told the New York Jewish Week.
Passover is the busiest time for Masbia, with hundreds of pallets of food coming in daily to the organization’s three warehouses in Brooklyn and Queens. At Masbia’s Borough Park location, boxes of potatoes and onions lined the sidewalk and stretched down the block. Inside the garage were piles of other Passover goods, stacked two stories high. Volunteers were busy picking produce off the shelves and putting it into bags for delivery drivers who were waiting near the entrance. The operation starts in December, and food distribution begins two weeks before Passover, which starts next Wednesday night.
“These people should have been given work permits,” Rappaport said. “They’re here, ready, willing and able to do beautiful work.”
Masbia CEO Alex Rappaport in front of a truck full of apples in Borough Park, Brooklyn on March 29, 2023. (Jacob Henry)
Rappaport combined the work with a touch of advocacy: Some of the volunteers working alongside the migrants were Jewish high school students, and Rappaport overheard one of them say that “illegal immigrants” were working there. He gathered high schoolers together and began to hold court.
“These people who are working are asylum seekers,” Rappaport told the teens. “They are fully designated as an asylum seeker, meaning to say, they are fully legal, because they have a day in court.”
Rappaport went on to discuss how if a person jaywalks, they are technically breaking the law, but are not referred to as “an illegal.”
“There’s never a person that turns into ‘an illegal,’” Rappaport said. “The term is just a very bad term. A person might not have documents, but these are people coming from the border who are looking for a new future. It’s an opportunity. They asked for asylum.”
The opportunity Masbia is providing comes via a partnership with La Colmena, a nonprofit that helps find jobs for day laborers, domestic workers and low-wage immigrant workers in from Staten Island.
Kimberly Vega, the workforce manager of La Colmena, told the New York Jewish Week that the group saw “an influx of asylum seekers” that began in August and is still ongoing. Vega has a list of 190 workers looking for jobs. Masbia provided work for 15.
“We’re facing this crisis at the moment,” Vega said. “We have the amount of workers, but we don’t have the jobs. They face all these challenges because they don’t have a permit or any documentation, so we’re very thankful for this opportunity that came up through Masbia.”
Vega added that many of the workers are staying in homeless shelters provided by the city in Staten Island. Many of the workers drop their kids off at school in the morning, then come to Brooklyn to work throughout the day. “They got shipped on a bus, arrived here and were transported to a shelter,” Vega said.
According to NPR, it’s estimated that up to 50,000 migrants were moved to New York over the past year by Texas Gov. Greg Abbott, a Republican. New York City Mayor Eric Adams, a Democrat, called Abbott’s actions “inhumane.”
In a New York Post op-ed published last August, Abbott wrote that Adams was hypocritical for calling New York a sanctuary city, then complained about the new arrivals.
On Twitter, Adams’ press secretary Fabian Levy wrote that the mayor is “welcoming asylum seekers with open arms.”
Vega said the migrants working at the Masbia warehouse were being paid based on a law that has been used to help undocumented workers earn income. According to the State Department of Labor, nonprofits may give volunteers stipends or reimbursements. Therefore, Vega said, even though a migrant worker is only a volunteer, they can still be paid by a nonprofit organization. Masbia and La Colmena would not disclose how much the workers were being paid.
Asylum seekers working at a Masbia warehouse in Brooklyn on March 29, 2023. (Jacob Henry)
Gledys, 30, a migrant working at the warehouse, told the New York Jewish Week that she came to New York from Venezuela after being bussed here from Texas last October.
Gledys, who did not give her full name for fear of her family being harmed, said through a translator that when she was living in Venezuela, “There’s a certain political view that everyone has to have.”
“If you even think differently, you can’t even speak amongst your community, because then they will turn on you,” Gledys said. “My husband was a police officer there, and because of that reason, we had to leave.”
When she arrived in New York, Gledys said she was “hit with the reality that it’s hard to find a job because you need certain permits.”
“I’m working really hard [at Masbia] and hoping this will open my doors,” Gledys said. “They’ll be able to see that I’m a hard worker and [I will] gain experience for more opportunities to open up.”
She added that she was thankful that her children were able to begin attending public school only a few days after she arrived. The city also helped provide daycare for her.
“No other country has done that,” Gledys said. “It’s more than enough. I’m not suffering, and I’m grateful. I’m definitely very hopeful because now I can see a different future for my children, a different future for myself.”
Another worker named Moises, 39, who likewise did not provide his full name due to fear for his family’s safety, said he came to New York from Venezuela via Texas in January after entering immigration custody.
“During those days, we were still cuffed and I was separated from my family,” Moises said. His wife and children eventually made it to New York, and they were reunited.
He said that in Venezuela, inflation was so rampant that he was only making $7 to $10 a week.
“People are really struggling,” Moises said. “There are also a lot of political issues as well. If the community tries to step up and do a protest, you have the military stepping in and shooting directly at civilians. We’re really running away, because we were so scared.”
He said he was worried about how he was going to feed his family, but was also thankful for the help they received when they first arrived, including finding a place to stay in a shelter, and now the job at Masbia.
“I want to feel independent,” Moises said. “With a job like this, I can be more independent. I understand it’s a temporary job, but hopefully in the next couple of months, I can find something that is no longer temporary.”
Rappaport feels that there’s a connection between the migrants’ stories and the holiday they’re helping prepare for because the Jewish people were also strangers in Egypt. “The Bible says, ‘You should love the stranger, the newcomer,’” Rappaport said. “There is that idea of people making a long journey to a promised land. These people went through the jungle.”
He added, “It’s beautiful to connect the Jewish story of Exodus to this story of the challenge of the asylum seekers.
“People take their whole family and go for thousands of miles through very dangerous terrain,” Rapport said. “They must be running from something. It’s not utopia yet, but we’re celebrating some freedom. And they’re still in the middle of their story.”
—
The post This organization hired asylum seekers to pack Passover goods for Jews in need appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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I’m an Orthodox student in NYC. I’m grateful Mamdani vetoed the school buffer bill
My classmates at Manhattan’s Hunter College regularly gather to protest in a plaza at the southwest corner of East 68th Street and Lexington Avenue. This winter, that intersection hosted many protests against Immigration and Customs Enforcement — protests that felt more urgent because, for many Hunter students and their family members, detainment and deportation are very real threats.
Seeing how committed my classmates were to fighting back against injustice made me proud to be a New Yorker, and a student at Hunter.
Detractors often portray college protesters as liberal elites, comfortably removed from real-world issues. That’s not the case at Hunter. That’s part of why, as an Orthodox Jew deeply involved with Jewish life on campus, I’m glad that Mayor Zohran Mamdani vetoed a bill that would have established security perimeters disallowing protests near educational facilities.
On campus, there has been much discussion around City Council Intro 175-B, which the council passed by a 30-19 vote in March. Students suspect that these policies are in place not to protect us but rather to shield the Israeli government from criticism. Internal discussion among Jewish students has been varied. Some students say the bill is necessary to protect us, while others agree with the progressive views of a majority of Hunter’s politically active students, and want their voices to be heard.
Either way, Jewish students are not a monolith, and I am distrustful of politicians and bills which claim to speak for all Jews as a bloc.
I proudly wear a kippah and tzitzis to campus every single day. Friends jokingly call my accent a “generic northeastern yeshivish,” interspersed with Aramaic and Hebrew terms. Before you know my name, you know I’m a Jew. And I feel complete confidence in saying that Hunter is a good place to be Jewish.
My non-Jewish friends and professors have respected my identity and perspective. That isn’t to say that protests related to Israel and the Gaza war haven’t been contentious or charged: they have been. But when I pass my friends who wear kaffiyeh in protest of the destruction in Gaza, they still dap me up.
That image — of a kippah-wearing Jew and a kaffiyeh-clad Arab student greeting in the hallway — encapsulates my experience at Hunter.
Yes, some protesters have crossed lines. At a protest during my freshman year, a protester displayed a banner with an AK-47 and red block letters saying: “BRING THE WAR HOME.” I thought the goal was ending wars abroad, not bringing them home. I was appalled, as were many other students across the political spectrum.
But I believe it’s the responsibility of New York City’s colleges and universities, relying on the input of their students, to address these issues. They can make informed decisions about which applications to approve or deny, take their own safety measures, and, as a last resort, oversee necessary disciplinary action.
Hunter is capable of promoting free expression and dialogue, along with security measures to protect students when necessary. There’s nothing to gain from imposing heavy-handed restrictions on my university and my classmates that would suppress their speech. And there’s much to lose.
Hunter is a bastion of free thought, somewhere my classmates and I can immerse ourselves in different perspectives, and learn through dialogue and debate. It’s somewhere you can espouse unpopular opinions, as long as you have the ability to defend your argument.
Notably, 175-B — which still may be passed, as the council has launched an effort to overturn Mamdani’s veto — contains a carveout for labor protests, allowing these protests to move inside security barriers. I agree that these protests should continue unencumbered by barriers or buffer zones on our campuses. But I don’t see why they should be the only ones. Encountering ideas that differ from your own should be thought-provoking, even thrilling. It should be what college is all about.
So when people back home on Long Island ask me how I’m dealing with antisemitism at Hunter, my answer is another question: “Do you mean anti-Zionism or antisemitism?”
Many Hunter students are staunch or outspoken anti-Zionists, opposing Israel’s right to exist. That perspective is challenging for students with a deep attachment to the Jewish state. It took several difficult conversations with honest and principled anti-Zionists before I began to understand that their logic and perspective is as informed as any other.
In my experience, anti-Zionism and antisemitism are not the same. My peers are entitled to their First Amendment rights, and when they exercise them, everyone benefits in the long run. Engaging outlooks that make us uncomfortable is the best way to learn and grow. I’d rather speak with my classmates face to face than confine their ideas to the perimeter of a buffer zone.
Antisemitism is an extremely dangerous issue in New York City, and Jews in America are rightfully on high alert. But a policy platform of censoring free speech will not disincentivize rogue incidents of hate violence. Those are the most imminent physical threat to American Jews, and I have done my best to make sure Hunter’s social justice community understands that. This line of open communication is what keeps Jews safe at Hunter, and 175-B threatened to sever it.
The NYPD told the City Council in February that its existing authority is enough to handle protests. 175-B went beyond that authority, erecting barriers with the stated goal of protecting Jewish students like me. But as a Jewish student, I believe they would have violated the First Amendment rights of all students — Jewish and non-Jewish alike. The bill, rather than creating new security for students like me, seemed poised to isolate the Jewish community: no one wants to debate someone whom they see, fairly or not, as participating in the restriction of their rights.
And truthfully, I have experienced far more antisemitism on the streets and subways of New York than I ever have on Hunter’s campus. It is no small thing that I am safe at Hunter, and I would speak out if I was not.
With this veto, the mayor recognized that our community and our city did not need this crackdown on expression. We need the opposite. The United States, and New York in particular, have been a haven for Jewish life and culture for more than a century. Our community will never achieve safety and security by allying ourselves with those who treat civil and constitutional rights as dispensable.
I don’t always agree with everything protesters have to say, but it isn’t my place, or the City Council’s, to legislate where and how they say them.
I don’t want to see roadblocks or barriers on 68th and Lexington. I want to see Hunter students exercising their right — and fulfilling their duty — to speak out against injustice and tyranny. I salute Mamdani’s decision to veto City Council Intro 175-B. It would have cost more in freedom than it could ever provide in safety.
The post I’m an Orthodox student in NYC. I’m grateful Mamdani vetoed the school buffer bill appeared first on The Forward.
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Israeli President Isaac Herzog’s selection as JTS commencement speaker roils graduating class
The selection of Israeli President Isaac Herzog as the Jewish Theological Seminary’s commencement speaker has divided undergraduates at the school, with several seniors and dozens of other current students and alumni signing a letter calling on the school’s chancellor to disinvite Herzog.
The letter accused Herzog of inciting violence against civilians in Gaza — a characterization shared by some human rights groups — and criticized him for not taking action against settler violence in the West Bank.
The students added that Herzog’s involvement in the schoolwide May 19 ceremony — when he will also receive an honorary degree from the seminary — would leave them “morally conflicted about attending.”
“There are many places for members of the JTS community to engage with difficult ideas in nuanced conversation,” they wrote, “but we believe the commencement stage is not the place to engage with such a particularly divisive figure.”
The letter leaked to Chancellor Shuly Rubin Schwartz before it was finalized, according to two of the six seniors who signed it, leading to a meeting during which Rubin Schwartz took issue with the group’s approach and held firm on the decision.
Meanwhile, other JTS seniors affirming the speaker choice wrote a letter of their own that has gathered 24 signatures, representing roughly half of the senior class.
The controversy unfolded amid ongoing tensions around Israel in Conservative Jewish spaces and at Columbia University, which has a joint undergraduate program with JTS. The flagship academic institution of the Conservative movement, JTS includes in its mission deepening students’ connection to Israel, and requires its rabbinical students to spend a year learning there.
Speaking out
Herzog has faced criticism for comments he made after the Oct. 7 attacks, in which he said that it was “an entire nation” that was responsible. Some said the remark carried an implication that there were no innocent civilians in Gaza. (Herzog later said it had been taken out of context and that he did believe there were innocent Palestinians there.)
The Forward has reached out to Herzog’s office for comment.
In an interview, one of the students who signed the letter, granted anonymity out of concern for professional repercussions, said he had wanted to fight back against a culture of silence around Palestinian suffering in the Jewish world.
“I do feel powerless,” the student said. “I feel like there’s a genocide happening. And the silence is killing all of us.”
Four current JTS rabbinical students signed the letter opposing Herzog, though none was in the class of 2026. JTS rabbinical students walk at the commencement ceremony but are ordained in a smaller gathering the next day.
Rubin Schwartz said in a statement that most of the JTS community was excited about Herzog’s address and honorary degree, but that it welcomed “thoughtful discussion and differing opinions” from students, faculty and staff.
“President Herzog, like all 10 previous presidents of Israel, represents the state and its people, rather than its government,” Rubin Schwartz added. “We look forward to honoring him at this year’s ceremony.”
Gabriel Freedman-Naditch, who signed the second letter, said he had been happy to learn Herzog would be the commencement speaker. He applauded Herzog’s leadership during Israel’s judicial overhaul saga, but said the Israeli presidency was mostly a “figurehead” position anyway. And while he said he was not closely attuned to Herzog’s actions since Oct. 7, he was willing to countenance a speaker he did not perfectly align with.
“We’ve all learned to listen to people we disagree with,” Freedman-Naditch said. “We should be able to listen to people who we find upsetting.”
A messy rollout
The group of six seniors who wrote the anti-Herzog letter drafted and circulated it privately among select students and alumni, planning to share it with Rubin Schwartz in a private meeting only once it was finalized.
Then Freedman-Naditch, who had not been aware of the letter, was forwarded the letter by his mother, who had received it from a JTS graduate who had signed it. Freedman-Naditch then shared it with the senior class group chat, asking why they hadn’t all been made aware of it. The organizers replied that they were worried that the letter would be leaked along with their names.
Not long after, Rubin Schwartz requested permission through Google Documents to view the letter. The group then emailed the chancellor proposing a meeting to discuss it.
In her office Tuesday, Rubin Schwartz asked the group why they hadn’t first come to her directly, according to the two students who spoke with the Forward. They replied that the JTS administration doesn’t take seriously what undergraduate students have to say, and that voices that diverge from the pro-Israel consensus tend to be silenced.
“She was basically like, ‘It saddens me to hear you say that there isn’t a culture of dissent here,’” one of the students said. “But at the same time, she’s calling our letter of dissent a hostile act.”
“What I said was that their choice to send a letter, rather than speak directly with me or others, felt aggressive,” Rubin Schwartz said in an email. “My point was that it would have felt more respectful to have had a conversation about their feelings instead of initiating the letter campaign.”
Herzog is not the only figure from the realm of Israeli politics slated to address 2026 graduates. Yeshiva University announced Thursday its own commencement speaker: U.S. Ambassador to Israel Mike Huckabee.
The post Israeli President Isaac Herzog’s selection as JTS commencement speaker roils graduating class appeared first on The Forward.
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Playing with bows and arrows and other Lag BaOmer shtetl customs
עס קומט באַלד דער יום־טובֿ ל״ג־בעומר — דער 33סטער טאָג פֿון ציילן ספֿירה, די טעג צווישן פּסח און שבֿועות.
ל״ג־בעומר איז אַ טאָג פֿון פֿרייד אין מיטן פֿון זיבן וואָכן טרויער און ערנסטקייט. מע דריקט אויס די פֿרייד אויף פֿאַרשיידענע אופֿנים. דאָס ווערטל „אַ ל״ג־בעומר-גענעראַל איז נאָר אויף איין טאָג“ פֿאַררופֿט זיך אויפֿן מינהג, אין וועלכן חדר־ייִנגלעך פֿלעגן גיין אויף אַ שפּאַציר אין וואַלד מיטן מלמד, און שיסן פֿײַל־און־בויגנס (נישט קיין אמתע, נאָר שפּילעכלעך). איין חדר־ייִנגל האָט מען אויסגעקליבן צו זײַן דער גענעראַל איבער די „שלאַכטן“, וואָס האָבן נאָכגעמאַכט בר־כּוכבאס קאַמף קעגן די רוימער מיט צוויי טויזנט יאָר פֿריִער.
דעם בולטן מיליטאַריסטישן מינהג האָט מען אויסגעטײַטשט מיט אַ מער „ייִדישלעכן“ טעם — אַזוי ווי קיין רעגנבויגן האָט זיך נישט באַוויזן בעתן לעבן פֿון רב שמעון בר־יוחאי, אַ תּנא פֿון דער מישנה, דינט דער בויגן פֿונעם פֿײַל־און־בויגן ווי אַ דערמאָנונג נאָך זײַן טויט. ווי עס ווערט געזאָגט אינעם קבלה־ספֿר, דער „זוהר“, וואָס, לויט דער טראַדיציע, האָט בר־יוחאי מחבר געווען, וועט אַ רעגנבויגן מיט כּלערליי קאָלירן זיך באַווײַזן איידער דער משיח וועט קומען. האָט דער בויגן, במילא, אויך אַ טײַטש ווי אַ טייל פֿון אונדזער ייִדישער אמונה אין משיחן.
ל״ג־בעומר אינעם דאָרף מירון, נישט ווײַט פֿון צפֿת, פּראַוועט מען דעם יום־טובֿ מיט גרויס פּאַראַד; אַ מינהג, וואָס ציט זיך עטלעכע הונדערט יאָר צוריק און נעמט זיך פֿון דעם, וואָס רבֿ שמעון בר־יוחאיס קבֿר געפֿינט זיך דאָרטן. די געלערנטע האַלטן, אַז דעם „זוהר“ האָט מען ערשט אָנגעשריבן מיט אַ טויזנט יאָר שפּעטער. אין שפּאַניע, אינעם 13טן יאָרהונדערט, האָט זיך צום ערשטן מאָל באַוויזן דאָס ווערק, אַרויסגעגעבן פֿון משה דעלעאָן, אָבער דעלעאָן האָט דאָרטן געשריבן, אַז בר־יוחאי האָט עס געשאַפֿן — יוחאי האָט געקליבן די אַנטפּלעקונגען וואָס משה רבינו האָט באַקומען פֿונעם אייבערשטן און זיי געדרוקט אינעם „זוהר“.
גרשון שלום האָט געהאַלטן, אַז דעלעאָן האָט נישט נאָר אַרויסגעגעבן דעם „זוהר“, נאָר אים אויך אָנגעשריבן. ל״ג־בעומר הייסט אויך „חילולא דרבֿ שמעון בן־יוחאי“ און חילולא מיינט חתונה, מיטן מיין, אַז דער טויט פֿונעם גרויסן רבֿ האָט געבראַכט אַ שלומדיקע האַרמאָניע אין דער וועלט, וואָס מע קען געפֿינען אין זײַן „זוהר“. נישט אַלע רבנים זענען געווען צופֿרידן מיט דעם, וואָס מע הייבט אַרויס דעם „זוהר“ און זײַן מחבר אינעם טאָג פֿון ל״ג־בעומר. אָבער די פּאָפּולערע טראַדיציעס זענען געבליבן, אַזוי ווי צו שפּילן מוזיק בײַ זײַן קבֿר און אָפּשערן צום ערשטן מאָל די האָר פֿונעם קינד (בשעת ספֿירה ציילן טאָר מען נישט שערן די האָר.)
די ספֿרדישע ייִדן רופֿן דעם טאָג „ל״ג־לעומר“, נישט „בעומר“ און האָבן אַנדערע מינהגים ווי די אַשכּנזים. למשל, אין אַשכּנזישע פֿרומע קרײַזן טאָר מען נישט חתונה האָבן בשעת מע ציילט ספֿירה, אַ חוץ ל״ג־בעומר. אָבער בײַ די ספֿרדישע ייִדן מעג מען יאָ האָבן חתונה אין אַלע טעג פֿון ניסן נאָך פּסח; די סירישע ייִדן מעגן חתונה האָבן פֿון ל״ג־בעומר אָן ביז שבֿועות. ווען מע הייבט אָן צו ציילן עומר בײַ די ייִדן פֿון מאַראָקאָ באַקומט יעדער ייִד אין בית־הכּנסת אַ ביסל זאַלץ אין קעשענע, אַ דערמאָנונג צו ציילן ספֿירה, אָבער דאָס זאַלץ איז אויך אַ סגולה קעגן שלעכטס.
פֿון אַ פֿאָלקלאָריסטישן קוקווינקל קען מען באַטראַכטן אַ סך מינהגים מיט זאַלץ ווי אַ מיטל אַוועקצוטרײַבן בייזע רוחות — למשל, דאָס אײַנטונקען די חלה אין זאַלץ פֿרײַטיק־צו־נאַכטס. בײַ די מיזרח־אייראָפּעיִשע ייִדן האָט מען געוואָרפֿן זאַלץ אין די ווינקלען פֿון שטוב פּטור צו ווערן פֿון די נישט־גוטע, און מע האָט געשיט אַ ביסל זאַלץ אין די אַרבע־כּנפֿות פֿונעם קינד. ווען אַ ציגײַנער איז אַרויס פֿון שטוב האָט מען געוואָרפֿן זאַלץ, דאָס מזל זאָל נישט געשטערט ווערן.
אין אַנדערע מינהגים האָט דאָס זאַלץ אַן אַנדער אויסטײַטש. ס׳איז געווען אַ מינהג, אַז אויב מע וואַרפֿט זאַלץ אין אַ ווינקל, וווּ מע וועט עס נישט אַוועקקערן, וועט מען ווערן אָרעם. אין ענגלאַנד און האָלאַנד (ספֿרדישע ייִדן) האָט מען געגלייבט, אַז אויב מע שיט זאַלץ אויס, וועט דאָס ברענגען אַ שלעכט מזל. אין שודטס בוך פֿון „ייִדישע מערקווירדיקייטן“ [מאָדנע זאַכן] פֿונעם אָנהייב 18טן יאָרהונדערט, שרײַבט ער, אַז אַ ייִדישע פֿרוי פֿון דײַטשלאַנד האָט אים געעצהט אויפֿצוהענגען זאַלץ מיט ברויט אויף די העלדזער פֿון זײַנע קינדער, אַוועקצוטרײַבן דעם עין־הרע.
דער פּראָפֿעסאָר פֿון רעליגיע, טעאָדאָר גאַסטער, דער זון פֿונעם חשובֿן פֿאָלקלאָריסט הרבֿ משה גאַסטער, האָט ליב צו פֿאַרגלײַכן ייִדישע מינהגים מיט נישט־ייִדישע; צי ער טרײַבט איבער די פֿאַרגלײַכונגען מיט אַנדערע קולטורן איז אַ קשיא, אָבער אינטערעסאַנט, פֿון דעסטוועגן, זענען זײַנע שטודיעס. די טעג פֿון עומר פֿאַרגלײַכט ער אָן אַ „להבֿדיל“, צו דעם קריסטלעכן „לענט“ — די זעקס וואָכן פֿאַר פּאַסכע, ווען די קריסטן פֿאַסטן אָדער זענען מוותּר אַנדערע פֿאַרגעניגנס.
לויט גאַסטערן דאַרף מען באַטראַכטן ל״ג־בעומר ווי אַ פֿרילינגדיקן מײַ־פֿעסטיוואַל. ער שרײַבט, אַז דאָס שיסן פֿײַל־און־בויגנס איז געווען פֿאַרשפּרייט אין אייראָפּע דעם 1טן מײַ, ווײַל די נאַכט פֿריִער איז געווען „וואַלפּורגיס־נאַכט“ — „דער שבת פֿון די מכשפֿות“. די פֿײַלן האָבן אַוועקגעטריבן די בייזע רוחות. ל״ג־בעומר פֿלעגן די ייִדישע קינדער אויך גיין אויפֿן בית־עולם, נישט נאָר אין וואַלד, און גאַסטער באַטאָנט, אַז דאָס טאַנצן און פֿרייען זיך אויפֿן בית־עולם איז אויך פֿאָרגעקומען דעם ערשטן מײַ צווישן די פּויערים.
אין אַ זאַמלונג ייִדישע מעשׂיות פֿון אַראַבישע לענדער, רעדאַקטירט פֿון דן בן־עמוס, געפֿינט זיך אַ מעשׂה, דערציילט פֿון יוסף זיוו, וועגן די ייִדן פֿונעם טוניזישן אינדזל דזשערבאַ און די ניסים פֿון ל״ג־בעומר. בײַ זיי איז געווען אַ מינהג אָנצוצינדן אַ גרויסע מנורה און זי טראָגן מיט גרויס שׂימחה פֿון דער ייִדישער געגנט צו דער גרויסער סינאַגאָגע “אַל־גאַריבאַ”. די נאַכט האָט מען אָנגערופֿן „די נאַכט פֿון דער מנורה“, און מע האָט געזונגען, געשפּילט און רעציטירט פּאָעמעס מיט גרויס פֿרייד, גייענדיק אין גאַס.
איין יאָר האָט אַ גרופּע שׂונאי־ישׂראל באַשלאָסן, אַז מע טאָר נישט דערלאָזן, אַז די ייִדן זאָלן אַזוי זיך משׂמח זײַן. די באַנדע האָט געקליבן געווער — מעסער, העק, שטעקנס — און בדעה געהאַט צו באַפֿאַלן די פֿריילעכע ייִדן און זיי צעטרײַבן. אַלע אין דער גרופּע האָבן מסכּים געווען. אָבער אין דער נאַכט פֿונעם יום־טובֿ האָט מיט אַ מאָל אַ שטראַל ליכט אַ שײַן געטאָן פֿון דער מנורה און זיי פֿאַרבלענדט די אויגן. „דער גאָט פֿון די ייִדן איז געקומען אונדז אומברענגען, אַנטלויפֿט!“ — האָט דער פֿירער אויסגעשריגן, אָבער בלינדערהייט האָבן זיי נישט געזען וווּ צו לויפֿן.
ווען זיי האָבן סוף־כּל־סוף ווידער אָנגעהויבן זען, האָבן זיי זיך געפֿונען אין מיטן פֿון די טאַנצנדיקע, זינגענדיקע ייִדן. קיין ברירה האָבן זיי נישט געהאַט און געמוזט מיטטאַנצן און מיטזינגען ביז דער סינאַגאָגע. „און אין יעדן דור דערציילט מען וועגן דעם נס פֿון דעם ליכט, און וועגן דעם נס פֿון דער מנורה אין דער נאַכט פֿון ל״ג־בעומר. זאָלן אַלע אינטריגעס פֿון אונדזערע שׂונאים אָפּגעשאַפֿן ווערן, און גאָט זאָל אונדז ראַטעווען פֿון אַלע פֿײַנט.“
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