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Ukrainian Jewish life has always taken place in Russian. Now a race to translate is underway.
LVIV, Ukraine (JTA) – The rabbis sat around a breakfast table, discussing Russia’s war on the country where they work in a mixture of Yiddish, Hebrew and Russian. They named their hometowns as Lugansk, Lvov and Dnepr, the Russian names for Ukrainian cities that have vaulted into international headlines since Russia invaded Ukraine in February.
Although they were focused on Ukraine’s progress in the fighting, the rabbis uttered not a single word in Ukrainian. How could they? Like the vast majority of Jews in Ukraine, none of them speaks the country’s official language.
Russian has long been the first language for a wide swath of Ukrainians, including the majority of the country’s Jews. But after the Russian invasion, many Ukrainians decided they wanted to speak less Russian and more Ukrainian. Many Jews, similarly horrified by the sight of thousands of Russian soldiers pouring over Ukraine’s borders and wishing to demonstrate their Ukrainian bonafides, have made the same choice — even as it means disrupting a long linguistic tradition.
So when the rabbis’ successors meet for pancakes and sour cream, they will be far more likely to introduce themselves as the rabbis of Luhansk, Lviv and Dnipro, the Ukrainian names for their hometowns that have become the standard in English. They will also likely be able to hand their students and congregants Ukrainian-language versions of central Jewish texts that simply do not exist now.
“Many of my friends say that they are embarrassed to use Russian as a language. They say that we are Ukrainian Jews, and that Russia is a terrorist country fighting us and that we shouldn’t use their language,” said Rabbi Meir Stambler, from Dnipro. “Others say that [Russian president Vladimir] Putin doesn’t own the Russian language. It is an issue.”
He added, “This is something that people are discussing all the time.”
A decade ago, half of Ukrainians said they spoke Russian as their native language. That number has declined to 20%, fueled in part by resentment over Russia’s aggressions in Crimea, a contested region that it annexed by force in 2014. But Jews have remained predominantly Russian-speaking, even in parts of western Ukraine where Ukrainian has long been the dominant language. (Russian and Ukrainian are related linguistically, but their speakers cannot understand each other.)
Russia’s war on Ukraine has Ukrainian Jews playing catchup. Stambler, who heads the Federation of Jewish Communities, a body affiliated with the Hasidic Chabad-Lubavitch movement that operates a network of 36 synagogues around Ukraine, offers a stark prediction: “Within 10 years, every Jew in Ukraine will speak Ukrainian.”
The dominance of Russian among Ukraine’s Jews, who numbered in the tens of thousands before the war, has deep roots.
“The historical trajectory of Jews in what is now Ukraine led them in the 19th century to adopt Russian rather than Ukrainian,” says historian Natan Meir, a professor of Judaic studies at Portland State University. “That was because Ukrainian was perceived as a peasant language that did not have any high culture associated with it, and because there were no economic advantages to adopting Ukrainian at the time.”
Now, the upside of switching to Ukrainian — demonstrating a national allegiance during a time of war — couldn’t be clearer.
“Jews feel quite integrated into Ukrainian society, but a shift, even if it is a gradual shift, to Ukrainian is going to make that more tangible than ever,” Meir said, calling the Russian invasion “absolutely game-changing” for Ukrainian Jews. “They will be perceived even more strongly than they have been as being wholly Ukrainian and part of the fabric of Ukrainian society.”
Most Ukrainian Jews, especially those educated since the collapse of the Soviet Union, can now speak some Ukrainian. But their ability often depends on where they grew up: Many Jews in traditionally Russophone cities such as Odesa, Dnipro or Kharkiv can struggle with the language, while their grandparents often cannot speak it at all.
Books in both Hebrew and Russian sit on a bookshelf at Medzhybizh. (Jacob Judah)
“Not more than 20% were Ukrainian-speaking at home,” says Stambler. “Take President [Volodymyr] Zelensky. He knew Ukrainian, but he didn’t speak it at home, and he had to polish it up when he became president.”
It will not be simple for the Jewish community to suddenly switch to Ukrainian, the most widely spoken European language without a standardized translation of the Torah.
Two years ago, a team of translators working in Israel, Austria and Hungary began working to produce Ukrainian-language Jewish texts. But before the Russian invasion, the effort had so far produced only a Ukrainian book of psalms, or tehillim.
In May, two months into the war, a decision was made to accelerate work on a daily prayer book. A Torah could follow.
“The chumash is difficult,” said Stambler, who oversees the half-dozen-strong team of translators from his base in Dnipro, using the Hebrew word for the printed form of the Torah. “We are working on it.”
While translating sacred texts can take years, other changes have come faster. The leaflets, brochures and calendars that are a fixture at any Jewish center in Ukraine were quickly swapped out Russian for Ukrainian, at least at the federation’s headquarters. Before February, these had often been produced and printed by Russian Jewish communities and shared with those in Ukraine, for simplicity’s sake.
“This differentiation from Russian Jewry is going to be huge,” said Meir, the historian. “Up until this point they have essentially formed one linguistic and cultural space that all Jews, whether they were in Ukraine, Russia or Belarus could move freely between.”
Now, the ties between those communities are both logistically complicated to maintain — trade routes have been ruptured — and also potentially a liability at a time when anyone in either Russia or Ukraine showing an affinity for the other country can face suspicion or penalties.
“This shift, if it actually happens, is going to be marking out a totally new cultural space for Ukrainian Jews and almost a declaration of independence,” Meir said “Or at least that is the aspiration, because there is so much of their heritage which is still based in the Russian language that it is going to be a long time before they can fully separate.”
That separation process, which began to take shape most clearly after 2014, has quickened. “We started doing things ourselves,” said Stambler. “We used to do about 20% in Ukrainian for the Jews in western towns like Lviv, Ivano-Frankivsk and Uzhhorod, but we are making a much stronger push now.”
He estimates that some 75% of material being distributed to Ukrainian Jewish communities by the Federation of Jewish Communities was in Ukrainian by September, up from 20% to 35% in January.
Young rabbis who come from the United States or Israel to serve small Jewish communities across Ukraine now say that they have had to add Ukrainian alongside their Russian classes.
“I began with Russian,” said one of those rabbis who works in Vinnitsya, until he decided over the summer that he had to learn Ukrainian. “I realized that I had to learn Ukrainian because I needed it on the street. I needed it to speak with the government and with the media.”
Signs in a synagogue in Ukraine are written in both Ukrainian and Russian. (Jacob Judah)
Some Ukrainian Jews are voting with their voices.
“My whole life, I spoke only Russian,” said Olha Peresunko, who before the war lived in Mikolaiv in southern Ukraine. “But after the 24th of February I am speaking only Ukrainian.”
Peresunko was speaking outside a Lviv synagogue this fall, where she and other refugees were waiting for food parcels. She had fled Mikolaiv, which has sustained repeated assault by Russian troops, for Lviv with her mother and two children while her husband is on the frontlines.
Her children are finding it hard to adjust to the exclusive Ukrainian environment in Lviv, but she is confident that they will make the shift. “They will speak Ukrainian as their first language,” Peresunko said.
Exactly how much the shift to Ukrainian will change local Jewish communities is a matter of debate. Rabbi Shalom Gopin, who fled to Kyiv in 2014 from his home community in Luhansk, an overwhelmingly Russophone city seized by Russia-backed separatists at that time, said he, too, believes that Ukrainian will displace Russian as the lingua franca of Ukrainian Jewry.
A Ukrainian woman displays her Ukrainian-language Jewish calendar as a source of pride, September 2022. (Jacob Judah)
“They are starting to slowly speak Ukrainian,” he said. “It is no problem. There are lots of Jews in America who speak English. We live here, and we speak the languages of the places that we live. It is normal.”
But Gopin said the linguistic shift “means nothing” amid other issues facing Jews in Ukraine, where Russia’s war is threatening to undo 30 years of Jewish community building, largely though not exclusively led by Chabad, Gopin’s Orthodox movement.
“The problem for the Jews of Ukraine is not language,” he said. “It is about how much they are going to synagogue, or how many children are going to Jewish schools, not about what they are speaking.”
Natalia Kozachuk, 45, a Jewish businesswoman in Lviv, sees only upside to shedding Russian, her native language. She has started to speak to her children only in Ukrainian.
“It will be hugely positive if Jews speak more Ukrainian,” Kozachuk said. This is the only way that Jews can truly “learn more about the Ukrainian people,” she said, “about their history and the positive qualities and strengths of Ukraine.”
“Only good can come of it,” she added. “We will understand each other better.”
—
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Memoirs of a young female courier in Warsaw during the Holocaust
„הײַנט װעט זיכער עפּעס פֿאָרקומען.“ אַזױ רעדן צװישן זיך ייִדן, װאָס האָבן זיך צונױפֿגעזאַמלט אױף אַ ראָג גאַס אינעם װאַרשעװער געטאָ. אײנער פּרוּװט זײַן אָפּטימיסטיש: „ייִדן, שרעקט זיך נישט, איר װעט זען, מיט גאָטס הילף, װעלן מיר די נײַע גזירה אױך איבערקומען“. דאָס איז געװען דער 22טער יולי 1942, דער ערשטער טאָג פֿון דער „גרױסער דעפּאָרטאַציע“, װען די דײַטשן האָבן אַרױסגעפֿירט אַרום 250 טױזנט ייִדן אין די אומברענג־לאַגערן.
מיט דער סצענע עפֿנט װלאַדקע מיד איר בוך זכרונות „פֿון בײדע זײַטן געטאָ־מױער“ װעגן איר לעבן אין װאַרשע בעתן חורבן. לכתּחילה זײַנען זיי אַרױס אין המשכים אין „פֿאָרװערטס“ גלײַך נאָך איר אָנקומען קײן אַמעריקע אין 1946. אין 1948 איז דאָס בוך דערשינען בײַ דעם בילדונג־קאָמיטעט פֿון אַרבעטער־רינג. אין 1977 איז דאָס בוך אַרויס אױף ענגליש מיט אַ הקדמה פֿון אלי װיזעל. איצט איז פּובליקירט געוואָרן אַ פֿאַרברײטערטע אױפֿלאַגע באַגלײט מיט הקדמות פֿונעם היסטאָריקער שמואל קאַסאָװ און פֿונעם איבערזעצער, װלאַדקעס זון סטיװען (שלמה) מיד.
וולאַדקע מיד ברענגט דעם לײענער גלײַך אַרײַן אין דער אַטמאָספֿער פֿון האָפֿענונג, שרעק און ייִאוש וואָס האָט געהערשט אינעם װאַרשעװער געטאָ. זי לאָזט דעם לײענער הערן דעם מישמאַש פֿון שטימען פֿון ייִדן, דײַטשן און זײערע אוקראַיִנער מיטהעלפֿער, פֿון װעלכע עס שאַפֿט זיך די טראַגישע געשיכטע פֿון די לעצטע צען חדשים פֿונעם געטאָ.
צום גליק האָט זי אױסגעמיטן די טעגלעכע „אַקציִעס“, װען די „מונדירן“ — דער נאָמען פֿאַר דער ייִדישע פּאָליצײ אױפֿן געטאָ־לשון — האָבן געכאַפּט ייִדן פֿאַר די דעפּאָרטאַציעס. באַלד איז זי געבליבן אַלײן: „די מאַמע, ברודער און שװעסטער זײַנען אַװעקגעפֿירט [געוואָרן] אין דער פּײַנלעכער אומבאַװוּסטקײט“. װלאַדקע האָט אָבער געהאַט אַ גוטן מזל צו באַקומען אַן אַרבעט אין אײנעם פֿון די װאַרשטאַטן װאָס האָבן באַדינט די דײַטשן.
נאָך דער צװײטער „סעלעקציע“ אין סעפּטעמבער 1942 האָבן די געבליבענע ייִדן זיך גענומען צוגרײטן אַ װידערשטאַנד: „אױב שױן אומקומען, זאָל זײַן מיט װירדע, זאָל כאָטש דער שׂונא באַצאָלן אַ טײַערן פּרײַז פֿאַר אונדזער לעבן!“
יונגערהײט האָט װלאַדקע זיך באַטײליקט אינעם „ייִדישן אַרבעטער בונד“, און די דאָזיקע פֿאַרבינדונג האָט איר געהאָלפֿן בלײַבן לעבן בשעתן חורבן. חוץ דעם, האָט זי געהאַט אַ „גוטן אַרישן אױסזען“, גערעדט פּױליש אָן שום ייִדישן אַקצענט. די בונדיסטישע אונטערערדישע פֿירערשאַפֿט אינעם געטאָ האָט איר פֿאָרגעלײגט צו װערן אַ קוריער צװישן דעם געטאָ און דער אַרישער זײַט. אַזױ איז דאָס ייִדישע מײדל פֿײגעלע פּעלטעל געװאָרן אַ פּױלישע פֿרױ װלאַדיסלאַװאַ קאָװאַלסקאַ, בקיצור — װלאַדקע.
בהדרגה װערט זי אײַנגעגלידערט אינעם „נאָרמאַלן“ לעבן צװישן קריסטלעכע פּאָליאַקן. צוערשט איז זי געװען אָפּטימיסטיש: „איך האָב געװאָלט גלױבן, אַז בײַ די פּאָליאַקן איז דאָ אַ שטאַרקן אינטערעס צו העלפֿן זײערע באַקאַנטע ייִדן.“ אָבער באַלד האָט זי דערזען, אַז מען װיל גאָר ניט װיסן װעגן דעם, װאָס עס קומט פֿאָר אױף יענער זײַט געטאָ־מױער.
די אױפֿגאַבע פֿון װלאַדקע און אירע חבֿרים אױף דער אַרישער זײַט איז געװען צו קריגן געװער פֿאַרן געטאָ. קײן דערפֿאַרונג און קײן גוטע באַציִונגען מיט דער פּױלישער אונטערערדישער אַרמײ האָבן זײ אָבער ניט געהאַט: „גאַנצע טעג לױפֿט מען אַרום איבער דער שטאָט. מען זוכט און נישטערט. ממש צו יעדן באַקאַנטן פּאָליאַק, װאָס רופֿט נאָר אַרױס צו זיך אַ ביסל צוטרױ, הײבט מען גלײַך אָן צושטײן און בעטן: העלפֿט אונדז שאַפֿן געװער, מיר װעלן גוט באַצאָלן!“
אָבער לרובֿ באַקומען זײ קנאַפּע הילף. אָפֿט מאָל נעמט מען בײַ זײ געלט און גיט זײ גאָר נישט, אָדער, נאָך ערגער, מסרט מען זײ צו די דײַטשן. און אַפֿילו װען זיי קענען יאָ קריגן אַ רעװאָלװער, מוזן זײ געפֿינען אַן אופֿן, װי אַזױ אים אַרײַנצושמוגלען אינעם געטאָ.
דאָס בוך איז אַ געשפּאַנטע לעקטור. װלאַדקע מיד איז אַ באַגאַבטע דערצײלערין, װאָס דערקלערט פּרט נאָך פּרט אַלע אַספּעקטן פֿון איר געפֿערלעכער אַרבעט. יעדער טאָג קען זײַן דער לעצטער, װען מען װײסט ניט, צי מען װעט דערלעבן ביז אָװנט. זי האָט אַ סך מער מפּלות אײדער דערפֿאָלגן, און אין אַ סך פֿאַלן איז זי געראַטעװעט געװאָרן דורך אַ גליקלעכן צופֿאַל.
קאַסאָװס הקדמה באַשרײַבט דעם ברײטערן היסטאָרישן קאָנטעקסט פֿון יענער תּקופֿה, און מיד גיט צו פּערזענלעכע פּרטים װעגן זײַן מאַמעס לעבן פֿאַרן חורבן אױפֿן סמך פֿון אירע אינטערװיוען אין דער אַמעריקאַנער פּרעסע.
בײַם איבערזעצן האָט מיד אַרײַנגעשטעלט אין קלאַמערן קורצע דערקלערונגען, װאָס העלפֿן בעסער פֿאַרשטײן דעם קאָנטעקסט. ער האָט באַשלאָסן אָפּצוהיטן ייִדישע װערטער פֿון דער ספּעציפֿישער געטאָ־שפּראַך, אַזעלכע װי „אַקציע“, „מונדירן“, „בלאָקאַדע“. דאָס שאַפֿט דעם עפֿעקט פֿון עכטקײט, אָבער אין אײניקע פֿאַלן רופֿט די דאָזיקע סטראַטעגיע אַרויס פֿראַגעס: צוליב װאָס האָט ער „איבערגעזעצט“ דאָס װאָרט „קריסטין“ אינעם ייִדישן מקור ווי Shikse? בכּלל איז די איבערזעצונג זײער פֿרײַ און צו מאָל װײַט פֿונעם ייִדישן טעקסט.
אין אַמעריקע האָט װלאַדקע מיד געװידמעט איר לעבן דער חורבן־דערציִונג, און די נײַע אױפֿלאַגע פֿון איר בוך איז ממשיך דעם דאָזיקן שליחות. דאָס איז אַ װיכטיקער צוגאָב צו דער װאַקסנדיקער ביבליאָטעק פֿון דאָקומענטן און פֿאָרשונגען װעגן װאַרשעװער געטאָ. צום באַדויערן איז די געשיכטע פֿונעם ייִדישן װידערשטאַנד קעגן דער דײַטשישער אָקופּאַציע נאָך ניט געהעריק אײַנגעשלאָסן אינעם אַמעריקאַנער „האָלאָקאָסט עדוקײשן“, אַפֿילו אין ייִדישע טאָגשולן.
װען איך דערצײל למשל די געשיכטע פֿון װאַרשעװער געטאָ אין מײַן קורס פֿון דער ייִדישער קולטור־געשיכטע אין מזרח־אײראָפּע בײַם מישיגענער אוניװערסיטעט פֿרעגן אַ סך פֿון די סטודענטן: „פֿאַר װאָס האָט מען אונדז דאָס ניט דערצײלט אין אונדזערע קלאַסן װעגן דעם חורבן? דאָס איז אַזױ װיכטיק צו װיסן!“
עד־היום זעט מען אָפֿט מאָל די חורבן־געשיכטע דורך דעם שפּאַקטיװ פֿונעם מאַסנמאָרד. װלאַדקע מידס בוך אָבער, שרײַבט קאַסאָװ, „האָט דערװיזן, אַז איר קאַמף צו בלײַבן לעבן, אױף צו להכעיס אַלע שׂונאים, לייקנט אָפּ די סטערעאָטיפּישע טענה, אַז די ייִדן זײַנען פּאַסיװ געגאַנגען צו זײער אומקום.“
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5 more killed by Iranian missiles as shrapnel falls at Ben Gurion, curbing more flights
(JTA) — Five more people were killed overnight by Iranian missiles aimed at Israel: a man from Thailand in the country’s center, and four Palestinian women who had been preparing to break the Ramadan fast in their West Bank village. One was six months pregnant.
The deaths come as Iran has increasingly turned to cluster munitions, which break apart and shed smaller bombs along their path — making them much harder for Israel’s air defense systems to intercept.
Shrapnel from interceptions also fell at Ben Gurion Airport in recent days, damaging private planes and causing the airport authority to extend the cancelation of regular flights and limits on the number of people who can travel on “rescue flights” meant to allow travelers to leave and Israelis abroad to return. Several foreign carriers, including Delta and United, announced the cancellation of flights to and from Israel until at least June.
Nearly three weeks of fighting, launched jointly by the United States and Israel against Iran, have thrown the Middle East into turmoil and shocked the global economy. Under pressure over rising gas prices, U.S. President Donald Trump distanced himself early Thursday from an Israeli attack on an Iranian oil field, but in a post on Truth Social, he reserved the right to attack the site himself if Iran continued to target energy infrastructure elsewhere in the Middle East.
The developments come as questions mount about how long Israel can continue to intercept Iran’s ballistic missiles. Semafor reported this week that U.S. officials believe the Israelis are running low on interceptors, but Israeli authorities tamped down those concerns on Wednesday. A combination of increased use of cluster munitions and a shortage of interceptors would put Israelis at increased risk.
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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West Bloomfield Iraqi Christians rushed to aid Temple Israel on a terrifying day. An open invitation for Shabbat followed.
Last week’s attempted attack on Temple Israel in West Bloomfield, Michigan, prompted the Shenandoah Country Club across the street — which serves the town’s Iraqi Christian Chaldean community — to provide a refuge across cultural lines.
Staff turned a ballroom usually reserved for weddings into a reunification area. By the afternoon, 140 children from the Temple Israel day care center, who had no idea they were escaping a terror attack, were safe inside.
The next night, the same room filled again with refugees from Temple Israel. This time, the event space hosted 1,000 congregants gathered for Shabbat.
Shenandoah Country Club President Patrick Kattoo said when a staff member told him about a possible shooting across the street, “I instructed him to direct all those people into our building, into our ballroom, and immediately give them what they need.”
Kattoo proceeded to allow law enforcement to set up command centers at Shenandoah, as children and teachers sheltered in the ballroom for hours. Around 5 p.m., relieved families were reunited at the country club.
In true Iraqi fashion, Kattoo said the children were kept well fed. “It was Thursday, so our chef was here. We just brought them out chicken tenders and fries, M&Ms, waters, and drinks. There were infants here that were in diapers, and fortunately, we have diapers that we keep on hand.”
Once he arrived, Kattoo said Temple Israel community members were in “panic mode.” “There were just a lot of frightened children. And I’ll tell you one thing: Shenandoah will not stand to see frightened children.”
Around 40 more children and their teachers did not make it to the country club, and instead found safety in the home of a Chaldean neighbor.
Township Supervisor Jonathan Warshay recounted that Rabbi Paul Yedwab wondered, “you know, would he be holding funerals for these children? And then they learned where they were.”
Jewish community members expressed their deep gratitude for the Chaldean community.
Temple Israel rabbi Jason Bennett told the Forward, “They immediately sprang into action, everything from just giving us their space to baking cookies for the kids and creating an atmosphere where, at least for the children, it was safe and secure, and families could come and reconnect with their kids. It was a beautiful part of this tragic day to see children just shielded from everything.”
Some Temple Israel adults said that because of the bucolic environment at the country club, many of the children thought they had gone on a field trip.
Rabbi Bennett recounted hearing about one child recapping the day at bathtime: “The child said, ‘Well, I was so excited. I got to read a story, and then I did some art, and then I got to meet a police officer.’ That was her recounting, which is remarkable.”
‘It was really natural’
Chaldeans are Iraqi Christians who traditionally speak Aramaic, and Michigan has the largest population of Chaldeans outside of the Middle East.
The Chaldean community makes up 24% of West Bloomfield’s 65,000-person population. The Jewish and Chaldean communities have long shared a special relationship there, with joint youth programs, shared meals between community leaders, and parking lots often shared between Temple Israel and Shenandoah Country Club during large community events.
“Throughout my career, these last 32 years, they have been inextricably linked to the Jewish community,” said Bennett. He noted that in other difficult moments, the two communities have supported one another.
“We were together after 911 and supported each other. When Oct. 7 came, they came into our sanctuary, and their entire board was with us for our vigil service,” he recounted. “They brought a significant donation at that time to the Jewish community to help our emergency campaign for Israel. And so it was really natural when something like this happens, for them to be our partners.”
According to Chaldean community member Jibran Jim Manna, who was born in Baghdad, the love the Chaldean community has for Jews goes all the way back to Iraq. “Prior to us immigrating to the U.S., our neighbors were Jewish, and we loved them; they were good to us.”
He said the shared experience of being minorities forced to flee Iraq has shaped that bond. “They all had to get out of Iraq,” he said, “and we had to leave there too.” He added, “Some of us, like myself, think of ourselves as one of the lost tribes of Israel, because we are so close in culture.”
A Chaldean’s first Shabbat service
The day after the attempted attack, roughly 1,000 members of the Temple Israel community gathered in the Shenandoah Country Club ballroom for Shabbat services.
Kattoo said Temple Israel rabbis had told him on Thursday in the attack’s immediate aftermath that they had nowhere to hold services. The sanctuary had been badly damaged in the attack, in which the assailant’s vehicle had caught fire. “I said, ‘Well, our doors are open, you could do it here tomorrow,’” Kattoo recalled.
Bennett said that while Temple Israel had received multiple offers to host services, holding them at Shenandoah “felt like the natural fit, given the long-standing partnership and the role that they had played in that day.”
He added: “They set up for us, they welcomed people in, they partnered with police and law enforcement agencies, and we just had this magnificent gathering of 1,000 people to celebrate what had gone right.”
The rabbis were able to bring the “miraculously” recovered Torahs to the country club. But the temple’s prayer books had been destroyed, so the service was held without them.
The theme of the evening was honoring acts of heroism. According to Warshay, congregants “gave a standing ovation to the leaders of Shenandoah and to the security personnel.”
For Warshay, a highlight was seeing families together in the immediate aftermath of a traumatic event. “There were many families at the service, a lot of young children. We sort of heard them talking and playing around,” he said, adding, “It was quite emotional.”
Kattoo said as congregants entered the ballroom for services, he “greeted every single one of them,” then stayed as the community joined in prayer.
“I don’t speak Hebrew,” he said, laughing. “But you know, I thought it was a beautiful service. I learned something. It’s beautiful to see that they have their community gather every single week on a Friday. To me, it’s unbelievable. It’s my first Shabbat service I’ve ever seen in my life.” He added, “I kind of wish we did that once a week.”
According to Kattoo, the outpouring of thanks from the Jewish community has been overwhelming. “Their gratitude was beyond what I could expect.”
While Temple Israel is in the process of moving services to the Berman Theater at the local JCC, Kattoo said his offer to host Shabbat services still stands: “If the banquet hall is available, I’ve told them it’s more than theirs.”
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